Sainan no Kekka Tragedy's Consequence
by Gerald Tarrant and Quicksilver
Summary: The longest canon-based GW fic on the net. The pilots must deal with their identities being exposed to an unforgiving world, as the rest of the cast struggles with life, death, war and peace. Complete GW cast.
1. Treize Khushrenada: Creator of History

Welcome to Sainan no Kekka. This story is slowly being uploaded onto fanfiction.net; however, there is a lot more content that we've written that still isn't up here. Please visit our main webpage for the full text of the story, along with all sidestories, SnK universe information, character bios, timeline, and more.

The story used to start with Act 1.1, and this entire Act Zero was added about 2 and a half years after we started writing it. So if you read this story on ff.net before, chances are you haven't read Act Zero yet. Act Zero is a prologue to the main SnK story, taking place anywhere from 15 years from before the war to just up to the starting point of Act 1. Act Zero focuses on Treize Khushrenada: the man he was, his legacy which he left after his death, and his impact on all of the main characters in the Gundam Wing universe. Act 1.1 then begins in AC 197 and the rest of SnK proceeds chronologically from there.

Also, fanfiction.net apparently does not recognize table tags. This is why all of the formatting of the story on these pages is now completely screwed up. We're slowly fixing this problem, but it will be a while before all the chapters' formatting is fixed. Sorry for the wait.

Thanks, and enjoy reading.

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2003 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT ZERO, PART I

_Kotoba yori wakariaeru  
Manazashi ga soko ni areba  
Hito wa minna ikite yukeru  
Mayowazu ni jiyuu ni_

Ayamachi o koete  
Kizuku hontou no yasashisa  
Anata to mitsuketa kara  
Ai to yoberu tsuyosa o

I believe your dream  
Tsunoru omoi  
Itoshisa o inori ni kaete  
Kono kodou o tsutaetai yo  
Atsuku hageshiku so far away

If we could communicate with a gaze  
Better than we could with words  
People would all live  
Freely without losing our way

Overcoming our faults  
We realize true kindness  
Because with you  
I found a strength called love

I believe your dream  
Feelings that get stronger  
Turning love into prayers  
I want to let you hear my heart beating  
Passionately, fiercely, so far away

--Gundam Wing, "Last Impression"  
[Endless Waltz] 

  
  
**Scene I: Towards the Future, Across the Stars**

  


_"A life is too precious to be replaceable.  
It is only when facing an enemy and risking one's own precious life that,  
amidst all the sorrow, a warrior's soul will shine with nobility."  
--Treize Khushrenada, Gundam Wing_

  
Her name was Lucrezia Noin, and she was just a soldier.

True, she had been more than that - much more than that - in her lifetime, or so everyone said, but she still preferred to think of herself as a common soldier. Greatness was a relative thing, and so was being common. She had been brought up to believe otherwise - that greatness was a thing that one was born to, and the common people were those who could not ascend to the level of greatness that some had the right to by birth. Through her own observation, she had proved that proposition false.

It seemed very foolish, to her, to think that the world was painted in black and white, good and evil. 

She had been nine years old when her life had changed, nine years old, just a child, but precocious for her age. All her relatives had always remarked on what a precocious little child she was, how intelligent and how cute and really, how could her grandfather allow her to be this serious all the time? That was the adjective they used most often, more than the rest. She was such a serious child. Serious and precocious. Her grandfather needed to let her see other children more often or she'd grow up to be a little old lady much too quickly.

It was true that she had few friends, for she had a private tutor at home so she had never needed to go to school. She knew had a half-brother somewhere who was seven years older, but she didn't know much about him. Her grandparents were wealthy enough to afford a few servants just for her care, and she was well taken care of. It was never stated, but it was implied that those who mattered expected her to grow up to be a fine lady, to marry a good man and to settle down to the life of an upper-class married woman. She wasn't sure what she thought of that, so she buried her nose in books and scrawled away her thoughts in diaries in her awkward child's handwriting. She'd found an old telescope in the attic, and every so often, she would pull it out and spend the nights stargazing when everyone thought she was asleep.

Her grandfather had found her one night, and she was afraid he would rebuke her and tell her to go to bed, but to her surprise, he'd sat down with her at the windowsill and pointed out all the different constellations and star names to her. That was the only real conversation she ever had with him.

She had never known her parents. She wasn't even sure if the man and woman she called grandfather and grandmother were her real grandparents, but they were kind to her. Her grandmother was there as often as she could be, but she was an aging woman and was not in the best of health. Her grandfather was often away. She'd hear snatches of conversation behind closed doors sometime of politics and war, and she knew her grandfather was involved in something, but precocious as she was, she had been too young to realize that he had been one of the heads of the Federation. When she was old enough to know, it was too late, because he died just after her ninth birthday. 

It had been at her grandfather's funeral, a solemn affair in which they'd driven to an elegant funeral home outside the town, where the black-draped casket was set up in the middle of the great vaulted room and the men looked very sad in their black suits and ladies sniffled into little black-laced edged handkerchiefs. She'd held her grandmother's hand while her grandmother cried, sat by her during the funeral and patted her shoulder while the black-suited priest read the funeral rites in a monotone, droning voice. Her grandfather had been Roman Catholic, like all good Italians were.

Lucrezia did not cry.

Afterwards after the burial, the guests milled about in the little antechamber outside, taking tiny sips of wine from fluted glasses and speaking in hushed tones about her grandfather and "Cinq" and "the Federation." Their voices would drop to a whisper whenever she passed by, as if they were trying to protect her from such things. She was not scornful of the fact, but she thought it odd that they were trying to keep information from her that she already knew.

There would be a war, she knew. Even though she was just nine years old, it was obvious that the world was not a happy place, no matter how many happy things people tried to surround her with. 

Bored with the conversation, she had left the room and gone wandering through the old funeral home. She had always been an inquisitive child without being overly obnoxious, and she did not believe in supernatural things, or ghosts. Still, the darkened hallways of the building and the fact that a funeral had just taken place here made her spine tingle. She wasn't sure what exactly she would do if she were to be confronted by a ghost, and the thought at once intrigued her and frightened her, in an exciting, anticipating kind of way.

The corridor split in two at the end of a long passage and she paused, glancing both down the right and the left. Which one should she choose? They both looked rather dark and spooky, both prospective homes for ghosts that might haunt this place. She recalled an old poem about two roads, diverging in a wood, and felt the shiver up her spine again.

After a few minutes of intense deliberation, much more than it would seem to take for a mere decision regarding which hallway to take on a tour of a funeral home, she chose the hallway to the right.

The hallway was short, and before she knew it, it had opened up into a small room cloaked in heavy draperies. She stopped at the doorway, one hand clinging to the frame, almost afraid to go in for fear of what she would find there, but at last the voice of reason overcame her fear and she took a cautious step into the room.

It was quite empty, she discovered, as her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light. The walls were covered with black drapes….velvet? Perhaps it was a private room for the higher-ranked dead, or a viewing room. She shivered again at the thought that she might be standing where a coffin would once have been, lid open, dead face of the deceased laid bare for relatives and friends to pay their last respects.

She stood there for a moment more then realized that the room was not entirely dark, as she had thought. There was a light at the far end, and she walked towards it curiously to discover that it was not a light after all, but only the moonlight shining through a window in a door that led outside. She put her hand to the handle and was delighted to find that it was not locked.

Closing the door softly behind her, she padded out onto the balcony. A delicious breeze was blowing and this side of the funeral home overlooked a beautiful part of the Italian rural countryside. She gazed over the fields for a moment, noting the small wood that clustered at the edge of her vision to the left, and the winding river, sparkling silver, snaking across the fields to the horizon.

"_Buona sera_," said a low, pleasant voice.

She jumped, clutching at the balcony, and whirled around. She hadn't noticed that anyone was out here on the balcony with her. Was it a ghost? Her heart beat faster at the thought.

But no…there was someone there, leaning on the wall at the far side of the balcony. He - it was a man, by the sound of his voice - was almost entirely shadowed, and all she could see of him were the beginnings of black trousers tucked into the tops of elegant boots. For a second, she blinked, and then wondered how she could not have noticed him before - he had such a powerful presence. Some people were like that, she remembered her grandfather saying. Larger than life.

"Hello," she ventured. "Do I know you?" Though that was a foolish question, because if she did know him, she knew that there was no way she could ever have forgotten.

She could hear a slight smile in his voice. "Hello to you too. No, I don't believe we've met…I'm sorry - I didn't mean to startle you."

"Yes you did," she said solemnly.

There was a pause. "Did I?"

"Well," she said, "if you hadn't meant to startle me, you would have talked to me when I had first come out here, wouldn't you? And you wouldn't be standing in the shadows like that. Why don't you come out?"

The almost-laughter again. "Perhaps I'm more comfortable talking to you when you don't know who I am."

She found this odd. "Why would I know who you are?"

"You're a smart girl," he said. "You notice things. I've watched you. You like people - well, perhaps like is too strong a word. You enjoy watching them, I think."

"I suppose," she said dubiously. "But I don't have any friends. Or even acquaintances, except for my grandmother's friends, and they are all far too old to be you. Are you here for my grandfather's funeral?"

Usually after she said something like that, the adults would coo and say something about how precocious she was. But he didn't do that. Instead, she saw the briefest sign of a nod through the dark shadows that covered his face. "I never knew him personally, but he was an acquaintance. Someone I admired greatly. His loss is greater than you know."

"You're from the Federation then," she said, matter-of-factly. "I know he was a general. A very high-placed one."

"Indeed. He was." The voice took on a curious tone. "Did he tell you this?"

"No one tells me anything," she said. "I usually figure it out by myself."

Another pause. "I see."

The conversation seemed to be halted, so she turned back to her landscape gazing. The stars were out tonight and for a brief moment she wished she had her telescope. It was always nice to look at the stars away from the city lights, which made them look faint and far away.

"Do you like the stars?" he said.

She shrugged. "I suppose. It's a hobby, among other things."

"Interesting. It's also a hobby of mine."

She perked up. "Really? My grandfather showed me some of the names of the stars once. I don't have much experience in stargazing, since I don't have access to any reference materials. I suppose I enjoy it, though."

"That's too bad," he said. "It's much more exciting when you can identify their names. Each star has a history, you know. Each unique. Each beautiful."

"You seem to know a lot about the subject."

This time he did laugh. "I suppose I could consider myself an amateur stargazer. Though the stars are much more beautiful up close, in space."

That caught her attention. "You've been to space?"

"A few times." His tone was dismissive. "Not as much as I would like."

"I've always wondered what it would be like," she said quietly, surprising herself as she said the words. She'd never given the subject much thought, but now that it had been brought up, she was startled to feel an overwhelming curiosity.

"I would try to describe it for you…but my words would do it no justice. Though I will say that it is very beautiful, as you probably have already guessed."

"I would imagine," she said. "Are you a Federation soldier? Is that why you can go up in space?"

"You could say that."

"Oh."

He chuckled. "It makes you feel small, the stars, when you are out in the blackness of space and they're burning around you. It makes you think of perspective - how very insignificant humans are in the grand scale of the universe. How small our petty quarrels are in the light of these stars, which have existed since the beginning of time."

"It sounds all very grand," she said. "And exciting."

"Oh, it's much more than that." His voice grew deeper, a minute fluctuation of tone that she would have missed if she was not listening carefully. A shiver of excitement ran through her. "It's…how should I say it? Epic? Spiritual? Perhaps…that it completes the soul."

She cocked her head, thinking. "They've always seemed very peaceful to me. The stars, I mean. Though I suppose they could be epic as well."

"Peaceful…perhaps." He paused. "Perhaps if all humans had the chance to experience their light, they would understand the nature of the conflict within them."

She thought about this for a moment. "Are you saying that if all humans could go to the stars, then there would be no more war?"

"I am no judge of that," he said, sounding regretful. "Maybe that would be the case. But all human beings will not have the chance to go to the stars. It is up to those of us who do go to show them the innate nobility within each one of us."

His words were beginning to give her a headache. "I don't understand."

His tone was strangely gentle. "It's all right. I didn't either until recently. It's a hard concept to grasp, even for those many years older than you and who deem themselves wiser."

"I'm not wise," she said stoutly. "I'm just precocious."

At that, he laughed again. "Is that what they call you?"

"Usually."

"Being precocious," he said, "is just a term that adults use for children who possess wisdom beyond their years."

"I'm only ten years old," she persisted. "I can't be wise."

She heard him sigh. "One day, child…you will learn that there is nothing certain in this world. That nothing is as black and white as it seems. That sometimes the only thing you can believe is that you are doing what you think is right."

"What do you mean?" she whispered, feeling suddenly as if she were caught up in some sort of wonderful and fantastic dream that was drawing to its great climax.

He smiled, an almost imperceptible curving of his lips in the dark, and for some reason, this time when he paused, she expected there to be some kind of fanfare. Some kind of grand orchestral accompaniment for him when he spoke again, to herald the arrival of his words. But there was only the wind, the wind and the trees and the river and the stars, burning above them with a heavenly fire. She was not cold, but she shivered.

"You will go to the stars," he said.

She frowned. "Me?"

She saw him nod again. "Some people say that destinies can be read in the stars."

"Have you read mine, then?"

"Perhaps." She heard him smiling again, but it was a kind smile, one that for some reason brought tears to her eyes. "You have a warrior's soul and a noble spirit. Someday…you will go to the stars. Your destiny lies there."

"Me?" she said again, this time whispering it, as if the silence was so fragile that a single word from her lips would break it open and send it tumbling into the void of time.

"Lucrezia Noin," he murmured. "One day, you will be great."

"What do you mean?" she demanded, shaken.

But he simply bowed to her, and she heard the click of his boots and the clanking of a dress sword in its scabbard and the whoosh of the door closing behind him as he left the balcony. The air was still thick with the force of his presence, and when she took a deep breath, she imagined she could still smell the scent of him, clean, pure, burning with a dark brightness that surpassed even the light of the stars.

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to steady herself, and when she opened them again, it was just the Italian countryside - quaint and lovely in the silver moonlight. That was all.

"Lucrezia? Thank goodness! "

That was her grandmother's voice. She turned as the old lady shuffled through the door, and felt a jolt, as if she had been upside down and the world had suddenly whirled around her and righted itself. There was relief on the wrinkled face. "I've been looking for you everywhere...you didn't tell me where you'd gone! I would have never found you if it hadn't been for that young man."

Her pulse quickened. "What young man?"

Her grandmother took her hand. "A very nice young man…I didn't know his name. He was a soldier by the looks of him, though he wasn't wearing the uniform. You can always tell by the way they carry themselves, those soldiers. Your grandfather was like that…" The words trailed off into a choked whisper.

Lucrezia squeezed her grandmother's hand. "Don't cry, nonna," she whispered. "Don't cry. It's all right. Grandfather…he is in a better place now."

_He is with the stars._

She had only been nine years old then, but she had known with all certainty as the stranger spoke those words on the balcony that night, that they would change her life. She had never desired to be great, but that was the night she discovered that there was a longing in her heart for much more - that greatness was simply a matter of perspective, and even the most common soldier could be great, in the end, if that soldier had a warrior's soul and a noble spirit. Because she had always considered herself a common soldier, just as they were all common soldiers that had somehow found their destinies in the stars.

And it had been the stars, in the end, that made them great.

Her grandfather.

Her, Lucrezia Noin.

And Treize Khushrenada, the man that the world would one day know both as its destroyer and its savior, but who for her would always remain the nameless boy who had given her the future one night underneath the stars.

  


* * *

  
**Scene II: Cousins by Birth and Destiny**

  


_"We're on our own cousin, all alone cousin.  
Let's think of a game to play now the grownups have all gone away."  
--The Who, Cousin Kevin_

  
When she was little, Dorothy tried to memorize her family tree. The Catalonia family tree was intricately entwined with her mother's family, so closely tied that she sometimes wasn't sure if someone was a cousin on both sides or not.

Not that it really mattered, seeing as how most of her family was dead. The Khushrenadas were renowned for dying violent and sudden deaths at young ages, while the Catalonias were a military family that tended to get themselves killed gloriously in war. When she was little, she had believed her mother, who swore up and down that dying in battle was one of the stupidest thing a person could do. Emily had loved Leon as much as she loved anyone, and he had died in the line of duty… which she never forgave him for.

Dorothy almost bought it - but when she was seven, she met one of her cousins who was both a Khushrenada and Catalonia. 

Dorothy lived with her grandfather, Duke León Alejandro Philippe Catalonia Dermail, on a high cliff in a castle by the sea. He was not a kind man, or a gentle one, but he did care for her deeply, and she knew it. Emily visited when she remembered to, always stressing social dramas and being a lady. Dorothy knew, somehow, that her mother did not love her. 

Duke Dermail did, and he tried to make her part of his plans. He had wondrous plans for the world and she, with her keen intellect, could be a part of it. Not for her was the family's traditional military path; no, she was destined for greater things. He would smile and whisper of his dreams and goals, and she would nod and listen as he promised her a world to inherent. She was a Catalonia, he told her, and the world had always been theirs to rule. It was time for her to start learning about power.

Still, even the most precocious seven-year-old girl would ignore that and be attracted to her mother's vibrant personality. Whenever her mother came, life lit the castle, and balls and soirees filled the vacant house. Dorothy wasn't allowed to attend these, of course, but she always crept downstairs to spy on the beautiful ladies in their expensive gowns. The ladies and gentlemen would dance, and she wanted to be a part of it, to be one of those beautiful people.

It was at one of those functions that she met her cousin.

She was supposed to be in bed, of course, but the rules didn't bother her. Rules were made to be broken, and if someone found you breaking them, you accepted the punishment with good grace, making a mental note not to get caught again…at least, not the same way. It was like playing chess, a game which her grandfather adored and which she was learning as well. She was well on her way to being one of the youngest grandmasters in the decade.

Dorothy padded downstairs wearing her long blue nightgown. The light blue silk fell to her feet, and though the floors were cold, she hadn't worn slippers, finding it easier to move soundlessly and slip back into bed should there be close calls. Wearing slippers in bed had gotten her in trouble once, evidence of one of her nights out.

She ducked into the corner of the ballroom, watching the ladies in their fine dresses and men in their dress gloves and suits offering to escort them to the dance floor. She already knew how to dance, and enjoyed it whenever she got the chance… it was a challenge, something physical. Most of what she did was mental, but her grandfather was determined that she be well rounded. She enjoyed the dancing lessons most of all, sometimes even to the point of neglecting her other lessons, including fencing. Trying to convince her to enjoy the art, her fencing instructor had once tried to point out how fencing really was just one form of dance. It had, to his surprise, worked.

_A dance which could be deadly…_ she thought a bit in fear, sometimes. That fear was the only thing that truly kept her from excelling at fencing the way her coach claimed she had the talent to. She had the instinct, but her mother's hatred for the Catalonia's military heritage ruled her.

She shut her eyes as she listened to the music, humming softly as the fourteen-piece orchestra played a few waltzes she recognized. Her long nightgown was almost like a dress, and if she shut her eyes, she could pretend…

A quiet voice disturbed her fantasies, "You're Dorothy, aren't you?"

She spun around, preparing to dart away, but she had been recognized. The person would probably mention her presence to her mother, who would fly into a rage at having her party disturbed, or her grandfather, who would be disappointed in her for being discovered. With Duke Dermail, it was a game about whether or not she was caught… and this time, she was. So she decided to bear up under good grace, turning a brilliantly sweet and childlike smile on her captor. "Yes," she said, looking up at him shyly through her lashes. She curtseyed with deliberate clumsiness, playing up the cute child angel for all she was worth. "I just wanted to watch…"

The man laughed, and stepped a bit more into the light. Her quick eyes studied him, recognizing the insignia of a Federation lieutenant. He was young, which meant he hadn't screwed up, and since he was here, he was either a family member or a member of some VIP's party. "I'm sure," he said. "I've been wanting to meet you for a while… I have so few family members left."

She blinked slowly as he confirmed the first, her agile mind running through the possibilities of who he was. Male, young… she tried to fit the relative to the name, but he could be an uncle or cousin on either side, easily, or some forgotten branch. Fifth degree cousins liked to claim relation to the Catalonia family, especially those in the military. Dorothy's father had once been the leader of the Federation military, after all. "I always thought the family was big," she said shyly, hoping her pretense would keep him from reporting her to a nearby adult who would haul her upstairs and assign her extra lessons, "since she had the time to get into trouble."

"The extended family is, yes," the man said, smiling at her. "But those of us who are Khushrenada and Catalonias both, and whose blood is undiluted by other lines… we're rarer. A dying breed, I'd think many people would say, but I don't like to think so. We burn brightly…" He held out his hand for her to take, and she did so shyly. To her surprise, he bent down to brush a polite social kiss across her knuckles, and from his eyes, she knew that he wasn't mocking her.

Despite her age, he was taking her seriously. "Who are you?" she demanded, abandoning her pose of demureness.

He smiled slightly. "Treize Khushrenada."

Her mind flickered over the family tree she had tried to memorize. "You're my cousin… one of the ones who's a real cousin, not a poser," she realized, blushing a bit when he raised an eyebrow. Her remark had been tactless, something her grandfather had tried, and failed, to get her to work on. She always spoke without thinking.

"Yes," he agreed. "I'm the real thing." There was a slight bit of pride there, but a desperate sorrow that she didn't - and never would be able to - understand in his rich voice. "And so are you, my lady."

"Are you going to tell on me?" she demanded, sensing that he liked her boldness more than her faked manners.

Her pretended to think on it before answering. "Not if you'll play me in a game of chess. I've been led to understand that you're a very good player, and it's been a while since I've had a game with a worthy opponent."

Dorothy's breath quickened. She loved chess, the game and the matching of wits. She was a good player, and her grandfather was better. It was a Catalonia tradition to learn young, to hone the wits for the battlefield, and apparently this Treize has inherited the same love for it. "The nearest set is in the library," she said softly. "No one goes there for during these balls… but will you be missed?"

He shrugged. "I'm just a minor personage. No one should come looking for me… and since it sounds like you should be in bed…" He said, arcing an eyebrow.

She blushed a bit. "This way," she said, indicating a small side door with her hand. "If I'm caught, they'll set me a bunch of punishment homework."

"Essays," Treize said with sympathy and a bit of exasperation, and she rolled her eyes in agreement. "They did the same to me - said the traditional 500 sentences of 'I will learn to behave and listen to my elders because they know what is right for me,' was useless. They always said you should learn something from a punishment, not just repeat rote lines that wouldn't sink in."

"Did you learn anything?" Dorothy asked curiously as she led him through one of the narrow servant's hallways to the library.

"Oh, yes. Not to get caught."

She liked this Treize. Most adults would have praised the assigned essays for the history they imparted, but his honesty with her was refreshing. Only her grandfather ever treated her like she had a brain worth something, but he was often busy with politics or would sometimes just look at her, and not really see her, but more of an echo from the past. She wondered about that, sometimes. It would take years for her to understand that Duke Dermail saw his own deceased daughter in her face every time she challenged him or asked him a question. 

"I can't seem to avoid getting caught," she muttered a bit as she can to the large library doors. Like most of the formal rooms in the house, they were oversized and heavy, but so well maintained that the swung open on silent hinges when she nudged them. 

"But do you do they catch you doing the same thing twice?" Treize asked, as his eyes scanned the elegantly appointed room. They lingered on the leather-bound books, and she heard his slight sigh of satisfaction.

"Never!" she said, blushing a bit as she realized how quickly she had spat that answer out.

"Then it's all good," he murmured. He walked over to the shelves and brushed his white gloves across the titles… _Macbeth, Ulysses, Romance of the Three Kingdoms, The Lord of the Rings, The Three Musketeers, Beowulf, The Art of War…_ "I'm glad to see your grandfather maintains an adequate book collection. Most people use electronic books nowadays…"

She smiled slightly. "My mother thinks it's stupid," she informed him softly as she went over to shift the ivory chess set onto the main table. She pulled out the box and deftly begin to set up the pieces, smiling slightly as Treize walked over to her.

"Real books are special," he said. "In this age of modern technology, they are a tie to our past. Hold one sometime - one of the older ones here… and imagine who has read it before, who held the same book in their hands, and who they thought. A hardcopy book has more texture and history then an electronic copy."

"I never thought of it like that," Dorothy admitted. "White or black?"

"Black. Most people don't." He took the seat across from her, shifting his dress uniform's cloak back with an refined thoughtlessness that only breeding could instill.

She watched, wondering if her own breeding would ever become so clear. Her mother was working with her on her grace, but sometimes, the only thing Dorothy felt she could do right was screw up. Emily was impatient with her. With a shake of her head, she focused her attention onto the board, and it because about the black and white squares that danced before her eyes.

Treize was a good player, she realized immediately. Her aggressive style was countered immediately, move for move, and she was delighted at his laid-back and almost understated manner. It was very different than battling her grandfather, who played with the same kill-or-be-killed style she favored. Meeting people on a chess board was truly a way to get to know them.

The game was evenly matched, and she lost track of time as they moved their pieces around, trying to find an advantage. She felt the sweat start to bead on her face as her competitive nature engaged. The only person who regularly defeated her was her grandfather.

Finally, it came, and Treize was the first to make a minor mistake that only an experienced player would notice. He left his queen open; taking it would cost her the knight, but if she got rid of his queen, it would only be a matter of time before she managed to have him in check. She shifted her knight, taking his queen in a brilliant stroke - or so she thought. 

The slight smile on his lips raised her awareness as he moved a piece, murmuring, "Checkmate."

"Huh?" she exclaimed, unable to think of anything more intelligent to say. She stared at him as he shifted a pawn forward, utterly changing the total layout of the game. "The queen sacrifice," she murmured after a moment. She had known of the technique, of course, but she never used it herself. It went against the grain for her, and her grandfather hated it as well. If an opponent saw it and countered, it meant almost certain loss. Dorothy hated the idea.

Treize didn't seem at all bothered by the risk he had taken. "Think on this, Dorothy. No one likes to think outside the box - one of the hardest things for a chess player to do is to sacrifice their queen, since she's their most powerful tool… but when I did, I assured myself of victory. A pawn can be underestimated; a queen can be sacrificed. No piece on the board should be left unutilized… because the name of the game is to win."

She looked at him, nibbling on her lower lip a bit as she realized that he wasn't talking just about chess. "You have ambitions, don't you?"

He gave her a nod after a moment's hesitation. "It's something that both sides of our family are born with. You and I, being both Catalonia and Khushrenada, are doubly cursed. We're at war with ourselves and the world, but it's not for ourselves that we fight… we fight because we genuinely believe that we can make a difference, and that it's our destiny and duty to make it so."

She thought on that for a moment, her fingers idly picking up the queen he had sacrificed to bring about her defeat. "If… that happens, we may not always be on the same side," she said softly.

"Probably. But I'll know that whatever side you chose, you chose it because you believe… and because you understand. People have probably told you that you have a great future - I'm not going to. You have a great present. Now is the time, Dorothy. Now is the time to start deciding what you want, because within the next decade, the world will shift beyond our recognition."

She toyed with a loose strand of her hair before holding up the queen to the light. "And… what's your sacrifice?" she asked after a moment. Outside the room, the hallway clock chimed midnight.

"Any piece on the board - up to and including the king," he returned softly.

Dorothy blinked. "If you lose the king, you lose the game!"

Treize's answering smile was somehow both brilliant and sorrowful. "Chess analogies fail here… but sometimes, it's not about winning. It's about how well you play the game."

  


* * *

  
**Scene III: Silence of the Holy Place**

  


_"Give me release…witness me.  
I am outside…give me peace…  
Heaven holds a sense of wonder."  
--Sarah McLachlan, Silence_

  
He was on the steps of the old church when he saw them coming around the corner.

The abandoned church was his haunt, his hideout, his home, really, among the mice and rats and dead insects that inhabited the place. He didn't mind living amidst the insects and the rodents - they didn't bother him and he didn't bother them. He rarely had guests. It wasn't wise to make friends in places like the slums of L1, called the Breaks by those who knew it best, and besides, he didn't know what he would have done with friends. He worked alone.

Anyone who saw him wouldn't have given him a passing glance. He was the same as all the other street orphans that haunted the crumbling streets of the Breaks: skinny, dirty, pale, rank with the odor of unwashed hair and body and human excrement. The only thing that might have gotten him a closer glance was the pair of dark, gem-brilliant blue eyes that peered out from under bangs too long uncut. But no one had ever gotten close enough to even notice the way the light seemed to glance off the blueness of his eyes, seemed to reflect and be absorbed at the same time just like light reflects and is absorbed by cold polished marble.

He had no name.

The others he came in contact with referred to him as Zero, because he was nothing. He didn't mind the name. It was a good name for street work, the drug running that he did for the smaller cartels, and he was content to remain anonymous. He met other boys and girls once in a while, runners all of them, with names like Devil and Snakeskin and Hex. He preferred Zero. It was complex in its simplicity, implying nothing and everything at once. He couldn't remember who had given him the title, just that he had adopted it.

The light was fading rapidly as he backed away into the entryway of the church, backing up until he could feel the sharp poking of the crumbled arch against the bones of his back. There he stood silently, watching the strangers come nearer. They were talking, though he couldn't hear them. He knew they were strangers, because he knew every living thing that usually crossed these parts around this time of day, and they were new.

The church had had a steeple once, but it was long gone. Hacked off as a cruel joke or struck by lightning he didn't know, but all that was left was a jagged stone stump where the crucifix once was. The stones of the inside walls were falling into ruin and water leaked from between the molding roof tiles whenever it rained. The wooden pews were almost all gone, stolen by those who couldn't afford to buy their own wood. There were bloodstains on the front steps, almost all washed away by the rain but not quite, and sometimes he'd squat for hours just staring at them, wondering where they had come from.

It was an odd place to build a church, really, in the middle of the Breaks. As if someone had really believed that God could spare an eye on this place and its people, the lowliest of the lowly, and offer them deliverance.

Perhaps that was why the church stood empty now. Because God hadn't deemed it necessary. Because He had decided it wasn't worth it.

He didn't believe in God.

As the strangers drew nearer, he could see that they weren't dressed like assassins or drug runners or dealers or any of the regular people who inhabited the areas near the church. In fact, their clothes looked fairly new, though the one on the left had a long, tattered-looking overcoat drawn over what was obviously a fine quality suit. The dress shoes gave it away. His brain did a double-turn on itself, and he shuffled forward just to peer at the man's clothing, wondering who in their right mind would wear clothes like that in a place like this.

He wondered how much the clothing was worth.

The man on the right was much more shabbily dressed, but still not down to Breaks standards. He was a strange one, a little stoop-shouldered, walking as though he wasn't sure which way he was going, his long, gray hair flowing back over his shoulders and a little drooping mustache hanging down over the corners of his mouth. But it was the contraption over his eyes that intrigued the boy most - a machine-like device that he'd never seen before. Maybe everyone who didn't live in the Breaks wore something like that over their eyes, and he would have had one too if he didn't live here.

_What an odd man_, his eyes said to his brain in fascination, and his brain replied, _I wonder how much we could get for those shoes his partner's wearing?_

His stomach rumbled and he drew back hastily, trying to remain very still and hoping they would pass him by quickly so he could dart out and finish the job. Those shoes could mean dinner tonight. He fingered the long knife he wore tucked into his boot, trying to decide which of the two men was more dangerous and if they both had weapons. He didn't have a gun. Guns were expensive, and the cartel did not let any of their runners carry guns on the job. That hadn't stopped several runners he knew from trying to acquire them anyway, but the cartel always found out. And when the cartel found out, that was the end of you.

He didn't need a gun anyway. He was as good with a knife, perhaps even better, than many of those cowards who relied on their guns for defense.

The strange pair was passing the steps of the church now and just for a moment, the false setting sun flared, dyeing them in a rich, crimson red. And in that moment, the man with the contraption on his eye stopped, glancing towards the church. The boy had the strangest feeling that he was looking straight at him, a long, measured, calculating look that was full of…what?

And in that moment, he knew that the small, stoop-shouldered man was dangerous.

The sun slipped lower and the man's companion was turning, frowning. The man himself had turned away. Maybe he hadn't seen him after all. If he was going to kill them, now was the time to do it. He tensed, ready to leap out of his hiding place. 

He didn't even see the man move, but suddenly he was facing the church again, feet planted firmly and in his outstretched hand was a gun. The boy froze.

"I know you're there," the man said. The gun didn't waver. Its bright, polished surface shone dull metallic red in the light of the sunset, and he swallowed, suddenly afraid. It was a strange feeling - he couldn't remember the last time he had been afraid. But there was something about this man.

"I know you're there," the man said again, this time his voice softer, but the gun held steady. "Come out, and you will not be harmed."

He could have scoffed at the threat, leapt out and tried his chances on the man and his companion, ignored the weapon in the man's hand. He'd done it before and survived, with the scars to prove it. But somehow this man was different, and he hesitated only a moment before slipping the knife back into his boot and stepping out from the shadows to the top of the steps.

"What do you want?" he called out defiantly.

To his surprise, the man's face softened into something that resembled a smile, and the gun mysteriously vanished. He blinked. He hadn't seen the man put it away, but it was no longer there. "Come down," the man called. "I won't hurt you."

He cautiously descended the front steps, feeling a strange sense of weightlessness come over him, as if he were floating through the air, flowing down each stone step like rainwater, swirling and joining the roaring current until it reached the sea, never stopping, never ceasing. He blinked, and the feeling subsided, though he could still feel it not-quite-there in a corner of his mind, settling over the crumbled buildings and ruined church and lifting the haze from the smoky air.

The man had seemed short from a distance, but the boy was surprised to find that he was actually considerably taller than he'd looked, though perhaps any man of normal height was tall to a small child. The contraption over his eyes made clicking noises that he could only imagine were its inner gears as the man focused his gaze on him.

They stood there for a minute like that. The man's companion was silent, a mass of black coat and indistinguishable features in the shadows.

"How old are you?" 

"I don't know," he replied truthfully, surprising himself as he did so, trying not to stare at the man's eyes. He didn't know why he had replied at all. The rushing feeling was still there, pounding against his skull. He felt dizzy.

"I see." There was another silence. '"Do you live here?"

He gave the man a hard stare, but it seemed to be a straightforward question. He opened his mouth to ask why he would even want to know, to ask who the man was and how he could believe he wasn't a spy for some rival cartel.

"Yes," he said instead. Then blinked.

He expected the man to laugh, but he didn't. Instead, he said gravely, "You seem strong."

Not _you seem strong for your age_ or _you seem strong for such a young child_. But simple, straightforward, man to man.

"What's it to you?" he shot back, uncomfortable with the questions and the pressure in his chest that was his heart beating fast and the pressing feeling in his mind. "Who are you?"

The man did laugh at this, but it wasn't a condescending laugh like the cartel members who gave him his orders, or a nasty laugh like the street children who made their home in the alleyway by the abandoned factory, or a drunk laugh like the ones he'd hear out of bars at night. It was more understanding than anything else, and for a second he could do nothing more than to stare openmouthed at the man's face, strange glasses and all, hoping that he would laugh like that again.

"I work for…an organization around here," the man said at last. "I was actually on my way home when I spotted you."

"I was hiding," he said defensively. "How'd you see me?"

In answer, the man pointed to the contraption around his eyes, which gave another whir. "I can see things with these that most cannot," he said softly. "They led me to you. I wonder…?" He trailed off and glanced at his companion, who said nothing. Sighing, he turned back to the boy, regarding him silently.

The sun had nearly set now but he thought he could see a golden light growing from a distance, creeping little by little towards him. He blinked, but it was still there, growing steadily brighter, forming around the head of the man in front of him like a halo of fire and sunlight. He gasped, taking two unsteady steps backwards, tripped over something and lost his balance.

He felt a hand helping him up, and he blinked rapidly several more times as he regained his footing, looking up at his savior. The light was gone, but he could still see the echoes of it in his vision, bright blank spots that wouldn't go away no matter how hard he blinked. He pushed the man's hands away, standing unsteadily and feeling the comfortable presence of the knife in his boot, knowing for some reason that everything that he had ever thought was true was about to change tonight.

"Are you God?" he whispered fearfully.

There was a long pause while the night stretched long into the infinity of space beyond.

"No," the man replied at last, and he heard a small chuckle escape. "No, I'm not God. I'm…just a messenger."

And the dam broke and he felt himself floating away and knew that whatever was beginning now had taken him and borne him away in the tides, and there was no going back.

"I'm coming with you," he said. As though it had been asked, as though this meeting was at once the starting point and the culmination of a long journey.

There was no surprise in the man's voice, no question of how or what. He saw the bearded face nod, saw the white hair ripple in the rank breeze that carried with it the scent of garbage and of rotting things from somewhere close by. "I thought you would," said the man.

"I…" he said, then not quite knowing what else to say, stopped. "My name is Zero," he said at last. "It's not my real name, but I don't remember what my real name is. And everyone needs a name, I suppose." Not knowing why he did so, he held out one grimy hand.

The man regarded him again for another grave second before suddenly sinking to his knees on the filthy ground, reaching out his hand and grasping the small one firmly in his. His grip was strong, solid, a promise of something.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Zero," he said. "My name is Doctor J."

  


* * *

  
**Scene IV: Messiahs He Never Knew**

  


_"A butterfly that flaps its wings  
Affecting almost everything."  
-- Red Hot Chili Peppers, Savior_

  
Duo had never thought much about Treize Khushrenada, when given a choice.

He was more of a battlefield soldier, at least so he liked to believe. Go barreling in with Deathscythe and kill the bastards. At least, that's what he told himself. He let himself be convinced that he really was the cocky, somewhat bubble-brained L2 terrorist some people would have liked him to be, a brainless destroyer who laughed as he killed because he was insane. People liked to put things into boxes, Duo had learned, and they always twisted things around so they fits into their existing conceptions. Duo was a terrorist; therefore he had to be a radical fanatic who only thought of killing because he was told to. Someone higher up did his thinking for him; he was the sacrificial lamb, a child playing at being a man.

The truth was, he thought long and hard on the war he was fighting, and considered the ramifications of his actions. Duo wasn't an idiot; far from it. An idiot couldn't fly a Gundam; the powerful machines required brains and instincts, reflexes and strength, and a certain something that no one really understood. People able to fly those amazing creations were few and far between, and Duo was one of them.

He wondered how he was one of those legendary beings, at times, especially after meeting Quatre and Heero early in the war. Two people that were more different he couldn't imagine, yet there was something about them that made them that was dreadfully similar. A look in the eye, a terrible knowledge of destiny and fate. _I am one of the chosen…. I have fate's hand upon me_, their faces seemed to say. When he met Trowa and Wufei, they shared it, and he wondered if that was part of the pilot's curse- that knowledge inside.

_I can't be one of them_, he thought repeatedly, but then he'd catch sight of his reflection in the mirror or in Deathscythe's shining armor, and his blue violet eyes seemed to carry the same message. It was like there was a hidden power within him that he didn't understand, but kept him going. He needed that, especially after being separated from the others at the moonbase. He had his new Deathscythe, but aside from that, he was alone in the universe… and back on L2. L2 held many memories for him, and very few of them ended happily.

It was night out, the perfectly timed eight hours of darkness the colonies experienced from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. Duo had thought the odd rhythm of the sun strange when he had been on Earth, but he had enjoyed it. There was nothing artificial about it, and now that he had returned to space, he felt just a bit disillusioned with that aspect of colony life. He loved being on the colony, certainly, but the very lack of spontaneity did grate a bit on his nerves.

He wondered where the other pilots were, now that they were scattered. He hadn't stopped fighting, but he hadn't heard any world that the others were still in space. He was free to work without G's instructions, but it was frightening. He had no clue what to do or where to go.

Duo swung his duffel bag a bit as he walked through the streets, a bag which contained all his worldly possessions, except Deathscythe. He knew he had the resources to get money if he needed it, but right now he was alone, a frightening thought. If there was one thing he hated, it was being alone.

"Hello, stranger," a soft voice called, and he swung around, expecting one of the streetwalkers to be offering him some quality time. He wasn't into that scene, but usually the girls knew more about what was going on than most, and she might be able to give him a some idea where a good place to flop might be. He didn't think C-Side would be a safe since most people would sell their own mothers for ten credits, and the rest of the colony was unfamiliar to him.

"Yo, jouchan!" he said, and he smiled charmingly, preparing to wheedle out some information. "I was -" His jaw dropped as he moved close enough to see who it was. "Hilde!"

The shorthaired girl was leaning against a wall, smiling at him with amusement. "Hey," she said. Her smile was a bit teasing and her dark clothing blended well into the lower middle class neighborhood they were in. "I'd say it was a surprise, but I was actually out looking for you. You're a popular person right now," she informed him, holding up a wanted poster.

He blinked as he took it from her. "I'm getting a sense of déjà vu here… well, least it's a better picture!" he told her cheerfully.

Hilde rolled her eyes at the way he shrugged it off. "You've got Oz and the Federation after you, as well as some of the colonies' forces. You need to get under, and quick!" she said. 

"I was getting to it," he said a bit defensively. "It's a bit hard to hide in my usual haunts right now, so I'm trying to find somewhere else…"

"This neighborhood is residential. You're not going to find anyplace without going to a realty agent," Hilde said. "You need to go to a commercial district where there's some hotels," she informed him a bit sharply.

"I knew that!" Duo replied defensively, glancing around at the locale, realizing that she was right. "Um, Hilde? Not to be rude or anything, but what are you doing out here?"

"If I was being melodramatic, I'd say something about fate drawing the two of us together. Actually, one of my employees saw you and let me know you were in the area. I just wandered around and luck was on my side."

"Your… employees?" he asked. His eyes traced her worn blue coverall, and he wondered if she was with one of the cartels. He sure as hell couldn't think of any other explanation for her having employees that would be able to follow him. _Besides, wasn't she supposed to be in trouble with Oz? That takes a lot of pull to get out of…_

Hilde held up her hands, and he noticed that they were covered with oilstains. "Run a junkyard. It's a pretty lucrative business right now, what with all the mobile suit debris we're getting sent." She coughed a bit. "My aunt abandoned the place, but it's only taken me a couple of weeks to drag the books out of the red. I employ five people… you just happened to walk right by one, and he had the brains to know I'd be interested." She moved even closer so she was standing two feet away and glaring up at him a bit challengingly.

"Didn't I get you in enough trouble already?" Duo asked, starting to feel the stirrings of hope through his confusion. _Maybe…_

"Hell yes!" she spat. "You managed to take my nice secure principles and shake them to the core! After meeting you, I didn't know which way was up!" 

He wasn't able to contain a smirk, and that was a mistake. Duo had forgotten she was a soldier. She was so much smaller than he was, but that didn't make her weak.

Hilde's fist launch at him, squarely launching on his chin. He went reeling backwards from the blow in shock before regaining his balance a second later. He hadn't sensed any threat from her, and had let his guard down…something a pilot never did.

_Great going, Duo_, he thought. _A pair of pretty eyes is going to be your downfall. Well, act now!_

His training kicked in, and he threw his duffel in her face, using the instant she had to take to deflect it to draw his gun. He targeted her heart, not wanted to destroy her face. _Call me sentimental_, he thought with a bit of an inward chuckle at himself. "I thought you finally understood!" he declared.

"I did!" she shot back. "The colonies I'm fighting to protect cannot be protected through Oz!"

He was thoroughly confused and starting to think she didn't mean him any serious harm, but didn't put the gun up. She had caught him off guard once already, and no one got the drop on Duo Maxwell twice. 

Hilde's eyes were flashing and she seemed undaunted at having a weapon aimed at her by one of the most wanted men in known space. 

"Why did you attack me?" he asked in a level voice, one which he tended to use right before blowing someone's brains out. 

"I'm not mad at you about THAT!" she declared, and the defiance in the set of her head fascinated him. 

_If all colonists were as proud as she was, then Oz would have no foothold,_ he realized.

"I'm mad at you because you were smirking at me!" she announced, folding her arms under her breasts. "No one likes to be laughed at!"

"Um…" he said, and then he did something he hasn't done in years. He blushed, and hoped that the darkness would hide it.

"I had to plead mental instability to get away from Oz," she told him. "I wouldn't have, but there was no way I could do anything from inside a prison. Being a martyr for a cause is well and good, but it unknown martyrs accomplish nothing, and the colonies can't lose anyone who love them right now," she explained softly before regaining her steam. "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that people have seen you. You need to go under, and go quick!" she said, repeating her earlier message, turning and stalking off into the night.

He watched her retreat, and the germ of an idea that had been growing since first seeing her took deep root. It would be dangerous, but it would be the best chance he'd have of not falling out of the fight. He needed supplies to keep Shinigami running, and that would cost money… the kind of money that he couldn't get without fencing the spoils of his inevitable victories.

And he knew just the girl to fence them.

The next day when Hilde came home, she was surprised to see Duo Maxwell on her couch, sprawled out across the entire length, looking like he belonged there. She moved over to shake him awake and demand and explanation, but something in her hesitated. She left him alone and went to make dinner. Answers she could get later.

Duo slept on, only to be awakened by the smell of cooking. He opened sleepy eyes, feeling the unaccustomed sensation of actually having enough rest. It was odd to sleep for more than three or four hours at a go, and pleasant. He could get used to it.

"Wash up for supper," Hilde called from the kitchen. "I'm making hamburgers," she told him. "You get to do the dishes. Schbeiker family rule: the person who cooks doesn't have to do the clean-up."

He nodded, seeing the inherent fairness in that, and wandered over to the bathroom to clean up. He'd taken a shower on arrival, relieved to wash the grunge of days away, knowing that even if Hilde threw him out, he'd at least be cleaner for the stop. When he returned, Hilde was setting out the burgers next to salads, and he nodded. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she said neutrally, sliding into the chair across from him. "Do you say grace?" she asked, her eyes falling to the cross.

"I'll sit through it, if you want, but I'm not particularly religious," he answered, and politely kept from digging in. Some people were picky about eating before offering thanks.

"No, no… just trying to be respectful of your faith," Hilde said hastily, averting her gaze from the priest's collar he was wearing. She picked up her hamburger and bit down without adding any condiments.

Duo started adding ketchup with glee. He loved the stuff. Hilde watched him with hooded eyes as she ate, before setting her food down to run a hand through her slightly too-long bangs, which just fell right back into her eyes. "Duo… were you born to be this exasperating, or did you learn how?"

"Huh?" He picked up his food and started to munch on it, and was well-satisfied with the Hilde's culinary skills. It was true that making a burger wasn't particularly difficult, but Hilde had added lettuce and tomatoes and onions… He started to space out in happy food dreams, though he kept half his attention on her. The bruise that was starting to turn a deep purple on his jaw was a good reminder that she wasn't just a pretty face. 

She blinked a bit, and then seemed to come to a decision. "Nothing. I'm assuming that you're going to bring in some salvage for me in a few days?" she asked.

He met her eyes, and suddenly he realized that she did understand. "Sure. Gotta earn my keep somehow! I don't suppose you know where I could… recover some prime material, do you?" 

Hilde rose, and Duo watched her vanish into the living room. A moment later she was back with a laptop. "I have a map of L2 space on this baby. I can suggest a few areas where some Oz suits might be, though you might have to do some serious recovery work to get them to me," she said. 

He finished off his food, pushing the plate aside. "Hilde, now's the chance to turn back," he said, feeling compelled to warn her.

"I may not wear a uniform anymore, but I'm still a soldier," she said firmly. She opened the screen and started entering her access information. "I'll fight the war in my own way."

Duo murmured something encouraging, and leaned over as the map appeared. She was right: they were still at war, and no way was Shinigami going to miss the battle. He knew that something big was brewing, and though he might be on the sidelines for now, he understood that he had to be ready for when the storm broke. He would be needed then.

And right now, he needed to use every resource at his disposal, especially one girl who'd given up her career for her colonies… all because of him. If he wasn't careful, he'd get her killed. He casually placed his hand on her shoulder, wishing that he could protect her. Hilde was a grown woman, though, and she knew the risks. Like him, she would fight for what she believed.

It still didn't make it any easier to sleep that night.

Hilde had retrieved a pile of blankets for him, and he was snuggled up in them, but even the warm milk she had given him (a luxury that attested to how well her business was doing) didn't help him settle down. He had the opportunity to walk away, with no one the wiser, and he was again waiting to go headfirst into the furnace. He really was nuts, and he'd get the people around him killed.

He wanted to protect the colonies.

That was his goal. He wanted to make sure no one else had to face Oz, or know what real death was. He was a pilot, fighting against impossible odds, because he believed. He believed that through the death and the darkness, someone would show the way. He believed that the leadership of the other side was corrupt, and in their own greed, they would fall. They would feed upon each other, until only the most vile remained… and then he and the others would kill them. He remembered hearing of General Septum's death, and he had secretly rejoiced, knowing the man had gotten what was coming to him. Dr. G's files on him had been most explicit.

Noventa… well, that had been a tragedy, but sometimes good people died. Une would probably end up getting killed in battle, and Zechs… well, Duo wouldn't mind taking Zechs out himself. He really thought it was a race, to see who managed to kill the Lightning Baron first; that or be killed by him. It would be an exciting battle, one worth watching, and definitely worth fighting.

He never really factored in Treize Khushrenada, for Treize was outside of his realm.

He thought about war and dying, he didn't really think about Treize… because Treize wasn't his objective. Duo was simply there to protect the colonies, and that meant fighting against those members of Oz who were corrupt. Treize wasn't corrupt. Treize was outside of Duo's understanding; Treize was a part of some grand scheme that Duo couldn't compete with. Treize was Heero's opposite, not Duo's.

Duo didn't believe in God - God had died with Solo, and all hope of resurrections had flown when Sister Helen and Father Maxwell had been destroyed by Oz. But he believed in messiahs… after all, a messiah was a liberator, one who would save mankind from itself. Treize had announced himself, but Heero's actions proclaimed him.

It was an odd feeling to know that. The few times he turned his thoughts towards Treize, they automatically wandered towards Heero. Heero and Treize would someday fight, Duo believed. They were darkness and light, and one of them would have to die for the universe to continue. They could not both exist on the Earth, for their very existences were anathema to the other.

The question was, which messiah would win? In the end, only one could exist…

  



	2. Treize Khushrenada: Creator of History

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2003 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT ZERO, PART IIp> 

_ Arasoiau dake ja  
Erarenai daremo nanimo  
Osanai te ni sashinobetai  
Kegare no nai tokimeki o_

Odayaka ni toki o  
Kizamu komorebi no nukumori  
Daremo ga idakaretai  
Zutto kitto eien ni

Strife alone  
Can never achieve for anyone or anything  
This pure excitement I want to give  
To young hands

The warmth of the sun shining through the leaves  
Calmly marks the passage of time  
This is what we want to hold on to  
It is surely forever

--Gundam Wing, _Last Impression_  
[Endless Waltz] 

  
  
**Scene V: The Night the Sky Fell Down**

  


_"Did the wind hit you in the eye?  
Or were you just about to cry?  
All the stars are shaped like tears."  
-- Walkabouts, Desert Skies_

  
Sylvia Noventa remembered exactly where she had been when she heard the news. It was a beautiful, lovely winter afternoon and she'd been at her stepfather's estate just outside Valencia, Spain, curled up on a window seat, reading. The curtains were white and gauzy, matching the white wicker furniture of the dayroom, and the open window itself overlooked the pastoral fields of La Huerta, the green belt surrounding the distant city. When she'd look up every so often to rest her eyes, she'd glance up at the blue, blue sky as the afternoon slowly waned into evening and the cloudbanks built up along the horizon and wonder what was happening in space out there, so far away.

Because it did seem so far away. There was a war going on out there, one that would, according to her cynical stepfather, "prove the death of us," and according to her optimistic mother, "pave the way for a new era." The last she'd heard when she had listened to the news this morning, the fierce battle had been going on for hours now, Gundam against Gundam, with Treize Khushrenada in the middle of the fray.

Treize Khushrenada had ultimately been responsible for her grandfather's death. No matter what anyone might say, it had been Treize. And yet she couldn't find it in her to condemn him. All of them - her grandfather, Treize, Heero Yuy and the rest of the Gundam pilots - had been only fighting for what they thought was right. And did it matter? What was right and what was wrong? Either way, people died.

She'd tried again and again to strain her eyes, to catch some glimpse of the catastrophic conflict that the reporters had sworn was going on at this very instant, but all she could see, no matter how hard she tried, were clouds. Clouds and birds, and the last pinkish-purplish tinge of the sunlight that signaled the near end of evening and the beginning of the night.

Running footsteps along the corridor alerted her to the presence of one of the maids, and Sylvia had slipped the bookmark between the pages of her current pick and swung her legs over the side of the seat so that wouldn't appear she had been lying down. Lying down in a window seat, according to her mother, was un-lady-like and very unbecoming, especially from someone of Sylvia's rank. The wind rustled the curtains and ruffled her hair, and she smoothed the unruly blond locks down, looking over her shoulder at the sky. It was almost black now, but she could not see the stars.

Strange.

When the maid finally burst through the delicate wooden doors of the room, she rose gracefully to her feet, and then did a double-take at the tears streaming down the girl's cheeks. The maid couldn't have more than eleven, Sylvia realized - only a few years younger than her. She raised one hand, trying to think of something calming and soothing to say, but the girl flinched as if she had been slapped.

"Lady Sylvia," she gasped, sobbing. "His grace…desires to…see…"

Sylvia tried to insert a few questions, comforting remarks, anything between the maid's sobs, but finally gave up and made do by putting a brief arm around the girl's shoulders, causing her to look up, startled. Sylvia smiled. 

"Let's go together. I doubt it is as terrible as you fear it to be."

The maid started to say something, but clamped her lips shut. Sylvia's curiosity meter rose another few notches, and she picked up her pace, turning the familiar corners towards her stepfather's study with an urgency in her step. It was odd, really, that as many times as she'd been summoned to see her stepfather, whether it be for matters concerning her newest tutor or just to talk about politics and goings-on in the world, that he'd never once treated her as his daughter, nor even a child. She was only thirteen after all, and no prodigy. While Treize Khushrenada and Lucrezia Noin had been out of the OZ Academy at thirteen and already changing the world, she, Sylvia Noventa, was living the predestined life of an aristocratic daughter, her perfect world shattered only by her grandfather's death half a year earlier. Her father had died when she was a year old, and her grandfather had been the male role model in her life.

But her stepfather always addressed her as an adult, even though most often she understood little to nothing of what he was saying when he mentioned various politicians' names or the games that they would play. Politics was not her game and she didn't think it ever would be - too full of manipulation and scheming all for the gain of personal benefit. It was dirty, and she told her stepfather this once. He had sighed and replied that life was a dirty business, and hopefully that out of all of it, there would come some men and women who would emerge from the dirty games with some vision of how to make the world a better place.

Sylvia didn't know if she believed that. Dirty was as dirty does, as her mother said, and politics was politics, war was war, and two wrongs did not make a right. She supposed she was naïve, but her stepfather had never called her that.

She wondered sometimes if he thought her one of the men and women who would make the world a better place. She didn't know if that thought flattered her or frightened her half to death. Certainly, if her grandfather hadn't died, she would have never thought of taking it seriously.

As long as she lived, she knew she would never forget the image of Heero Yuy handing her that gun, asking her to kill him, and she knowing that he had done so not because he thought she was a vengeful, grief-stricken girl who wanted to kill her grandfather's murderer, but because he thought, like her stepfather, that she had the power to change the world.

She didn't want anyone, and most certainly not her stepfather, to think of her as someone who would change the world. She just wanted a father. She just wanted to be an ordinary girl.

"Lady Sylvia to see you, your grace," the maid said, her voice wobbling, and Sylvia gave her another brief pat on the shoulder before easing open the wooden study door and dropping a curtsey as the figure behind the desk put down his newspaper and stood up. Her eyes went instinctively to the window behind him, which was open also, looking out on the dark night sky. Something struck her as odd before she realized that she still could not see the stars. 

The wind blowing through the window was warm and muggy, and she shivered.

"Sylvia. I'm glad you've come."

Something in her stepfather's voice made her look up, and she frowned at the grave expression on his chiseled face. Duke Fernando de Llordes was never serious, known for the twinkle in his eye and the sense of humor that had made Sylvia's mother, twelve years widowed, fall in love with him three years ago. He had never been a truly handsome man, but there was something about the way he carried himself that gave him the air of a king. He was a kind man and a generous one, and though he was something more than a mentor, he'd never tried to take a parent's place in her life. She'd asked her mother about it once, and she'd responded soothingly that Duke Fernando didn't want to take her grandfather's place. That he knew he wasn't her father, and he did not presume to act as one.

But her grandfather was dead now, and still her stepfather remained something more than a mentor but less than a father.

"Sylvia, the war is over."

For a moment, she gaped at him, wondering if he'd lost his mind, then realized that he hadn't sounded happy in the least about the news. "What do you mean, the war is over…? It can't be over…you're joking."

"Sylvia, have you wondered why there are no stars tonight?"

She blinked. "I…"

He smiled sadly at her and reached over to flip on the old radio sitting behind him on the bookshelf. There were no vidscreens in Duke Fernando's study, none of the latest technology. He preferred antiques, claiming they made him feel closer to the past.

"-going to fall!" a voice shrieked from the radio, and Sylvia jumped, startled at the volume before her stepfather turned it down. "It's changing course…it's breaking away….!"

"What? What's going to fall?" she demanded, moving nearer to the desk and placing her hands on its smooth, mahogany surface.

"The Libra," her stepfather said, strangely calm, "is falling to Earth."

"The Libra…the ship?" she breathed incredulously. "No!"

"Yes."

"I…" she floundered, her eyes going to the cup of hot tea steaming on the corner of the desk, and realizing exactly why the little maid had been crying. She must have been serving the tea as the duke listened to the radio, heard the news…"Are we going to die?"

Her stepfather turned a gentle glance towards her. "Most likely. Does it matter?"

"What are you talking about?"

"My dear, Treize Khushrenada is dead."

The world stopped spinning for a moment, and through her daze, she realized that was the first time he'd addressed her with any kind of affectionate term. If his words had been anything else, she would have stopped him then and there, but there was no time.

"Dead? What - how - why…"

The duke shook his head. "It's a battle, Sylvia. People die in battle…but I believe he never thought he would die at the glorious conclusion of his own victory dance." He chuckled quietly. "Fate is strange, isn't it? Yes, Khushrenada is dead…but the rest of the world will soon follow. I suppose one sacrifice wasn't enough."

"Did he die aboard the Libra? Is that why it's falling?"

He shook his head. "One of the Gundams killed him, apparently. The Libra…no, that's none of his doing. Milliard Peacecraft apparently thinks it is his noble duty to sacrifice the rest of humankind along with his former mentor. The smoke and debris from the falling ship has entered the atmosphere, which is why there are no stars. There will probably never be stars again after this night, for a long time."

"We won't be here when they finally do shine again, will we?"

His look was unreadable. "No. We will not."

Sylvia drew a deep breath, looking out the window to the night sky, straining now to see not signs of battle, but for the burning husk of a ship, falling through the atmosphere, flaming like a giant star. But yet again, there was nothing. If not for the announcer screaming softly on the radio in the background, she could dismiss it all as a dream.

"I'm not ready to die," she said quietly.

"Are we ever?" her stepfather replied. "The end of an era. Perhaps your mother was right. Too right."

"Don't talk about Mamá like that!" she snapped, then instantly regretted her words. "I'm sorry. I…"

He shook his head again. "I understand. I am sorry." He favored her with another quick glance, a smile. "You know, Sylvia…"

"I see something," she said breathlessly, breaking her hold on the desk to run to the window and look. "Look! Look!"

Through the black sky, through the starless night, something was falling, something huge and reddish on the edges, with blue smoke and flashes of white trailing from its edges. She strained upwards, trying to catch a better glimpse, fascinated and nauseated all at once, and for the first time she saw the moon, washed a sickly pale yellow, pulsing faintly as if it were pumping out its last few heartbeats. Perhaps it was.

"It's falling through the atmosphere now!" the panicked announcer shrieked. "It's moving towards Europe…Spain! It's on a collision course with Spain! The mobile suits are withdrawing from its trajectory…oh! Too close! One of the Federation mobile suits has smashed into Libra's side! OH! The Eypon Gundam has gone inside…followed by one of the other Gundams! Can it be? Yes! Wing Zero has followed Eypon inside! Battle to the death!"

Sylvia looked up at her stepfather, who had moved from his chair to join her at the window, and saw the certainty mirrored in his eyes.

"You know," she said, "I always thought I would die alone."

"Serious thoughts for a thirteen-year-old girl," he said, squeezing her shoulder slightly.

"The Peacemillion is moving away from the Libra now, but it might be too late for it to pull out of its gravity field! Oh…there's a Gundam. Two! Three! Four! The Gundams were inside Libra! They're trying to escape also! Will they make it? No sign of Zero or Eypon! They're trapped!"

She could smell burning now in her nostrils, and she knew he smelled it too. His fingers tightened on her shoulder slightly. "I may be thirteen," she said, "but I've had things taught to me that some old women will never understand."

"You had a good teacher then."

She smiled up at him. "Thank you, Papá."

His brow furrowed as he gazed down at her. "You've never called me that before."

She watched the giant red meteor plunge ever-so-slowly, almost sluggishly, towards the earth, and as she opened her mouth, there was an explosion. Huge, red and billowing, spreading and obscuring the pale moon, and she gripped her stepfather's hand, suddenly afraid. 

"HOLY SHIT!" the announcer exclaimed, apparently deciding that if he was going to die, he might as well put out all the expletives he could find on the table. "LIBRA HAS EXPLODED! REPEAT, THE LIBRA HAS EXPLODED! MILLIARD PEACECRAFT AND WING ZERO WERE INSIDE! DID THEY MAKE IT?"

Sylvia drew a deep shuddering breath, unable to tear her eyes away from the blossoming cloud of smoke and fire on the horizon. "Are we safe, Papa? Did he…?"

"OH NO! A PART OF THE LIBRA IS STILL FALLING! WHO CAN SAVE US NOW? WHO CAN-"

The announcer's voice was suddenly cut off and a calmer voice came on after a few seconds. "Attention. The Libra's fall to earth has been checked, but a smaller piece escaped the explosion and is still falling. We urge all who live in Spain, Portugal, France, Great Britain, and anywhere on the Mediterranean to evacuate if you are able. We estimate that the falling part of Libra will land approximately somewhere on the border of Spain and France. Escape to the colonies might be your only option. If you reside elsewhere in the world, make plans to evacuate to a colony as soon as possible."

"The colonies," he murmured. "Can they really save us now? After all that has happened?"

"We're not leaving," Sylvia said.

He gave her a hard smile. "No. Where would we go? The colonies are in chaos. By the time we get off the ground, the Libra will have hit. We have not room to fit all the servants on board the shuttle, and I will not leave them here to die."

"So this is the end," she murmured. "I'm not afraid, Papá."

"You've never called me that before," he said again.

She was silent, trying to find the right words. "Is it all right," she said finally, "if I call you that before we die?"

"I would like that very much," he said softly, and his arms tightened around her shoulders. 

"I thought…well, you never asked. I thought you didn't want a daughter."

"I thought you didn't need a father," he returned, sounding faintly amused, and she laughed, then froze.

"Papá…look!"

Through the cloud of smoke, something was falling - the part of the Libra that had broken free from the explosion and continued its descent. It burned with a brighter fire than the large ship had before, sparking white and gold at the edges, and she watched in horror as it fell, much more swiftly than she could have imagined. The burning smell was acute now, and she wondered how hot the ship actually was to be able to singe the air all the way to Valencia. The smoke was visible in the night sky, roiling plumes of it, spreading outward in faint gray and white streaks from the place where the Libra had exploded.

"I suppose this is the end," he said.

"I suppose so," she murmured back.

There was something molten white at the tip of the falling star, something that seemed out of place but she couldn't figure out why it seemed so. The radio was silent now, and the crackle of static seemed fitting music for a fiery end, though she didn't know if the static was from the silent airwaves or from the magnetism in the air disrupting the signal. The hair on the back of her neck was standing on end, and her whole body tingled. 

"That's no falling meteorite," her stepfather said suddenly. "Look. It's moving ahead of it. Too quickly. It's not part of the ship."

"What?" she said, then realized he was indicating the brilliant white object falling through the sky. "It's not? Then what-"

"It's a Gundam."

"A _Gundam_?"

"There were two Gundams inside the Libra when it exploded," her stepfather said calmly. "Epyon is a black Gundam."

"Wing Zero…" she breathed. _Heero Yuy_…

The flowers on her grandfather's grave.

_The one who killed General Noventa... was me. It was a mistake. I killed General Noventa and a great many people who wished for peace…I can't atone for my sins. I hope this gun calms the souls of those I killed and the anger of their families._

War is just killing people! Why do you think that war is a beautiful thing?

I can't change my way of living.

She hadn't understood Heero's answer at the time, but now she thought she did. Now, she saw the horrible truth he had been living all this time, a knowledge that he could never change himself, that war would always be a part of him, and the knowledge of the need for his own destruction before the world could begin anew.

_You're just a coward! You're making me kill you so you can be free from your guilt!_

Heero Yuy was in that Gundam ahead of the falling Libra, trying to stop it. Trying again to kill himself so the world could be saved.

_Coward! Coward!_

"Coward," she muttered angrily to the falling star. "You coward!"

"Sylvia?" the bewildered voice of her stepfather said, and she burst into tears, flinging herself against him and burying her face in his coat.

"I can't watch!" she cried. "I can't…I can't watch…"

She felt his comforting hands on her hair and that made her cry harder, not wanting to watch as the falling ship overwhelmed the Gundam, not wanting to watch as Heero Yuy finally met the death he'd been searching for and that she had refused to give him.

Because it hadn't mattered in the end, and what she'd done had been in vain.

"Sylvia?"

"No…" she whispered. "No."

"Sylvia, look!" His voice was incredulous. "Look!" And he twisted her around so she was facing the window, looking through her tears.

A beautiful, blinding column of light was streaming from the white figure, piercing the clouds, enveloping the falling star in light, and she shielded her eyes as it prismed through the wetness in her eyes. The sky seemed to shudder, pulsing like the moon had been pulsing as Libra fell through the atmosphere, and then something shattered, and the fragment of starship exploded.

It wasn't a slow, roiling explosion like before, but this was sharp, stinging, like breaking glass erupting and falling through the sky like deadly shards of flowers, more beautiful than any fireworks she'd ever seen in her life. She felt her stepfather's hand gripping hers, and the white light filling the sky, and through it all something twinkled, rising higher and faster through the sky, returning to the blackness of space.

"Heero…" she whispered. "Heero, you…"

"It's over." Her stepfather sounded awestruck. "He did it. It's…over. We're saved."

_Heero. You saved us._

She felt herself crying again, but smiling at the same time, and with a very unladylike shriek, she wrapped her arms around his neck and laughed and cried from happiness.

He was slower to remove her this time, but at last when he did so, she saw that he was smiling. "Sylvia," he said again. "Look."

She turned to look out the window once more, and saw that the sky was streaked with stars, millions of glowing white meteors, all falling gracefully to the earth in a shower of light. She took his hand, holding it like a little girl would hold the hand of a father who has taken her outside to show her the wonders of the night sky for the first time.

"Look, Papa," she said softly. "The stars have come out."

  


* * *

  
**Scene VI: Full Circle to the Empire's Throne**

  


_"Carry on my wayward son.  
There'll be peace when you are done."  
-- Kansas, Carry on My Wayward Son_

  
As Quatre stared at the leather office chair in front of him, the only thing he could think of was that he had come full circle. An ironic smile twisted his lips, but he couldn't make himself take that final step and take the seat.

"Mr. Winner?" A soft voice said.

He turned around, trying not to wince as his half-healed stab wound pulled a bit. His guileless blue eyes focused on the man in front of him, and he forced a smile to his face, knowing that the man cheerfully would see him dead. It was a horrible thing, spending time around someone who disliked you so much, and for reasons which weren't true.

"Yes, Bartlett?" he asked, his own voice polite and melodic. He sounded so young to his own ears; he wondered how he sounded to others. Would he ever be able to command respect, with his quiet ways? His fierce nature on the battlefield had earned him that of the Maguanacs, but he had left them. Now Quatre had another world to face, and it was one he feared even more.

"The changeover is complete," Bartlett murmured to him. Neutral blue eyes so pale that they seemed almost colorless watched the teenager that stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, apparently unsure of which way to go. 

"That's good," Quatre said. He sighed a bit, knowing that it was amazing that his lawyers had managed to get all the legal paperwork squared away to give him complete control over his family's business in less than a week, especially considering how complicated some of those legalities were. "I guess I should get to work, then..."

"It wouldn't be a bad idea," Bartlett said, his voice still level and without emotion.

Quatre ran a hand through hair that had recently been trimmed. The style was just a bit too long to be fashionable, but his fine hair needed the length, according to his image consultant. He wasn't to concern himself with current style, because he was the Winner now. He would be the one setting the styles. The thought gave him the chills. He was powerful, and not just financially. He would set cultural, moral and societal goals for the rest of his life, and it wasn't because he had earned it. It was by accident of birth, and he dreaded having to take his place as the new ruler of the Winner Empire. He was the prince of the colonies, in everything but title.

Still he remained in the middle of the room, unwilling to take the seat his father had held for so long. This had been his father's main base on L4, and Quatre had yet to order it cleaned out. The desk still contained all of Raberba Winner's personal belongings, and his son feared what he would find in its drawers.

"Mr. Winner?" Again Bartlett's voice came, challenging him by its very lack of expression.

Quatre took a deep, calming breath. The man had been his father's personal aide, and perhaps one of his father's closest confidants. He knew the ins and outs of the Winner Group better than almost anyone, and he would be an invaluable asset... If Quatre could win him over. It was a very big if. "I'm going. It's just... Hard. I hadn't expected to become the head of the corporation so young." He forced his feet to move, and after taking the first step towards that imposing chair, the others followed more easily.

"None of us expected him to die," Bartlett said. "He was a great man, and he could have done much to lead this new era."

The blonde heard the unspoken accusation, the implication that he was not his father's son, that he would falter and fail. He had run away from home when he was thirteen, and then run away again a year and a half later to join the war, though Bartlett didn't know that. As far as Bartlett and most of the world knew, Quatre had been rebelling against his father. The brief moments he had been home during the war had been right before Raberba's death, and then Quatre hadn't mourned him properly, according to many. It was a major PR scandal. 

Quatre preferred that others thought of him that way. He didn't want them to know the truth; it would make life so much more difficult. He had fought for what he believed in, put his life on the life. He wasn't ashamed of that, but now that peace had come, it was time for him and his fellow soldiers to integrate back into society. A pilot would never be welcome, should his identity be known.

"He's the past, though, Bartlett," Quatre whispered. He looked over to the chair hesitantly, then walked around the heavy crystal and mahogany desk, an imported luxury that cost more than it cost to feed the average colonial family for a year. Quatre remembered when the Sheik of Arabia had given it to his father in gratitude for expediting some business deal or other. His father had loved it, saying that it was too extravagant, but sometimes extravagance could be excused for the sake of beauty. He ran his hand along the top of the desk as he continued his journey to the take his father's place. "It's those who survive, you and I, who have to carry on his legacy... Inadequate though we may be."

The chair behind the desk made for power, in stark contrast to the opulence before it. It had a high back and was made of leather, and was imposing. It would be comfortable, but something about it drew the eye and commanded respect. It was subtle, but those small gestures were the power plays that his father had taught him to understand and take advantage of. When he had been little, he had sat in it once, picturing what it would be like to command the massive business empire.

He'd never dreamed it happen so soon - or so tragically. He'd never wanted it. If his life had been his own to choose, he would have chosen music. He loved that, not the shady world of business where friends were built by fiscal value, and enemies hid themselves behind smiles. 

Still, he needed to take his place. Steeling himself, he sat, feeling the broken in leather of his father's. When he sat back, he laughed a bit as his feet dangled about an inch off the floor. 

It was so symbolic. He had so much growing left to do.

"I'll have someone adjust that for you, sir," Bartlett volunteered. 

Quatre rested his hands on the chair. He stared down at his feet, reminded of his petite stature. All of the pilots had been on the small side, but when they had parted company, Trowa had been well into a growth spurt, Duo had gained a couple of inches on him, and Heero and Wufei also had been at least two inches taller than he was, even considering their Asian heritage. It seemed he was doomed to always be the smallest one around, and always underestimated because of it. "No. Leave it... I need to remember that I have a long way to go," Quatre stated, making up his mind. 

For the first time, a hint of emotion sparked in Bartlett's eyes. Approval? Quatre wondered. He hoped so. He really wanted to win acceptance from the older man. "I'll see about getting a footrest brought it. It's not good for your circulation to leave your feet unsupported."

He gave a shy smile, the one so many people found so enchanting. "Thanks. I'd appreciate it."

"There's some rather urgent business you need to address. The soldiers who are coming back from the war have started to apply for positions in the Winner Group," Bartlett said.

Quatre tilted his head. "Is there a problem with that?" he asked curiously.

"They would disrupt employee moral. Our company has always supported pacifism, and many of our employees chose to work for us because of that. If we start hiring ex-soldiers, we're going to create disharmony."

"It will. But are they qualified?"

"Sometimes," Bartlett admitted grudgingly.

Quatre leaned back, and looked at his father's desk. It was spotless, for Raberba had always cleared all his paperwork at the end of each business day. The only thing on it was a picture of Reeshya, his youngest daughter. Reeshya was the only one of his children who had always stayed with him, and he had loved her best for it. Her delicate features were as Arabic as his were not; sometimes he wondered if that was part of what had been wrong with him. She would not approve of hiring former soldiers, either.

"If they're the best people for the job, we should hire them," Quatre replied. He shifted a bit, knowing he was about to declare war on everything Bartlett stood for.

"Your father would not approve."

"I am not my father..." Quatre said firmly. "I make up my own mind. And... I think he would understand." He wished fervently that he could be sure he was speaking the truth. "The war is over; it's time to help bring about peace, and by isolating those who fought, we're merely perpetuating that vicious cycle. A soldier needs to learn what peace is... And to do so, he must be taught." 

"There... May be some truth to that," Bartlett admitted reluctantly.

"What does a soldier become, after the war is done?" Quatre asked. "He becomes a son, a husband, a father again..." Quatre said, and he rose to his feet, having to take an awkward step to bridge the gap the too-large chair gave him. "We need to remind people of that. By discriminating in our hiring practices, we remind people of the differences between us. It's time to remind people that we all are inherently the same."

Bartlett watched as the teenager walked over to the window that overlooked the Earth. The view was breathtaking, but Quatre wasn't looking at it. Instead, his eyes were searching for the debris that it would take generations to completely sweep clean. "There's so much hatred between people. There's so much we don't understand... And we never try. I don't want to become rigid. I don't want people to look at me and see only my last name, but they will. I don't want..."

"What do you want?" Bartlett asked.

"I wanted the peace we have. I wanted to be someone who stood up for what he believed in. And I did that - and it cost me my father. I'll never be able to make my peace with him, Bartlett."

The aide leaned forward. "Make your peace by being what he wanted you to be. If you take his legacy to you, then you'll make him proud."

"I can't." Quatre pressed his hand against the thick glass, as though he could touch the stars he had once flown through. "He wanted me to be strong and stand up for my beliefs, but he wanted me to believe the same thing he did. I don't... So how do I reconcile those two messages?"

Bartlett was silent. "Your father knew what was best. He... We'll never see his like again."

"No. But there's more than one of thinking, and more than one truth." Again the stars beckoned to Quatre, and he forced himself to turn away, knowing that he was about to forever abandon the dreams they represented to take on a more practical role, the one that had been laid out for his entire life. "I think we should hire some specialists, see about creating some classes for reintegrating soldiers. Maybe... That can be one of the things the Winner Group can do towards creating the peace."

Bartlett pulled out a notebook from seemingly nowhere and started to take notes. "And counselors? I think one of your sisters has a psychological degree..."

Quatre nodded. "Probably. One of my sisters does everything. If Bashira is willing to sign on as a consultant, that would be wonderful."

"She will. She knows her family loyalties." Unspoken was the implication that Quatre did not.

"I-" Quatre began, but whether it was to defend himself or agree, he'd never know, for the door opened, and one of his sisters, perhaps one of the most important, walked in. Her silver bracelets chimed like bells as she moved into the room, her swaying footsteps oddly hypnotic. "Jaffa..." he whispered.

Bartlett bowed to the woman with genuine respect in his eyes. "It's been a while, ma'am," he said. 

Quatre had the impression she smiled, but there was no way to be sure. She was wearing a face veil, which did a masterful job of concealing what she was thinking. Jaffa's veils were usually opaque, but today she had worn one made of black silk. Without extending his _uchuu no kokoro_, he would have no hint of her emotional state; if he did, she would know. He wasn't the only sibling who had that special ability to feel what others did, and they always knew when someone else was "listening in."

"I've been putting out the family fires, and Saffir just had another child. I had to be there, of course," she was saying to Bartlett as Quatre's thoughts wandered.

Quatre watched his sister, wondering how she managed. Jaffa wasn't the smartest, prettiest, oldest or most talented. She simply was Jaffa, and that was enough. All of the family respected her, and he wondered if she realized that she was the one link that held them together, now that their father was dead. "It's been a while, neesan," he said, using the Japanese phrase. The colonies had been Japanese to begin with, and all colonists, even the stubbornly Arabic Winners, had found Japanese culture encroaching on their own.

She nodded, and her dark gaze slid to Bartlett. "If you would excuse us?" she asked. "It's been far too long since I've talked to my younger brother."

Bartlett gave her a slight smile. "Anything for you," he told her, and the sincerity in his voice couldn't be manufactured. From the way his eyes flickered over Quatre, if was clear that he was anticipating Jaffa chewing him out, ever so politely. Jaffa was known for dragging her siblings back into line, and making them come back into the family fold. He'd delight in any embarrassment Quatre would suffer at her hands.

The two siblings watched as the older man left. "He doesn't like me," Quatre murmured. "And I don't know how to fix it."

"I don't know that you can," Jaffa informed him. "He has reason not to like you. You didn't even stay for father's funeral."

"I wasn't well enough." It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her of Zero, of his nightmarish rampage against the colonies he had sworn to protect, but he held back. She wouldn't understand. Jaffa was a very black and white person, and he had crossed the line then, and become a serious shade of gray.

She pulled back the veil from her face, something she only did when she was alone with family. It wasn't out of modesty that she wore it, Quatre knew. She wore it as a banner of her personality, a sign that she was tied tightly to her heritage. "Quatre... Let us have no secrets," she said. "Not even father could keep his sorrow a secret from me." She walked closer to him, and her eyes ran over him. "You're beautiful," she murmured. "You look very like your mother."

Quatre turned his eyes away, not wanting to think of the genetic manipulation that had resulting in his creation. "Boys aren't beautiful," he said instead.

Jaffa laughed, a melodic sound that echoed through the room. "Usually not. But how does one define beauty? Physically?" she said, and she touched his alabaster cheek, so different from the deep mocha of her own skin. "Mentally? Spiritually? Or through the heart?" she asked, and then she reached out and wrapped her arms around him.

It was the first time anyone had hugged him since Iria had died. He stiffened, then his hands almost automatically crept up Jaffa's back before he buried his face in the nape of her neck, wanting to hide away there forever. The herbal shampoo she used smelled the same as it had since his childhood, when she had been there to solve life's problems. Now he was tall enough to look her in the eye, and he could see the fine lines of age starting to form on her face. He clung to her, knowing that in a few moments, he would have to be strong again.

"It's been hard for you, hasn't it?" Jaffa asked. "You made some difficult choices, and I must admit I don't understand them. But you've grown beautiful for it, and are definitely worthy of being father's heir," she pronounced, pushing away slightly so she could talk to him more easily. "The strength in you is amazing. I feel it, an I know that you shine with a light that must blinds lesser men."

"I don't want to be here, Jaffa," he confessed. "I didn't want this. I never made my peace with father, and now I'm supposed to be his successor? I tried to make them take Naadira, but... Only the son. Even an unworthy son like myself."

She seemed thoughtful, and Quatre waited with bated breath for what she was going to say. "It was inevitable for the two of you to fight. You were too strong to be father's heir, and he was too strong not to try to control you," she told him after a moment. And that... Is just the way it is."

"I don't have to accept it."

She raised her hand to his face, and the bracelets chimed again. "Yes... You do. You've been a warrior, but the next lesson in your life is learning how to accept. We all have to do things we don't want to." She pushed him back, until he found himself sitting in the chair that had so terrified him. "This is your seat, because no one else knows what you do. No one else is as brilliant as you are; you are the best of us, Quatre. We need you to lead us."

  


* * *

  
**Scene VII: Ballade Pour Adeline, Part I**

  


_"I walked a thousand miles just to slip this skin."  
--Bruce Springsteen, The Streets of Philadelphia_

  
He went home after the war.

It was odd, because Trowa Barton had never considered L3 home, not even during the first fifteen years of his life before the war, when he had been as deeply rooted to the place as he ever could have been. But now there was some special mystery to the streets of the colony that hadn't been there before - something that made them seem different to his eyes. Maybe it was that he'd grown older, or maybe it was just that he wasn't the same person that he had been when he had left this place a year ago.

He should have gone back to Earth, he knew. Back to the circus and back to Catherine. She'd adopted him as her little brother, and he knew that he had left her hanging at the end. She probably didn't even know if he was still alive. By all rights, he should go back. Back to her, to the Ringmaster…everyone who had been so kind to him.

But he couldn't.

He didn't know exactly why, Trowa mused, as he turned his shuttle towards the dully gleaming shell of the colony bubble in the distance, still not quite used to the peaceful silence of space, undisturbed by mobile dolls or flashes of guns. It wasn't that Catherine hadn't been kind to him - far from it. She'd been the kindest person he'd ever known, possibly with the exception of Quatre, and he would have loved to repay that kindness in any way he could. But maybe that was it. Maybe he knew that he couldn't repay her, and so he was running away.

It was odd, really, that his life had gathered into just a big amalgam of running away from everything, and even though the war was over and he was supposed to be more mature than he had been, he couldn't change that.

She'd lost her brother years ago, and she had thought she'd finally found him again. For a while, he had tried to be that brother. But it was time to face the reality of his own life. He wasn't her brother. Not anymore.

The tracking signal on the console flashed, and he realized, first of all, that he was being hailed by the colony control point entry police, and that second of all, he had forgotten to broadcast his radio signal. He flipped the switch at the same time the comm crackled at him.

"Unidentified shuttle, state your name and business."

"Trowa Barton," he replied calmly. "Former soldier, returning from the war."

He didn't know how they'd react to that, but the reply came almost instantly. "Stay on your present course. Follow the beacons to docking station A6938. Personnel will direct you from there."

So apparently there had been a steady flow of soldiers returning home from the battle, and his entry wasn't going to be suspicious. He realized belatedly that he hadn't had any kind of plan if they'd planned to arrest him. Not that he ever did - he usually moved on gut instinct and if he happened to be caught - well, tough luck.

The beacons led him to a fairly well kept docking station which looked like it had once been a quiet place for civilian shuttles to land. Now, however, it was a madhouse, with shuttles and transports crammed tightly side-by-side, and as he climbed out of the cockpit and slung his bag over his shoulder, Trowa wondered if it had been worth the effort to try and secure legal entry to the colony. There seemed to be several terminals with uniformed guards stationed at each, barking orders in harsh, raised voices. The people streaming through the terminals were mostly around the same age as Trowa himself, young men and women with haggard faces and tired eyes.

All soldiers, all coming home.

Coming home to what?

Trowa's ID had been handcrafted by Noin herself, yesterday aboard the Peacemillion, and she'd announced that it would survive anything the police tried to throw at it. He'd only told her, Quatre, and Une that he was going back to L3. Noin because he needed her help to make the ID for him. And Une and Quatre because…it would have been wrong to leave without saying goodbye.

He hadn't told Duo where he was going. It was better that way. He didn't think that Duo, if he had left before Trowa had, would have told him either. Heero and Wufei hadn't, disappearing into thin air in the middle of the night. Part of it amused him and part of it disturbed him, though he did not know why.

The lines were long, but he passed the last guard station without a problem and exited the hangar through the swinging double doors, wondering if public transportation was still running. The part of the colony he needed to get to was at least an hour away by fast transit, and he didn't quite feel like walking.

Luckily, the rail lines seemed to be still running, though the stations looked older and dirtier than he'd remembered them. There weren't too many people around and the fluorescent lights shone eerily on the nearly deserted platform. Before the war, the trains had been crowded.

He took the train to the far side of L3, dozing lightly in the empty train compartment as it creaked along the rails that had once offered an almost soundless ride. The sight outside the windows, when he felt like looking, was dismal. Everything was a foggy gray, and even the pedestrians he saw hurrying along the street wore dark colors, as if they were all in mourning for something. If he had cared, he would have been depressed, but Trowa had never been one to be depressed about much. Life happened and war happened, and if you were killed, then you were killed, and if you weren't, life went on. It was how things had always worked, and how things would work still after he was dead.

He thought of Catherine, waiting alone for him and staring at the sky every night, hoping for her "brother" to come home, and felt vaguely sad. It wasn't her fault that she'd grown so attached to him, he thought, cupping his chin in his hands and staring at the large, garish advertisement pasted atop the wall opposite him. One of its corners was peeling. "SAVOREUX!" it gushed in faded block letters, showing a platter of what looked to be some kind of steaming noodles and vegetables, obviously an ad for some restaurant. He had no interest in restaurants. He looked out the window again.

He wasn't Catherine's brother, no matter how hard she wanted him to be. Some things were like that. Some things could never change. His heart clenched for a moment, and he frowned, pushing the thought of her away. It was better for him to leave her like this. This way he wouldn't give her any more false hope. This way, she could move on with her life. Perhaps one day she'd find her real brother, and then they'd both be happy.

He had protected her. It was all he could do for her.

The train whistled and rolled into another deserted station, up to another deserted platform, and he stood up. This was his stop. The train came to a shuddering halt and he exited as the doors hissed open, trotting quietly up the chipping concrete stairs and up to the surface.

It was as gray here as it had been in the central L3 district, but it had always been gray here. He had expected it. He hefted his bag securely onto his shoulder and moved on. He hoped it would not rain.

An ordinary traveler here would not have noticed anything different between the streets he moved through, but then again, ordinary travelers would never venture here, for fear of having their throats cut or being shot through the back. Anyone who was sane enough to value their lives stayed away from the yakuza territory on any colony, but several of the bosses of the largest yakuza rings called this part of L3 home, and it was certain death for anyone who dared to cross a yakuza boss.

For him, Trowa Barton, this was home.

He hadn't told Quatre of his origins, though he was sure the empathic Arabian had guessed. He wasn't particularly proud to be a product of the yakuza system, but then again, Duo had been from the slums of L2, and from what he could gather of Heero's past, the Wing Gundam pilot had been plucked from the dredges of the L1Breaks, so he didn't think any of them would be horribly shocked. But Quatre…he had wanted Quatre to think the best of him. Thinking back on it, he supposed he had been a little foolish, for Quatre was someone who would never judge anyone on something so shallow. But it was too late for that now. Perhaps if they met again someday, he would tell him the truth.

He suppressed a harsh smile. Who was he kidding? There would be no someday.

This was home, and he was home to stay.

He knew there were watchers posted in the apparently empty, crumbling buildings that lined the dirty streets, but he paid them no heed. From the way he moved, he knew they would recognize a kindred spirit. The yakuza of L3 lived in an odd kind of wary peace with one another, and rival gangs respected the members of others, unless that member violated that unspoken law of trust. As long as you were recognized as one of them, they would do you no harm. Of course, the largest of the yakuza gangs, the Dewaya Gumi, was also the most powerful, and it was mostly under their strict thumb that this peace was maintained. Everyone benefited from it, though, so there was little complaining.

As a member of the Dewaya himself, then, there was little he had to fear.

He took the twists and turns of the street maze effortlessly, knowing still by heart the exact location where he was headed. It was almost surreal, coming back like this through the fog that had settled around him, wisping around the corners and curling about his feet. The neighborhood hadn't changed visibly since he had left, but it seemed - how to describe it - faded. Tired and old, just like the rest of the colony.

He turned one last corner, coming up to the huge empty doorway of an abandoned building that looked just like all the rest of the abandoned buildings, but as he descended the rickety steps, something in the back of his mind whispered to him and he knew he was being watched. Not only that, but he had been admitted.

Not that he had expected any less.

Moss grew in the damp cracks of the slimy walls, and something was dripping slowly and steadily, quite near. A leaky pipe? There were always some of those. A single electric light bulb illuminated the passageway that he entered after the stairs, and he made his way carefully but surely along the cold, dank tunnel.

There was an iron door at the end of the tunnel, and he did not attempt to open it, but simply stopped and waited. After a moment, it was drawn open, surprisingly softly and swiftly for a door of such size, and he stepped through. The door closed quietly behind him and he took a deep breath.

_This_ was home.

No one in their wildest dreams could have ever imagined that the inside of this building could be so different from the outside. The room he stood in was small, but with wood-paneled walls and marble flooring. A small chandelier hung from the high ceiling threw light sparkling off the tiles, and a single velvet-covered armchair sat in the left corner, looking very lonely and forlorn.

He quietly let his pack drop from his shoulder but did not move to sit in the chair, instead standing and saying nothing. They knew he was here, and they would make the next move.

He didn't have to wait long. There was a click and the heavy wooden door at the far side of the room swung open. He raised his eyes to the figure standing in the doorway, expecting to see one of the lower-ranking officers or maybe a runner, telling him to enter, but when he saw who it was, he jumped.

"_Oyabun_!"

The boss of the Dewaya Gumi was a little older than Trowa remembered him, and he had grown a little thinner since he had seen him last, but otherwise, he had changed little. He was a short, rather squat Japanese man, with a head of thinning gray hair and spectacles, dressed in a dark brown business suit. Anyone not knowing his true profession would probably have taken him for some sort of scholar, except for the fact that the little finger and the middle finger of his left hand were both missing.

"Welcome back, Trowa," he said. His French was slightly accented, but the accent was pleasant. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed that voice, with its accent and calming tone with a ring of iron underneath that caused legions of Dewaya members to snap to attention instantly at a single word.

Trowa bowed, the traditional Japanese bow that he'd mastered as a young child and had been performing since he could remember. "It's a surprise to see you here," he confessed, picking up his pack as the boss motioned him inside. It was another long corridor, one lined with the same wood paneling as the antechamber, and the air smelled slightly spicy with the fragrance of some exotic incense.

"Who were you expecting?"

"Martin, perhaps. Or Colbert. Have I grown in stature so, that the boss himself would come to meet me at the front entrance?"

The boss laughed, though it was easy to tell he was tired. "You belittle yourself too much. You're a hero, you know, Trowa. The toast of all our young ones. They tell stories about you in the fire room now. I think they even used to bet on you and Heavyarms, back in the early days of the war. That stopped after a while though. I got news of you the moment you stepped off that shuttle in the spaceport, and you've had people dogging you all the way home. I think some of the young ones want your autograph."

Trowa shook his head wearily. "I'm a young one too, oyabun. You seem to have forgotten that."

" 'Young' is merely a matter of perception," the boss replied calmly. The corridor opened into a wide chamber, with three door set into the wall, and both of them turned to the door on the far right, the boss opening it and gesturing for Trowa to enter. "You, in my eyes, are no longer young. You have seen too much."

"Haven't all of us?"

"Some," the boss said, his voice heavy. "Many have not returned from the war. I doubt most of them will."

The office of the boss of the Dewaya was curiously small and unadorned, which was strange for the office of any yakuza boss. Most bosses had huge offices, full of priceless goods that they'd smuggled in from foreign countries, lists on the walls of how many of their rivals they'd killed off, or expensive decorations and furniture. This office had none. The walls were bare and painted a dark blue, and the desk was a simple wooden one, with the only vaguely extravagant thing in the room being the padded office chair that sat behind the desk. There was no computer, no electronics except for the soft glowing lights that lined both sides of the wall. The boss crossed to the chair and sat, while Trowa remained standing.

"Doktor S is dead," Trowa said.

The boss looked up at him through his spectacles. "I know. It's a pity, really. I'd grown used to his company."

Trowa gave him a shadow of a smile. "That's hard to believe. You used to claim you never needed anyone's company."

"Times have changed. So have the Dewaya."

"You mentioned people going off to war. Did many of our runners leave to fight?"

The boss sighed. "More than you know. We lost almost half our numbers just before Operation Nova began. They flocked in droves to sign up…for OZ…I think they'd seen Vayeate on the vidfeeds and they thought that the best way to support us was to support you."

It wasn't surprising that they'd known he was the pilot of the Vayeate. The Dewaya had a way of finding everything out sooner or later. "You shouldn't have let them go," he said.

"What can I do?" the boss maintained, leaning back in his chair and staring at Trowa. "Times were hard, and I had no way to feed them. I threw some of the worst ones out…but I let the rest go. It was the least I could do."

"Why?"

The boss smiled. "You were our hero, remember."

Trowa shook his head. "I was no hero."

"Sit down, Trowa."

Trowa looked around, saw a chair behind him and sat, staring thoughtfully at the wall behind the boss' head. It felt odd, sitting here and talking with the boss like this, though he'd done it for as long as he could remember, at least once a week, up until he had left with Heavyarms for Earth. He didn't remember when he'd come to the Dewaya, but he did remember it had been Doktor S who had taken him in, and he remembered meeting the boss for the first time, about two weeks after he had first arrived.

_Oyabun, meet our newest hero_, Doktor S had said with a trace of faint laughter in his voice. _Trowa Barton._

He had known in some way, even as small as he was, that Doktor S hadn't been joking, but he hadn't realized fully how important his role was to the colonies and to the gumi until he was almost thirteen years old. He'd worked as a drug runner up until then, no different from the rest of the lowest rank of the yakuza, though he'd still go to training with the doctor and meetings with the boss twice a week. Back then, he had thought that everyone met with the boss twice a week. Doktor S had set him straight on that very quickly.

_You are not to tell anyone of what happens at these meetings_, the doctor had warned him. His false nose twitched and he had looked very serious. _If you do, there will be…consequences._

Having been raised in the yakuza and knowing what those consequences were, Trowa did not need a second warning.

It was hard to imagine that Doktor S was dead, that he wasn't still sitting in some corner of the office with his false nose twitching and that secretive smile on his face as Trowa remembered. The boss seemed to know what Trowa was thinking.

"I'm rather sorry that you had to endure all those years with S," he said, breaking the silence. "I know he was a…harsh taskmaster at times. But it was for the best."

Trowa smiled. "I know. I hold nothing against you or him. You both were very kind."

The boss laughed. "I think not. But then again, there is little kindness in the yakuza, so maybe you are right. We were as kind as we should have been."

"Well," Trowa said after a moment. "I'm back."

The boss clasped his hands in front of him. "I was waiting for you. There are a few things we have to discuss…things we probably should have discussed before you went away, I suppose, but there was so little time. Perhaps it would have made your life easier if we'd done so, but there's really no room for regrets."

Trowa nodded. "I understand."

"Well then. You'll understand this too. The organization has grown very small. I mentioned that almost half of us went to fight in the war. Most of those who did so haven't returned, and I don't suspect they ever will. Either they were killed, or they found new lives outside of the system, and for that I don't blame them. It's not for all of us, this life. But in any case, it's best that way. Gambling has lost its popularity these days - it's hard to find houses - and the L1 cartels seem to have been having a heady time with their monopoly of the drug business ever since the war started."

Trowa raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know that."

The boss shrugged. "Business is business. I'm sure the market will fluctuate and we'll regain our ground, but with the post-war economy, it's hard to tell. Right now, there are thousands of former soldiers flocking to the Breaks on L1, looking for a way to sustain themselves because their property was confiscated during the war, or their families were killed. Cartels are easy to join, you know. They're dens of lowlifes, criminals and worse, where everyone wants a piece of the pie and doesn't care how they get it. The yakuza doesn't accept just anyone, and it's hard to get in. Maybe too hard - but we have a history and a structure and a certain sense of propriety, and we're proud of it. It's the way the world works."

"You always say that."

"It's true. Now that we've got it out of the way, the second thing I want to tell you is that you can't stay here."

For a minute the room was perfectly still, and he imagined he could hear the workings of his own brain turning, trying to decipher a second meaning behind the boss' last statement, but there was none. "You can't be serious," he said finally.

"I am serious."

"But…" he stopped. "But…I've come back."

If he hadn't known better, he would have thought there was a sad sort of smile on the boss' face. "Yes. And now you must leave."

"But…_why_?" He was not distraught. Trowa Barton did not get distraught…he simply took life's lessons and moved on. But that thought didn't seem to rationally explain the surge of anger and crushing disappointment he was feeling at that moment. He'd come back to L3 expecting to be welcomed, and now he was being told to leave.

"Because you don't belong here," the boss said simply. "You're no longer part of us…you've experienced the world, Trowa. You've experienced too much. If you stay here, you are merely confining yourself to what could have been."

"But I don't want anything else!" he said angrily. "I've made my choice!"

"Trowa. Calm yourself."

He stood. His bag clattered to the floor. "I don't _want_ anything else," he repeated, more softly this time, but his voice sounded cold to his own ears. His hands shook and he clamped them against the sides of his thighs, balling them into fists. "I don't…I don't _have_ anything else," he finished, defeated. "I have nowhere to go."

"You have your sister."

Trowa's head shot up. "How do you know about her?" he demanded.

"I have ways."

"She's not my sister," he countered. "She calls me her brother, and I accepted it because she needed me. That's all. I have nothing to do with her anymore."

"You miss her, don't you?" the boss said softly. "I can see it in your face."

He closed his eyes. "No." The words rang hollow and false in his own ears, and he imagined her face in front of him. _Trowa, smile! Smile!_ "I don't miss her."

"What if I told you she was your true sister?"

"You have no way of knowing that," he ground out. "I'm an orphan. I was when Doktor S found me."

The boss heaved a sigh. "Trowa, I know this is hard on you. But you need to calm down. You're not naturally an angry person, and while I see how this might be disturbing you…I'd like to think you've learned some self-control in your years with us?"

He remained standing, shaking, and the boss said nothing, watching him. The shaking stopped eventually, and he stared at the wall, trying to clear his mind of all the murderous thoughts that were running through his head right now. The boss was right, the rational part of his brain replied, sounding puzzled. There was no reason to be angry. Fact was fact and truth was truth. He couldn't deny it.

The anger faded, and he bowed deeply.

"I am sorry, oyabun," he said."

The boss didn't answer, but walked over to a smaller table in the corner of the room that he hadn't noticed before. "It's interesting what objects you can pick up on the black market sometimes," he remarked in the offhand way that Trowa had long learned to recognize as the beginning of another one of the boss' lectures. "I found this about two months ago."

Curious in spite of himself, Trowa leaned closer to look at the small object in the center of the table. It was box-shaped, dark green and gilded with thin bands of gold that glimmered in the light. "What is it?"

"It's a music box," the boss replied. "Circa AC 15, very old, very rare and very valuable. And before you ask, yes, it's real gold."

Trowa smiled faintly. "I wouldn't have expected any less." He watched in silence as the boss wound the tiny machine, listening to the clicking noise of the mechanism in the stillness of the room and then the whir as the boss' fingers released the winch and the box began to play.

He hadn't heard a music box in a while - they were rare on L3. Quatre had had one, and he'd spent two hours one day sitting in front of it, winding it and listening to the song play, slow, run out, and stop, then winding it again to begin the cycle. Quatre's music box, though, had played a cheerful tune. This tinkling melody was different - mournful but hopeful at the same time, and very beautifully sad. 

"I don't recognize the music," he said at last, as the song slowed and stopped, the notes petering out to a doleful end. "What is it?"

"It's called _Ballade pour Adeline_. A very famous piece - originally for piano, though of course like anything else famous it's been adapted more times than anyone can count."

"It's very nice," Trowa said thoughtfully, as the boss wound the music box again and let the music play.

"Two Frenchmen named Olivier Toussaint and Paul de Senneville wrote it for de Senneville's daughter. Hence the name. Fitting for a young girl, don't you think?"

"What are you getting at?" Trowa said.

"Patience." The boss waved a hand. "I just wanted you to listen to that before I said anything else. A beautiful piece. We're all looking for our Adelines - people who we can love in that special way, not romantically, but a gentler kind of love. That kind of love, I think, may be even harder to come by than romantic love. In the whirlwind and commercialization of romantic love, that other kind of love loses its import sometimes."

"Maybe you're right," Trowa said warily.

"Some of us eventually find an Adeline," the boss continued as if Trowa hadn't spoken. "Others of us never do. It's up to you to find yours." He fixed Trowa with a sharp glance. "I think you have, but for some reason you won't accept it."

"Catherine's not my sister," he responded evenly. "She's better off without me."

"Don't be so sure."

"What do you mean?" Trowa asked, feeling cold.

"Before Doktor S, there was a man who he bought you from. This man was apparently from Europe, Earth. Poor, dressed in rags, you know the type. He claimed that this child was his and that he had to sadly part with it for its own good. However, as you know, our good Doktor S was never satisfied with just one answer, and he eventually wheedled the story out of the man. He and that child had been part of a circus caravan that had been attacked several days earlier. Most of the caravan died. He got you out alive and had been fleeing from his attackers ever since."

"Most of the caravan?" Trowa echoed. He knew where this was leading, but for some reason he needed to hear the answer out of his boss' mouth. He knew the boss saw that. The boss saw everything, it seemed.

"Most of the caravan," the boss repeated. "There was a girl. Her mother and father were killed in the attack. Her baby brother…was the child the man had taken.

"That child, of course, was you."

Trowa looked the boss straight in the eye, and the other man did not flinch, the dark eyes behind the spectacles holding the truth. He knew it was the truth. The boss had never lied to him.

"I know," he said quietly.

"Then you know why you have to leave."

"I do," he said. "At least, the facts of why. But I don't understand why I can't stay here. Even if Catherine is my sister, she is still better without me. I protected her once because I cared for her, and I helped her while I was there, but she doesn't need me anymore."

"Cared?" The boss' eyes were accusing now. "Helped? I don't think those verbs should be in the past tense, Trowa. You still care for her. You still want to help her. Just because you have been with us all your life doesn't mean that you cannot go back to her. Your life isn't here anymore, Trowa. Your future isn't here. When you took Heavyarms off this colony, you understood that. What's changed?"

"Everything has changed," Trowa replied softly. "The world…the colony…me…I've changed. I can't…I can't face her again. It's impossible."

"She loves you, I'm sure. And I can see that you love her."

"Love?" he resisted the urge to laugh. "You use that word lightly. I don't think it should be bandied around like that."

"I don't bandy words. You've known that for years."

The music box had long run out and the boss crossed to it, rewound it again. _Ballade pour Adeline_ filled the room, and the boss smiled. "Your Adeline. Think about it."

"I don't want to go," Trowa said, aware that he was sounding very selfish and stubborn, but in front of the boss, who had known him since he was a small child, he didn't care.

"I don't want you to go," the boss replied. "You've been a part of my life - a part of us - for far longer than most. You've grown up with us. But this is no longer your home now. Your home is with Catherine. Your sister."

"My Adeline?"

"Your Adeline," the boss repeated. "I know you don't believe me now. But perhaps one day, you'll understand."

"I don't want to go," he said again, noting that everything had gone a bit misty. He scrubbed at his eyes. He was too old to cry. He never cried.

He heard the boss come around the desk and then something small and cold was pressed into his hands. "Here," he heard him say. "Take this."

It was the music box.

"I don't need this," Trowa began, but the boss shook his head.

"Give it to her. Or keep it, as a keepsake. I have a feeling that it will make this a little more bearable."

Trowa said nothing, staring at the small box in his hand. He didn't need to ask if he could come back, to visit perhaps, or just to see old friends. Yakuza who had broken their ties, either voluntarily or involuntarily, did not come back. It didn't matter that they had parted with their gumi and their bosses as friends, and it didn't matter how high they had been in the rank structure. Parting meant death, and dead men did not come back to haunt the houses they had lived in during life. It was strictly against the code.

If he ever did try to come back, he would not leave L3 alive.

"I will take good care of it," he said finally, bending down and putting the box gently in his bag. "Thank you…for all you have ever done." He bowed, and the boss bowed back to him.

"Would like you like someone to show you out?" A mere formality, a last chance to say goodbye. Trowa shook his head.

"No, thank you. I can leave alone." He shouldered his bag and the boss opened the door for him.

"Farewell, Trowa Barton," he murmured softly, and as Trowa stepped out into the room beyond, the door slid shut behind him.

He was alone.

He stood there, hearing the muffled echo of his heartbeat in his ears, waiting for the tears to come again, but curiously, they didn't. The music box was heavy against the small of his back, and on a whim, he reached behind him and took it out, gently cradling it in his palm. It was strangely solid and heavy for such a small thing. He wound it.

As the music began to play, he turned his feet towards the door of the place, letting the notes guide him through the tunnel, up the stairs, into the mists of the streets he had once called home, leading him back to the place from where he had come.

  


* * *

  
**Scene VIII: Eulogy for the Fallen**

  


_"There are two roads to walk down  
And one road to choose."  
-- Dana Glover, Thinking Over_

  
After.

Relena had never thought about after. After had always been some far-off day, when her happily-ever-after was upon her, and the world was bright. She was there, now, but there was no "happily-ever" in front of her after. There was just an after.

After war.

After Heero.

After Treize.

It was odd that she mentally listed Treize last, when she had a moment to reflect, but Treize was the one who really was to blame for the whole mess. He had been the grand manipulator for years, and now he was dead. The war was over and already starting to fade into people's memories after three months of no fighting, and Heero…. Well, Heero wasn't really an "after." Heero was an "until." But Treize…

It was scary to think of him, dead. She had spoken to him on so many occasions, and now he was dead, and she was going to his funeral. Not that she wanted to, really. But Treize's funeral was to be the closure that the world needed to the wars, and she understood, better than most, that this really wasn't about him.

It was about the survivors.

She sat in the back of the limousine as Pargon carefully navigated the full streets, reflecting on how much work needed to be done. Cinq was a ruined country, and the world really had no government or military. It would be so easy for someone to rise to power, promising what the people wanted to hear, sparking wars as they fought for lands… but that wouldn't happen, she vowed to herself, clenching her fists. The people were tired of war, and were finally ready to embrace the pacifism that she offered.

She needed to lead her country, and by leading Cinq, she would show the world that absolute pacifism could work…. That the wars had led to a brighter a future, that the soldiers who had spent their lives hadn't bought a false dream. Today would be the pinnacle event of the new day that was dawning, for today was the day the world would mourn Treize, and all its fallen sons by extension in his person.

Relena glanced down at her perfectly manicured nails. Her beautician had dragged her out of bed at 4 a.m. to make sure her appearance was perfect, and that included replacing her ragged, bitten nails with acrylics that had been filed into an elegant French manicure. She had worn a black dress and her hair had been twisted into an elaborate braid. Aside from a slight touch of lipstick and blush, she wore no make up. It had taken four hours to prepare the perfect look. She hated it, but she knew that this speech would be listened to by anyone who could get at a vid feed.

"Pargon?"

"Yes, Relena-sama?" her most faithful servant responded as he turned into the parking lot that had been reserved for VIPs. The security around them was incredibly tight, but between the codes that had been program into the car itself, and Relena's face, they had been waved through quickly.

"What does it mean, to be a legend?" she asked softly.

The car slid to a stop, but they remained sitting in silence. "I'm not sure I'm the person you should ask, Relena-sama."

"Who can I ask?" she replied, staring out of the privacy glass. "I'm not allowed to have any uncertainties anymore… I'm already a living legend. So I want to know what I'm supposed to be."

Pargon looked at her in the rear view mirror, resting his immaculate white-gloved hands on the steering wheel. "Relena-sama, you merely have to be yourself. Don't worry about living up to expectations. You'll do fine, if you don't worry about what others think of you. Merely be who you are."

She remained motionless. "It's hard being a legend, Pargon. Treize was a legend; that thought goes around and around in my head. And he was killed by his own legend, I think. He got caught up in what others wanted of him, and eventually, he became a martyr, burning out to give the legend a wonderful ending. Few legends end with 'happily ever after.'"

"How do you define a legend, Relena-sama?" He asked her. "A legend is simply something we create in our own minds - it's something that the human being controls. So you need to control your own legend. Treize is dead, and today will end his legend. It will grow in the telling, but there will be no new tales to add to it," Pargon told her. "Yours is just beginning."

"It's a new day..." she whispered, then gave him a slight, but sincere smile, the first real smile she had used since learning Heero had left. "Thank you, Pargon."

"I live to serve you," he said. He opened his door and got out, and she waited for him to open hers, since she wasn't allowed to open her own doors anymore. Being a queen was annoying, sometimes. _But I am not the Queen of the World anymore_, she thought to herself, and her eyes widened as she realized the possibilities. _I've been living like I was expecting to regain that throne, but it's not going to happen... not with this new World Nation forming._

Relena got out of the limousine, her thoughts still whirling.

The gallery where the funeral was to be held was immense. The world's politicians had vied for the best seats, for every inch of it was being filmed and broadcast. Relena had been chosen to deliver the eulogy, though she didn't understand why. Treize had unseated her as the Queen of the World - surely it had occurred to someone that she might hold the man in some resentment?

Still, this was a media circus. She walked into the Geneva Audience Hall, the largest auditorium in Geneva. They had wanted to hold it in Notre Dame, in Paris, because Treize had been French and loved that city, but the logistics had been too much to manage. The politicians were all in Geneva, so the services had to be there. Tomorrow, on January 1, the new World Nation Charter would be signed into effect, along with the Charter for the Preventers, a world-wide military and police organization designed to protect the peace. Today was the last day of the old year, and was to lay the turmoil of the past months to rest with it.

A new beginning for a new year, Relena thought. She looked out over the crowd, wondering where Une was. More than anything, it was Treize's lady who should have delivered his eulogy, not a politician. Une was the one who knew him as a person, not as a the icon people were already shaping his memory into.

Around her, cameras flashed and she heard the hum of the news networks recorders and the babble of reporters. She didn't smile for them, or wave, and when one of the reporters shoved a microphone in her face, she gently pushed it aside. "Today is for mourning," she said softly. "You'll hear everything you need in my eulogy."

Pargon appeared at her elbow, and helped her through the crowd. "Nicely done, Relena-sama," he said approvingly.

"Don't they have an ounce of sensitivity?" she demanded. "This is a memorial service for someone who died."

"You know as well as I do that's not the truth," a voice said, and Relena turned around, embarrassed she'd been overhead. Her eyes widened as she recognized Lady Une, dressed in a blue suit, wearing a red rose on her lapel. "It's a staged event to gain support for the World Nation."

"Lady Une," Relena said, and she went over and embraced the older woman, much to both of their surprise. They had come a long way from the assassination of Vice Minister Darlian. "How are you holding up?" she asked.

"I'm fine," the older woman assured her, pushing back and holding onto her shoulders. "A bit tired from all of the work I've been putting in, but I'm never happy unless I'm working full-throttle."

"Are you..." Relena began, feeling the need to press. The woman was wearing heavy make-up, obviously concealing circles under her eyes. Une's suit was a bit loose, and Relena was willing to wager that she'd lost five pounds in the week since Treize had died.

Une gave her a gentle smile. "I knew he wouldn't outlive this war, as much as I wanted to believe he would. Somewhere inside of me, I knew he was a shooting star, brilliant and beautiful, but... they burn out when they hit the atmosphere of this real world. He was into astronomy, you know? Occasionally he'd take a night off and go to the nearest planetarium and talk to the astronomers there. He was always up to date with the latest asteroid and meteor finds, and actually paid to have a star named after me for my eighteenth birthday."

Relena was fascinated. She hadn't known anything of Treize's personal life. "I didn't know…"

"He loved it. Many of pilots do, wanting to know more and more about the stars they fly among," Une explained.

"I wish I had known him better," Relena said sincerely. "He was a great friend to my brother, and he sounds like a wonderful man..." _How many people would think to pay to have a star named after a friend?_ she wondered. _It's a gift that really would last forever…_

Une looked out over the audience, and her eyes shone with unshed tears. "He was the best." 

"You should be the one giving the eulogy," Relena said. "You would be able to make him real to these people...All I'm going to be able to do is babble propaganda."

Une looked at Relena, then reached out and straightened the queen's collar with tenderness. "That's why you're giving it. Treize isn't supposed to be human anymore... it's part of the reason he died. He died to end the era of soldiers and war, but also to give people a new icon, a icon to look up to for this age."

"What? I..."

"We need leaders desperately, but we also need heroes and dreams. Treize hated war, more than any of us. And he died to help you end it, Relena. He became your opposite, and your knights defeated him. You won, Relena, and now the road stretches before you..." Une told her. "It's not Treize's world anymore; we are his heirs, and you are his successor, more than anyone, with the exception of the pilots. But the pilots are gone, scattered to the winds... so you must carry on where he left off."

Relena shivered at the enormity of the task Une had just entrusted her with. It was one thing to have dreams for Cinq, but to carry on for Treize, and by extension all those who had fallen before him... "I-"

"Une? We should get to our seats - the funeral is about to start," a man said, coming up to them.

Une looked at the older man and placed her hand on his arm to guide him closer. "Relena, have you met General Brown?"

"No," she said, extending her hand, which he took in a firm clasp that exuded confidence. "It's a pleasure.

"Same. So this is the Queen of the World," he mused.

She blushed. The way he said it made it sound like he was dissecting her life. "I don't hold that title anymore," she corrected politely.

"Even when a kingdom is destroyed, the titles still exist," the older man corrected. His sharp gray eyes scanned her, and his voice seemed to proclaim only the truth.

"Michael helped me draft the charter for the Preventers," Une said, interrupted the exchange smoothly. 

"I'm going to be in charge of our intelligence branch," he said. "Une wanted me to become the second in command, but I don't like the main command branch."

"Military intelligence is a joke," Une bantered back, and Relena could see that this was apparently a running joke from the way Brown groaned.

"Do you have officers selected?" Relena asked curiously. She hadn't really given the Preventers any thought, aside from being relieved that it would give the old soldiers something constructive to do. A world peace force was needed; not even the most pacifistic politician could deny that.

They exchanged glances. "We have ideas. We officially become operational on the second, so that's when we start hiring," Brown said. "And Une? We really do need to take our seats or one of those media vultures will steal them..."

Une smiled. "I'm coming. Relena... it's been nice talking to you."

"Agreed. Call me sometime, and we'll go out to lunch... as friends. I have too few friends left now," Relena said wistfully, thinking of all her political enemies and the way everyone else had been scattered by the war. Had it really been less than a year ago that the most desperate desire of her heart had been to get Heero to come to her party?

The older woman nodded her agreement, and let Brown lead her away.

She took her seat in the front row beside the Emperor of Japan and Australia's Prime Minister, waiting for things to begin. Relena knew that the service was going to be long, dull, and ecumenical, even though Treize's family was Catholic. It was so staged it made her teeth grind at the thought of the show. She only hoped that Une would be able to maintain her attitude through it. She wondered if Dorothy was there, or still on the Peacemillion. Dorothy was Treize's cousin, and she would have been wonderful to see as well - but then she was also in hot water for having sided with White Fang in the end. Relena wished her brother was there. There would be no services for Milliard Peacecraft, even though he, too, had burned out spectacularly in that final battle.

So many had died. She remembered all the young soldiers she had seen, and wondered which ones had survived. She wondered how the others were doing, and where Heero was. She... she got caught up in her reverie, and mourned all those who had died in the battles. 

After the first five different priests had invoked the blessings of their faiths, Relena rose to deliver the eulogy. There had been much debate over who was to speak, and many people had offered her carefully scripted eulogies with hidden agenda after she had been the one selected. Still, she had politely refused them all, saying she would find the words herself. A eulogy had to come from the heart, she had told them with sincerity.

Still, it was hard to force herself to rise to her feet at that moment. She had memorized a speech, of course, but now it seemed paltry and disrespectful. It was about the world joining together in the wake of Treize's death, and using his example to lead them… and all sorts of political gibberish. She sighed, looked over to where Une sat three rows back, and made up her mind.

Treize had been the founder of this new age, but people needed to know he was human. They needed to connect to him… She went to the podium, staring at the twenty microphones that ran from it. All of the news networks were waiting for what she would say. As she stepped up onto the riser that had been placed for her to use, she leaned forward slightly, placing her hands in plain view. Her father had taught her that. _Always show your hands… it shows your honesty. Only gesture when you have an important point to make._

She stared out over the crowd, and then over the flowers and pictures that were on the stage beside her before taking a quiet breath to gather her thoughts. "Treize loved the stars," she said. "He was an amateur astronomer, and I'm sure he perfected it to the level of being close to earning a degree in it, but it was because he loved the stars," she said, speaking clearly, but quietly. The microphone amplified her voice, but there was an intensity to it that she had been lacking for the last week.

Relena glanced out over the audience, and saw Une's eyes sparkling before she looked over at the politicians. "He was a politician, too. He played the political game with the best of them, and before he died, he was the winner. He was a family member… he was a friend. But above all, he was a leader, taking us into the new age.

"Treize loved soldiers," she continued. "That's why he hated mobile dolls. He loved the soldiers for what they represented to him: honor, courage, loyalty, discipline. But I think he loved them so much that he wanted to lay their destiny to rest, at last." Relena studied the soldiers who had been invited to the carefully choreographed event. She knew that she would be upsetting some of them, but she hoped that her words would bring them a sense of peace. They were supposed to represent their comrades, but Relena wished there was more of them. Treize had really been a soldier at heart, she felt, but there was no way she could say that in front of the cameras. If she had had her way, the whole audience would be filled with the surviving soldiers, and the politicians could stand outside. Treize would have preferred it that way.

"Treize was a soldier himself, and he understood them best. He had the ability to fit into any environment, and put anyone at their ease. Of course, he could make people uncomfortable, too. He'd look you in the eye and challenge you simply by being himself… he did this to me, once, and I'd like to think I've answered his challenge. I will still answer that challenge," she said. 

_Are you listening, Treize Khushrenada?_ she wondered. _Am I doing what you wanted me to do?_

"He wasn't always right, but he was unfailing in his efforts to perfect himself. As we all should be…" she continued. It was a tactful way of saying that Treize had been on the losing side, but phrasing it so he could be viewed as a hero by everyone. No one knew who the pilots were and there were decidedly mixed feelings about them. Right now Relena was really the only one who had come through the war pristine, and she knew many of her colleagues resented her power.

"Trying to define Treize in words is impossible. Treize was complex; he hated war, but he was a soldier; he was a dreamer who could see reality; respected by both his comrades and enemies, he was one of the people who shaped our destiny. He's gone," she stated. She leaned back a little, pausing to let people process that. "Treize Khushrenada has died, died among the stars he loved so well."

_Forgive me, Treize, for using you like this_, she whispered inside her head, sending a silent prayer to the heavens for the well-being of his soul. _But you would understand… I'm merely doing what you would, were our situations reversed. It's time for me to begin the propaganda campaign._

"They say it's better to burn out than to fade away, and it seems that happened to Treize. He was a shooting star, and the world is a poorer place for his loss. Tonight I'm going to watch the sky, and hope that his spirit, his hope, will inspire me to do what is right." She looked at the crowd. "I hope you will all do the same' take a moment to pause tonight, where ever in the world you may be on this New Year's Eve, and reflect on those we have lost in this war. They cannot fight for us anymore, so it is up to us to pick up the torch of their dreams…

"A week ago, there was a danger that the stars would never shine again. Thanks to Treize and others like him, we have a future. For them, and for ourselves, we must make the best possible use of it." Now she raised her hands getting ready to use them to emphasize her point. "Tomorrow we will begin a new year, and let's hope we'll take the lessons we've learned from this horrible one with us. If we learn nothing from the past, then it all was futile… and they all died in vain," she said flatly. "But tomorrow is a new year, and I have a good feeling about it."

Then Relena spoke so softly it was barely above a whisper as she pointed up toward the sky, tilting her head back as she stared at the imagined heavens. "Tonight, though, I'm going to watch the stars, because Treize and the others who died cannot."

  



	3. Treize Khushrenada: Creator of History

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2003 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT ZERO, PART III

_ Daiji na hito no tame ni  
Nagasu namida itami ga  
Sekai o tsuranuki daichi o nurasu  
Kono kanashimi o tometai_

I believe your love  
Akiramenai  
Kizutsuita tsubasa hirogete  
Habataku sora kagiri no nai  
Yume o egaku haruka

The pain of tears shed  
For those held dear  
Pierces the world and drenches the earth  
I want to end this sorrow

I believe your love  
Never give up  
Spread open your wounded wings  
Flying up to the sky, you sketch  
A boundless dream, so far away

--Gundam Wing, _Last Impression_  
[Endless Waltz] 

  
  
**Scene IX: They Say Lucifer was the Lightbringer**

  


_"How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer,  
son of the morning! How art thou cut down to  
the ground which didst weaken the nations!"  
--Isaiah 14:12_

  
Sally Po stood in front of her new office, trying to assimilate her surroundings. She hated to admit it, but she was impressed. It had taken less than six months for them to complete construction on this massive compound which was to house the heart of the Preventers base. 

"What do you think?" Une asked, coming in without waiting for an invitation. She craned her head around as she tried to take in the immense office, studying the attention to detail with a hint of satisfaction lurking around her lips.

"I think that if all my guests come in without knocking that I'm going to have some serious discipline problems." 

Une smiled a bit. "We're still not officially in. The ribbon cutting is tomorrow," she said. "Until then, I can roam around, sticking my nose where I please claiming inspections."

"You're too noisy for your own good," Sally said accusingly.

"Maybe. Maybe not," Une replied. "I get my own way more often than not - if I wasn't the way I am, we'd never have gotten where we were and the politicians would have slapped us with a second-rate budget in make-shift buildings." She sighed as she studied the new desk sitting on the pristine navy carpet. "It was expensive, but our headquarters had to be new, not relics of the war. It's symbolism, but we speak to ourselves and to the world with those symbols."

"It's politics," Sally said with a hint of disgust. She looked down at her new uniform, and although the colors were not so different than what she had worn when she had fought during the war, she felt distinctly uncomfortable in them after six months. 

"Everything in life is politics," Une replied. "Trying to cross the street is about the politics of traffic; you versus the car."

"That's an unpleasant way of thinking," Sally replied sourly, knowing her face had to look like she had just sucked on a lemon. "I would have avoided it if I could have, these politics on this grand-world scale." 

"It chose you, Sally. You're one of the people who is destined to shape the world, and you're going to live up to that potential." 

"We've been over this before, haven't we?" Sally murmured. 

"Yes, when I hired you..." Une murmured.

"You mean conned me," Sally accused. She still blamed Une for the major guilt trip she had laid down on her.

"You did what you thought was right... after all, we're still waiting for the dawn," Une said softly before going over to the curtains to throw them open to let light spill into the room. Sally was pushed into her memories of that day, nearly six months before. She'd arrived back on Earth on January 1. It was an auspicious day, the first day of a new year, and hopefully a new era. An era without war, an era of peace.

As she stepped off of the shuttle onto the ground, she tilted her head back and breathed in the sweet air of the planet she had fought so hard to protect, almost unable to believe that they had won. Together she and her allies had succeeded in freeing the world to face a new destiny.

Why did she feel so empty, though?

The shuttle had, like most of the shuttles that had come off from Peacemillion, landed in Geneva so soldiers could join the celebrations. Sally intended to book a flight out to Beijing as soon as possible, wanting to get back to China as soon as possible. China was her home, and she missed it deeply.

She looked down at her scuffed shoes, wondering what stories they could tell. She hadn't replaced them since she had gone AWOL, and she could see a hole on the top. The soles were thin, and one of the first things she intended on doing was buying a new pair - that was after she had a good meal, slept for a week, and had a shower. Not necessarily in that order, either.

Sally sighed a bit, realizing the extent of her fatigue if she was fixating on her shoes.

She turned towards the gate, ready to get moving. It would be hard to find a hotel room, but she still had a few friends who would probably let her crash on a couch until she was able to arrange a flight. Failing that, she could always sleep in the terminal. She considered her options and funds, sighing a bit more. Being a rebel fighter did not lend itself to financial success. She was a world hero, but dead broke.

Oh, how her mother would scold her. Her parents had always warned her that she would come to this end, if she took a military career. She hated proving them right.

"Sally?"

The sound of someone calling her name pulled her out of her sleep- deprived funk. From the insistent tone, the person had called her a few times without receiving a reply.

"Yes?" Sally said, trying to find the source. The airport was full of people trying to find loved ones still streaming back from the war. It would be weeks until all the soldiers managed to find come back Earthside, and months before they were properly repatriated.

"You look like hell," an amused voice said. "They were keeping you busy up there, weren't they?"

Sally finally managed to fix red-rimmed eyes on the source of the voice, and she almost gurgled in shock. Lady Une was standing there, her arms tucked neatly behind her back as she studied Sally's ragged, drawn-out appearance. It was only through the training she'd had as a doctor, the training to always stay calm and in control of the situation, that let her raise and inquiring eyebrow. "There weren't enough doctors to go around to care for the war wounded," she said. "Besides, taking care of Heero Yuy and Quatre Winner required a certain discretion that many people didn't have."

"I heard Heero went missing almost immediately after," Une said softly.

"He did." Sally's eyes went dark as she remembered. "But he was pretty banged up, and I took care of what I could. I knew he'd take off - that's Heero for you. Ride off into the sunset when things are done, the classic hero, if you'll pardon the pun."

"We could have used him," Une said. "And Maxwell and Chang... They're gone as well. Only Barton and Winner are left, and Winner has to go back to his company, and I'm not wagering on Barton staying for long. He's always been the one to vanish into thin air, even more easily than Yuy."

"He's staying until Quatre's well enough to travel," Sally agreed. "After... Well, I have my theories where he'll go, but if he wants to live his own life, I say let him."

Une nodded a bit. "He deserves a childhood. I think they all do."

Sally had to stifle a yawn. "Sorry. But I'm exhausted. You obviously didn't come here to discuss the pilots, so what do you want? You should be consolidating power. Or something productive like that, not looking me up. It's a big date. The charter for the world nation is being signed, along with the provisions for your... Peacekeepers or whatever you're calling them. You need to be working on that. It's important." 

"The Preventers," Une corrected her. "And I am doing something right now," she informed the doctor, a slight gleam in her brown eyes.

It was a measure of how tired Sally was that she didn't recognize what Une was getting at immediately. "Oh? What are - oh. Oh, no," she said. She shook her head as what Une was hinting at sank in. "I'm not getting involved. I've had enough of the military to last me a lifetime."

Une tilted her head. "Really? I thought you were a soldier by blood, fighting for what you believed in."

"Une... I'm a doctor. I help people, and I haven't been able to practice medicine since the war began. Not really - a bit of field medicine, but that's not the same thing. I was thinking about setting up a clinic in a poorer part of China, and getting back to my people. There aren't enough doctors in the world..."

Une's arms fell out of the parade rest she had been holding the entire conversation. "Follow me," she said softly.

Sally was confused. Une wasn't one of her favorite people in the world; she had never understood the ruthless, "ends justify the means" personality of the colonel, or the sweet, loyal nature she had adopted when she had become the delegate to the colonies on Treize's behalf. Still, Une had been loyal to Treize above all, and that deserved respect. Without her speech at the close of the war, Sally doubted that this peace would ever have been obtained. Une was one of the key players in the world and deserved to be heard.

_Then I'll tell her no_, Sally decided, lifting the traveling bag and slinging it over her shoulder so she could follow Une.

The two women made their way through the airport, and despite all the recent coverage of both of them on the news, neither was recognized. _No one expects a god to walk among mortals_, Sally thought with heavy amusement, as they wove through the crowds. Une had a clear destination in mind, not speaking as they made their way between the concourses before stopping on a bridge between the two. 

Sally's breath caught at the beauty of the city as they stood in a glass walkway. Under their feet stretched a four-lane highway, but no cars raced under it. Instead, it had been blocked off, and people spilled out into the street, dressed in colorful clothing and throwing confetti, dancing and laughing. She watched their gyrations and could see their joy - it had a wild, almost tangible quality to it. 

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Une said, touching the glass longingly. "This is what we fought for, for people to know this joy, instead of sorrow." 

"Indeed." Sally found herself touching the glass as well, unable to stop herself from reaching out. "Why do you want me so badly?" she asked. "To keep this peace, we need ordinary people to lead good lives. I want to be one of them."

"You can't," Une said bluntly. "You've danced the razor's edge during the war - you know how it cuts. You know what price your fame is. People admire and respect you, but you have a duty to it now. You can't sink back into obscurity, because the world won't let you."

"I'll show people my way," Sally said stubbornly.

Une was quiet as she thought on it for a moment. "I want to give you a chance to save people, Sally. You have the drive and ability, and the position. You're unique... You're one of the rebel leaders I need to bring into the fold to heal the schisms that the war caused. The pilots may have been people's demons, but they were heroes as well, and many people know you were their ally. Since I can't have them, I'll take you instead. I want you, both on your merits and as a representative of the pilots."

"I'll endorse you."

"Words are meaningless. Actions speak louder than words, you know that."

"I'm a doctor, not a politician!"

"You're a fighter above all, Sally," Une replied. "You fight for what you believe in, and you use whatever skills you have. You're a born leader, and I need you to realize that your abilities are better spent on the grand scale. You can save one life as a doctor, or you can save thousands by working for the Preventers. What's the greater good, Sally? There are may people who can become doctors, but there's only one Sally Po, and I need her in my organization."

Sally looked down at the revelers, wanting to deny the truth in Une's words, but finding herself unable to. "I hated Treize, you know," she said softly.

"What?" Une said, startled by the sudden change of pace.

"I hated Treize. I blame him for all of this, for beginning a war based on power. Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely, and he became the embodiment of that truth to my mind." She watched as a child lost a balloon, a red balloon the color of blood. The balloon drifted past the window, and up into the air, which was starting to darken with the colors of summer twilight. "I thought you should know, if we're to work together."

"You didn't understand him," Une said in response. Her voice was neutral as she kept from looking at the other window. "Treize was locked into a role which he felt he had to fulfill, because no one else would. He saw things on a grand scheme which I couldn't begin to grasp. Maybe the only people who did see things on that scale were those who piloted the Gundams; he held a special love for them. Maybe not. But everything he did, I believe he did because he loved this world and its people."

"Vision. You claim he had that. So? Many people do, but they don't try to impose it on the rest of the world by destroying governments and sinking us into world war. If not for the pilots..."

"...But they were there," Une replied. "Treize knew they were there, and he knew they would win."

Sally stared at the woman who gazed serenely out the window, her face a mask. Who was Lady Une? She wondered. Who had she become, now that her lord was gone?

"He had that much faith in them?"

"Didn't you?"

Sally sighed a bit, raking a hand through her hair. "You know how to win an argument, don't you?" she asked a bit bitterly.

"Treize taught me to win, even in defeat." Her eyes became distant as she studied something only she could see, a memory of the past and a man who had shaped the world according to his dreams. "I loved him, but he's gone. We're going to pick up the torch for him, and finish bringing the light to the world."

Sally nodded warily. "I'm in. But... What do you mean, finish? Aren't we done?"

Une shook her head, the long tendrils of her hair brushing against her cheeks. "They say the darkest hour is always before the dawn... And we've just come through that. We're entering that moment when the light is just starting to break the horizon, but it's not quite bright enough to see without fear of stumbling."

"I wonder," Sally murmured, coming out of her reflections.

"Hmm?" Une turned back to her, smiling a bit as the sunlight lit her hair from behind, creating a halo-effect which Sally found at one ironic and amusing. "Something on your mind?"

"Are we moving too fast?" Sally said softly. "Are we trying to forget about the things that matter most, and replace the old paradigm with something that lacks substance?"

Une turned to her second in command with steady eyes. "Here's where I'm supposed to give you a rallying cry, about how everything we do is for the common good… but I'm not perfect. I don't know. All that I do know is that things are better now than they were six months ago, and better than they were a year prior to that. We're making steps, Sally. We need to look at the big picture."

"Like Treize?"

Une smiled. "I don't think any of us have that kind of vision. But… we need to pretend we do."

  


* * *

  
**Scene X: Ballade pour Adeline, Part II**

  


_"Oh brother, are you going to leave me wasting away?"  
-- Bruce Springsteen, Streets of Philadelphia_

  
It had been almost six months, but sometimes when Catherine looked at her brother, it seemed that he had just come home. That he was still the same exhausted, bedraggled boy who had shown up at the entrance to the circus camp one winter night a week after the Eve Wars, who she had stared at for those few frozen seconds before gathering him tightly in her arms and sobbing silently.

She had thought she would never see him again. It was a given, really, with the Gundam pilots. She hadn't even dared to think about him after the panic of the Eve Wars had subsided. He was better off where he was, she had told herself. She knew he wasn't dead, because if he had died, she would have felt it somehow. But she had thought he wasn't coming back.

He didn't tell her where he had been and why he looked so sad. There was something weighing on him other than the fact that he had survived through a war. He and four of the most brilliant boys in the world. They had survived, but sometimes she wondered if it was any more than that.

He never smiled.

The Ringmaster had planned an L3 tour long before the war had ever happened, and they had cancelled their plans when Operation Nova had started, much to the disappointment of the entire troupe. It wasn't that L3 was a particularly friendly colony, but it was the chance to go offplanet that was the main attraction - the chance to ride through space, through the stars, and to be able to tell the tale.

Two weeks after Trowa had come home and started tending the lions again like he always had as if he had never left, the Ringmaster brought up the topic of going back to L3.

"I've kept the plans for this tour in the drawer ever since, and it's a shame to waste them," he told Catherine one day at lunch. "Especially since Trowa's back, I think we can do an explosive show. No pun intended," he added hastily when Catherine looked sideways at him.

The date of the show had been set and she'd gone back to the tent that night to see Trowa standing in the doorway waiting for her. She could see he was upset about something, which was in itself a bit startling, because when he was upset, he rarely showed it. Except for those very few breakdowns during the war when he'd lost his memory, she had never seen Trowa anything but calm, serene, quiet. Far away.

"Are we really going to L3?" he said.

She looked at him for a long time before answering. She wanted to hug him, but something about the way he was standing told her to keep her arms to herself.

"We are," she said softly. "You don't want to go?"

He looked at her for a moment more and then shook his head ever so slightly, then was gone.

The memory of that night haunted her the entire shuttle trip to the colony, but when she looked at the boy sitting next to her in the seat, sleeping peacefully, she wondered if her fears were unfounded. There was something about L3 that he hadn't told her, but if it bothered him this much, she would be able to feel it…or so she told herself.

He didn't wake up till they had docked at the spaceport and the pressure door had been opened. It was uncanny how brilliant his green eyes were even through sleepy rims as he stretched like a cat and stood up from his chair, looking out the window.

"Interesting," he said, a surprised tone in his voice. "They usually don't keep visitor shuttles in this docking bay."

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

He shook himself, as if he hadn't realized he had spoken out loud, and turned to get his bags out of the overhead compartment. She waited for an answer, but after watching him busy himself with slinging bags over his shoulder, she realized he was deliberately ignoring her. 

Fine. If he wanted to do that, she'd just ignore him also.

The show that night was in a rather suburban area of the colony, and she was surprised when they actually drew a larger crowd than they had hoped. Reports in the latest business journals had shown that the L3 economy was down because of the post-war sluggish economic growth, but the many small children in the audience surprised her. She mentioned this to the Ringmaster backstage, and he had smiled.

"Well," he said. "A circus is kind of like a…ray of sunshine on a cloudy day, isn't it? We're not made of much substance, if you think of us in terms of politics or world economy. But I think we're much more substance than most people put faith in. A circus represents children, hope and families and love - everything that people need right now after the war."

Families and hope. She thought of Trowa, and she knew the Ringmaster saw her glance at where he was kneeling by the lion cages, petting one of the great beasts on the head, scratching through the long mane. The lion was gazing at him with a sort of fondness in its lidded eyes, and as if Trowa had sensed her gaze on him, he gave the big cat a final pat on the head and rose, disappearing behind the cage into the storage tent.

"Frustrating, isn't it?" the Ringmaster said softly.

She shook her head partly in puzzlement, partly in a sort of bemused sorrow. "I don't understand him. I never have. I've tried so hard…he's mercurial. I'm always afraid he'll get up and leave…that one morning I'll wake up and he won't be there." Her voice was trembling, she knew, and she stopped, tried to swallow.

"It is hard," he said, placing one big hand on her shoulder and giving her a gentle pat. "I know you love him very much…he has someone special in you, Catherine. Trust me. I believe he loves you, though he tries not to show it."

Catherine nodded slowly. "I…I know that. But Trowa isn't like most people. He's not tied to the ones he loves - not me, not the pilots, not even Heavyarms. I don't understand him and I wish I did. To him, love means love, but it doesn't mean staying with the person that you care about."

"I wonder if that's a better way of loving, then?" he murmured. "There are few people who can be sure of the love of someone who won't stay with them. It takes a lot of courage, you know, to love someone who isn't with you."

"It does," she replied. "I don't know if I have that courage."

The Ringmaster looked over to where Trowa had gone back behind the cages and nodded slightly. "You should probably go after him," he suggested softly. "I think it's about time you two had a talk."

She frowned at him, but he only gave her a slight smile and made his exit. The cheering in the main show tent was subsiding, and she could hear the drums that signaled the last act of the day. Sighing, she trotted back to her dressing room, hurriedly throwing off her costume and donning a t-shirt, a pair of long pants, and comfortable walking shoes. She heard the outer door open and then shut, and hurried out to see who had come in.

There was no one there.

She glanced around and realized that the tent was empty. That must have been Trowa. He must have also finished changing out of costume and slipped outside. Her curiosity piqued, she exited the tent, glancing around for him in the fading false twilight of the colony's environment control system. It was a brisk wintery day, not too cold, just right for what the weather would be on a nice winter day in France or Germany. She suddenly missed home very much.

_It's just a trip_, she reminded herself. _A couple of days on L3 and then we'll be on our way back to Earth._

A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention and she whirled around to see a familiar form disappearing down the road towards the train station. She blinked at it for a few seconds before she realized that Trowa was intending to take the train.

To where?

She broke into a jog, glad she was wearing appropriate clothes for it, and swung into the station just as one of the bullet trains pulled in. Spotting Trowa's familiar head of hair, she wove her way through the sparse crowd towards him as he disappeared into one of the cars. She fumbled in her purse for her train pass and managed to hurry aboard just as the whistle blew and the doors began to shut.

The inside of the train, for some reason, was cooler than it was outside, and Catherine shivered as the train began to move. She didn't know which compartment Trowa had vanished into, and the thought struck her that she wouldn't be able to know where he got off. 

Berating herself for being stupid, she stared absently out the window. Maybe she would be able to see him get off if she looked hard enough. Or if she didn't, she'd just ride the train back around to the station near the circus. Trowa didn't need anyone looking after him - that much she'd realized after he had gone off to fight even through his amnesia. Trowa was, first and foremost, his own person, no matter how hard she tried to deny it. All she could do was love him and support him as best as she could.

They'd gone through about seven stops and she hadn't seen him get off. Wondering if she'd missed him, she'd just settled herself in resignedly for a long, cold ride home, when the train pulled into the next station and she saw him appear from the next compartment, heading up towards the stairs. She jumped up from her seat, narrowly missing being crushed by the train doors as they shut.

She was careful to keep her distance from him, but apparently he didn't have far to go. The scenery at the surface of this train station was dismally bleak - crumbling buildings and broken archways. The air here seemed even colder than it had been on the train, and the sun had mostly set, casting an eerie purplish-black glow over the broken buildings and empty, leering windows.

He stopped a short distance away, pausing at some indefinable point, seeming to be waiting. She stopped too, but after a few minutes when he didn't seem to have any intention of moving, she cautiously crept up behind him.

"You could have asked me if you could have come with me," he said, not turning around. "I wouldn't have stopped you."

"Would you?" Catherine said. "I don't know about that."

There was the faintest trace of a smile on his face when he finally looked at her. "Have more faith in me than that, dear sister," he said.

She closed her eyes. "I'm trying," she whispered. "It's very hard, you know? You…come back from the dead like you've never been gone, almost as if you're expecting me to just welcome you back into my life. But it's hard. I can't…I can't just do that."

He looked faintly sad. "I don't expect you to," he returned. "My life is my own…your life is your own."

"But people touch each other through their lives!" she snapped. "Look, Trowa, you may be independent, but people need each other! We can't just go through life pretending that human presence doesn't matter!"

He started to say something, but she cut him off with a sharp gesture. "Trowa. I love you. I don't know how many times I have to say it before you realize that. I know you might not love me the same way I love you, but I want you to know how deeply I care for you - just as I would a real brother. And…it's hard for me to watch you appear and disappear out of my life."

This time when he looked at her, he was smiling. She blinked. "I know, Cat," he said. "I know that very well. I…after this, I'm home to stay."

"After this?"

He gestured around him. "After this tour. After L3. I just wanted…to pay my final respects to a place that I once loved."

"Here?" She tried to keep the incredulousness from her voice. "You mean…this part of L3?"

He didn't answer. The sun was almost entirely gone now, and there were no lights. She shivered.

"It's cold," he said, without emotion in his voice, but she felt a jacket drape around her and she clutched it gratefully. He continued talking, his voice far away, as if he were addressing someone - not her, but someone else, someone who might hear even though she couldn't sense anyone around but the two of them. "If I go a couple more steps, I'll be home…but I can't. Not anymore. I just wish I could once again see those who had done so much for me…and thank them. I've found my place now. And in order for me to keep that place, I have to forgo those extra few steps and come back the way I came."

"Trowa?" she whispered, confused.

She saw him fumble in one pocket and take out a small square package. "Here," he said. "Open it."

Still confused, she took the box in numbed hands and managed to until the ribbon holding the top shut. The object tumbled out into her palms - a small, gilded metal box.

"Trowa?"

"Open the lid," he said. "It's wound already."

She slowly opened the delicate top lid of the box, and gasped in delight as the melody began to play - a tumbling trickle of tinkling notes that seemed to permeate the darkness around them and light up the cracked concrete sidewalk where they stood. "It's beautiful," she whispered. 

"It was given to me by an old friend," he said, and by the tone in his voice, she sensed somehow that they were related: the music box, this crumbling landscape of dead buildings, the vacant look in his eyes and the tone in his voice when he talked about L3.

"An old friend? How…where…?"

He took one of her hands gently. "It doesn't matter," he said. "Just trust that I won't leave you. Not this time."

"I want to trust you, Trowa," she said. "You're my brother…no matter what anyone says." She felt him shift slightly, then put tentative arms around her. The melody from the music box was still playing, and she felt herself smiling as she hugged him tightly.

"I promise you," he said. "I'll be here with you."

  


* * *

  
**Scene XI: Echoes Out of Time**

  


_"And no one calls us to move on  
And no one forces down our eyes  
And no one speaks and no one tries  
And no one flies around the sun."  
-- Pink Floyd, Echoes_

  
"Hilde!" a voice called, and Hilde jerked upright from under the car she had been examining, forcing a pleasant smile to her face. She slid out carefully, because she'd bumped her head on the underside of vehicles so many times that she'd lost count. The person who'd been calling her had been the cause of more than half of those accidents, much to her exasperation. Since Duo had left, she'd found herself constantly the subject of former soldiers' attentions, and of all of them, Brent Adams was undoubtedly the most persistent. "Not interested" and "no" didn't seemed to be in his vocabulary.

The man who stood before her was handsome, in a bland sort of way, but nothing compared to Duo. He had brown hair - _but not hair long enough that it made you want to drown in_ - and sweet eyes - _but not eyes that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe_ - and while he shared Duo's ability to laugh readily, he wasn't fascinating to her. He was insipid, and she wondered if all men were going to be, after having known Duo Maxwell as a lover.

"Yes, Mr. Adams?" she said, trying to keep from sounding as frustrated with him as she felt. It was a hard thing, being a former female soldier. She was pretty and bright, and owning her own business made her quite an attractive commodity to all comers.

"I was wondering if you'd be interested in-"

She put her hands on her hips, the way she had used on Duo when she had truly been pissed with him. Her glare was formidable as she looked down her nose at the man who stood a good foot taller than she was. "Haven't I made myself clear? I am not interested in dating a man who is a decade older than I am! I just broke off a serious relationship a few months ago, and I'm not getting involved with anyone else!" she snapped. "I've tried being polite, but I want you to get it through your thick skull that I'm not going to date you!"

Brent was calm when he replied, "I know."

"I-" she began, ready to rip into him again, but pausing when his words sank in. "What do you want, then?" she asked.

"You were OZ military, weren't you?"

She almost laughed. It was a good thing that her service record had never gotten out, and a very good thing that Duo's identity had never been revealed, or else she'd have some serious problems on her hands. "For a while," she answered neutrally. 

"They're holding a memorial tonight, in honor of Treize Khushrenada. I was wondering if you'd like to come."

Hilde opened her mouth to refuse, but instead found a question tripping off of her lips. "Why now? He's been dead seven months."

Brent looked at her face, but she had the impression he wasn't seeing her. "It's August first. He would have been twenty-five today."

She had to admit she was curious. She had never met Treize, but anyone who had ever served with OZ learned to admire the man. "What time?" she found herself asking.

"Nine o'clock, the Shea Auditorium. I'll pick you up at eight, if you want to go." He held out a ticket in front of her face, a white slip of paper encoded with a computer code along the side. 

It was a bad idea, dredging up these memories, but she found herself agreeing. "Sure." It would be interesting, to see a memorial to Treize. She had always been interested in him.

"If you want to meet earlier, I'll take you-"

"Don't push it," she warned.

The stadium was packed, and she was a bit surprised. Around her, people of all walks of life gathered, their faces solemn and intent as they filed through the doors, presenting tickets to the ushers. Beside her, Brent was uncharacteristically restrained as he let her take in her surroundings without pushing himself on her.

"Wow," she murmured. "I'm amazed there's so many people here," she said, unable to keep from speaking her mind.

"There's similar events going on throughout the colonies and on Earth. A group is working on getting today declared a holiday to remember Treize," Brent said.

She stiffened a bit in surprised. "That's a bit hasty, isn't it?" she said. "He's only been dead for seven months. Surely we need to wait a little longer before we go around trying to declare…"

Brent held a finger to his lips. "Quiet. Just look and listen tonight, and you'll see why people feel that he was the greatest man of the age. You can argue later."

She nodded, realizing that arguing against Treize wouldn't be such a bright idea around here. People who were going to this kind of event would be among his most loyal followers, and rocking the boat would be a bad move. "What did you do during the war?" she asked, suddenly realizing she didn't know very much about Brent Adams.

"I was part of the changing tide," he said. "In the end, though, I was in the Treize faction."

_Ouch_, she thought. _He's definitely not one to argue about Treize with_. The Treize faction had gained a reputation for being somewhat fanatical since the war, picking up his philosophies to develop its own political parties both on Earth and in the colonies. Some of the more extreme members even denied that Treize was dead. "Oh," was all she could think of to say.

"He was a great man, Hilde," Brent said. "He impacted all of our lives… didn't he touch yours, in some way?"

She opened her mouth to deny it, but remembered her box of keepsakes at home. "I - yes," she murmured after a moment. "Yes… as a matter of fact, he did."

And that was a fact. She'd been a good soldier, knowing how to follow orders, but she wasn't cut out for it. Her problem was that she thought too much. A truly great foot soldier, the kind of foot soldiers OZ wanted in its ranks, were the ones who always followed orders, but Hilde couldn't do anything without thinking it over. She would have done better as an officer, but she was enlisted personnel.

OZ didn't want colonists in its officers program, and she didn't want to be there. She just wanted to be a pilot, believing it the best place for her talents.

She had been bright, eager, and ready to do what she ever was needed to protect the colonies she loved. When push came to shove, that had been her downfall - the fact that she loved the colonies, instead of her organization. In the end, it had worked out for her, but there had been times she had wondered if thinking was a good idea. Sometimes it would have been easier to be one of the mindless drones who simply followed orders without question.

But Hilde always questioned.

It had been hard being a female OZ pilot. While the legendary Lucrezia Noin had shown it was possible to be among the best even as a woman, female pilots were rare. Most women were relegated to support positions, and that was something Hilde had not wanted and would not have accepted for herself. Hilde needed to be in the thick of the action, feeling her adrenaline pumping and knowing her actions would directly have an impact on the world around her. She was a doer by nature. 

The first week had been the hardest. After the call had gone out through the colonies for recruits, she had answered, despite her mother's protests. She had abandoned her schooling to take what had been offered, knowing that her engineering background would get her foot in the door and once there, she would be able to get her hands on a mobile suit. She wanted to be a pilot, because she knew that while they had the highest casualty rate, they also had the best chance of seeing action.

And seeing action meant making that difference.

Hilde knew she'd be able to pilot. She never had any doubts she'd pass whatever tests they threw at her, because she'd always been something of a prodigy when it came to machines. She had an instinct, knowing that this button would do that, and by tweaking this switch that way, the machine would do this for her. Her aunt had teased Hilde about machines being better lovers for Schbeiker women then men, but for Hilde, it was almost the truth.

Hilde had anticipated the resentment for her skills. The men in her class of 126 outnumbered the women six to one, and the competition for the coveted pilot slots was fierce. She knew that only 10 of them would be selected for advanced training, and it soon became clear that she was on the fast track to one of those positions. Instead of accepting it gracefully, the others turned vicious, subtly seeking to scare her away through bullying and sabotage. The professors did nothing. She had to fight through on her own, for they believed it built character.

Hilde would be damned if they scared her away. She fought back, studying harder to throw the grading curve off and making sure the worst of them never managed to corner her alone. It would only be a week of assessments, but it would be a week that would show them all what Hilde Schbeiker was made of.

She did. She graduated first in her class, and was offered that position she so prized. And with it came an official commission from OZ, signed with the neat, crisp handwriting of Treize Khushrenada.

She was smart enough to realize that it was a stamp. Important people like Treize had stamps of their signatures made, and secretaries used them for this kind of thing. Still, it was thrilling to see that she had some form of acknowledgement from the leader of her organization, second-hand though it was. It meant that she was well on her way to becoming a soldier.

Three months later, she would be helping to blow up a moon base and letting a Gundam pilot escape. Loyalties changed, she discovered.

But she kept that letter of commission, to remember.

Brent waited as she reflected. He was polite about it, though after a minute he cleared his throat. "Hilde, we have to take our seats. The ceremony's about to start."

She agreed distractedly, wondering how Brent could have known about the letter. The only other person who had ever found out about it was Duo, and he had been more amused than annoyed to see her keeping a letter from a man who had been his worst enemy.

_"Treize was Treize. I never tried to understand him, because it simply would have given me a headache - never tried to understand Zechs for that matter, either. Zechs was a major yo-yo, on this side one day, on another the next. Treize though…. Treize had consistency, you just couldn't see it. It was like he was seeing something I couldn't. I left the thinking up to the others - I just wanted to blow things up."_

Hilde rather thought Duo was underestimating himself, but she hadn't called him on it. It had been one of his better days when he said that, and she had simply fallen back, laughing. Calling Zechs Merquise a yo-yo wasn't something most people would do… it was disrespectful to the dead.

The crowd was thick and intense and she wanted to get through them as quickly as possible. The atmosphere wasn't anything she was thrilled with - it was like entering one of the religious revivals her mother had been so fond of. What did all these people see in Treize? She wondered, looking around. The demographics of the crowd were interesting: many of them were probably former soldiers, like herself, but there were just as many people who were likely civilians.

"Who are all these people?" she wondered aloud.

"They're people Treize gave hope to," Brent replied softly. "Treize was the one who stopped the war, with his sacrifice. He never forgot the common soldier; he never turned us into mere machines. When he died… he took a part of us with him."

She shivered. Something about Brent's tone struck her as frightening. "People die, Brent, even the greatest men. Death is the great equalizer."

Brent looked over the audience. "Sometimes I wonder if he's really dead - how can that have happened? How can he have been killed by a Gundam pilot?"

"The pilot was the better fighter," Hilde said, though she, too, had wondered. Wufei wasn't the most skilled of all the pilots, from what little Duo had told her. She wondered if Treize had let himself die, knowing his death was more important than his life.

Their seats were in the middle of the second tier, and they made their way over the row, careful to avoid stepping on the feet of those who were already seated. "Was he?" Brent asked. "Or did he know something we didn't?"

Hilde couldn't answer that one. She shook her jacket off, using it to pad her seat. The seats were notoriously uncomfortable. Brent smiled a bit at her, and handed her a candle as she settled in. "Here. You're going to need this."

She stared at it a bit at the white votive candle. "Why?"

"The ceremony will end with a candlelight vigil, with hopes of peace."

She nodded, feeling even more out of place. _What would these people do, if they knew that a Gundam pilot's ex-girlfriend sat among them?_ She wondered.

Glancing around at the crowd, Hilde suddenly felt the intense sense of community these people were trying to share. On a face there, grief, but determination. Another, wistfulness… One looked hopefully, while another seemed almost glad. There were quiet murmurs and people sharing stories of the war, working on healing the damage which had been done.

_Oh my… It's not about Treize anymore… It's about the new era he was trying to bring in… these people want to carry on that legacy._

Had Treize known that by dying, he would become the symbol of that new age? 

The lights flicked, and the audience was plunged into darkness, but inside, Hilde felt warm for the first time in months. _There's a new age coming_, the people around her seemed to say. 

"He was a hero to us all," Brent murmured from beside her, and she looked over to see tears running down his cheeks. She blinked and licked her lips, not quite sure how to do with a crying man. Duo she could have handled, but Brent was no Duo.

"Brent?"

"I remember when I first joined OZ…I was so young, and naïve. I'd been selected as test pilot, and my best friend James and I would talk about how we'd be heroes, you know, fighting to defend the people and all of that. It was only after he was killed that I began to realize how wrong we were. And how messed up the world was. And how something had to give."

She reached over and placed a hand on his arm, soothing. "How did he die?" Hilde asked, sensing he wanted to talk about it.

"He was killed by a Gundam," he said. "At Lake Victoria base. He was a flight instructor there, and he was there the night of the attack. It took me almost an entire month to accept the news."

Her heart clenched. A Gundam…that had been Wufei. It had been early in the war, and Wufei had always been a hothead, but that did nothing to justify still the many young men and women who had been killed in their sleep there. A thought struck her, and she felt chills up and down her spine when she realized that Treize had also been killed by Wufei.

It would not be a good idea to tell Brent that. She squashed down the part of her that begged to defend the name of the Gundams and nodded sympathetically instead.

"I'm sorry," she said, not knowing what else to say.

"I realize now, of course," Brent continued, "that James died in the line of duty and that he had expected something like this to happen. He was a very intelligent young man - brave, strong, one of the best up and coming young officers we had. The pilots he trained won't ever forget him, I promise you that."

"What happened after that?" Hilde questioned.

"I realized that Treize was right. His rhetoric…many people believed that he was advocating endless war. But that's not it, Hilde. Treize believed in peace. That's why he fought. Because he had a true vision of the world, you know? Treize was…almost like a savior."

Hilde nodded absently, mulling over his words in her head and wondering how much he had actually known about Treize. Some of that had been Treize, yes, but not all of it. In the end, Treize had been just a man, like the rest of them.

"Treize was a great man," she said. "It's a shame we lost him."

"I can't believe he's dead," Brent said, choking, and she realized he was crying again. She leaned over to him, tugging on his shirt.

"Treize isn't dead, Brent," she whispered.

His sorrowful eyes turned to her. "What?" he asked. There seemed to be a tremulous hope to his words, and she suddenly realized exactly how important the leader of OZ had been to him.

"Look around. As long as people carry his dream, Treize lives…"

  



	4. Treize Khushrenada: Creator of History

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2003 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT ZERO, PART IV

_ I believe your love  
Furue nagara  
Kuchidzuke ni kasaneta negai  
Anata ga ite watashi ga iru  
Wasurenaide itsumo_

I believe your dream  
Tsunoru omoi  
Itoshisa o inori ni kaete  
Kono kodou o tsutaetai yo  
Atsuku hageshiku so far away

I believe your love  
As we trembled  
We repeated our wish in a kiss  
You are here and so am I  
Please don't ever forget

I believe your dream  
Feelings that get stronger  
Turning love into prayers  
I want to let you hear my heart beating  
Passionately, fiercely, so far away

--Gundam Wing, _Last Impression_  
[Endless Waltz] 

  
  
**Scene XII: The Legend of Scorpio**

  


_"Who keeps an arrow in his bow,  
And if you prod him, lets it go?  
A fervent friend, a subtle foe - Scorpio."  
--Anonymous_

  
The things he remembered most about Treize Khushrenada weren't his commanding presence, or his brilliant speeches. Not his love for the arts and not even his amazing swordsmanship ability. Those things were things that everyone knew about Treize - the public Treize, the one who shone in front of the people and incited them to glory and victory for the good of mankind. That wasn't the Treize he knew.

He only dimly remembered the first time he had met Treize. The two of them had been young, mere boys, but he was the prince of a kingdom which no longer existed and Treize had been a Khushrenada, firmly on the side of the Federation, and one of the supporters of the Romefeller Foundation. He had wanted to go with his sister, when Darlian had taken her away. He'd known that terrible day what was coming. He'd seen it in his mother's eyes as she said goodbye, remembered Darlian standing there with that same knowledge in his face, and known full well that he would never see his mother and father again. He had thought that he and his sister would be together.

But Darlian had taken Relena, and he had never seen her again either.

He did not remember at all those first few terrible days out of Cinq. It was better that he didn't remember, because he didn't think that even now, a grown man who had been through so much, could deal with the childhood memories. There was something about memories made in childhood that made them much more vivid, much more blinding, than the ones collected over the years as an adult. He remembered running - a car, a train, darkness, tears. There were a lot of tears. Not his, but the ones of the woman who held him by the hand and hurried him along through the fatigue and the fear. There was fear too.

And then there was Treize.

Even as he had been introduced to the future heir of the Khushrenada estate, as he'd come forward numbly and shaken the hand of the boy who was scarcely taller than he was, he'd felt a chill. Of completion, maybe, or of destiny, as if everything that had happened in his life had only been leading up to this moment. He didn't much remember what Treize had looked like at the time - only noted the blue German eyes, the Slavik shape of his face, the grace with which the other carried himself, so poised and confident that he could have been the prince of the Cinq kingdom and Milliard Peacecraft merely the pretender.

The connections, the strings Treize had pulled for him, none of that mattered. What mattered was Treize the boy, and later Treize the man, who had shaped him, taught him everything he knew, given Zechs Merquise life.

The Khushrenadas were an odd family, with branches of the clan fervent Federation supporters and others on the opposite side of the political spectrum. Treize's father Reimond was neither - a fence-sitter, a politician of the very nature he remembered his own father Nathaniel had hated. But it was that fence-sitting that saved him in the end. It would have been very suspicious for Reimond to publicly announce that he'd somehow gained another child, but arrangements were made for his residence in one of the old private family mansions that dotted the countryside of Europe. This particular one was in France, and when he had arrived, hungry, tired, and so alone, Treize Khushrenada had been standing at the entrance waiting for him.

The first few weeks in that old house were hazy. He'd contracted some kind of virus that left him feverish and unable to swallow his food, and for several days lay in a kind of waking dream where he'd see again and again his mother's face as she turned away from him, his sister's crying, the smoke in the sky when he'd turned and looked back against the nursemaid's orders, even though she was holding him tightly, trying to prevent him from seeing his country, his home, go up in flames. Later, Treize told him that he'd been in to see him every day, and had sat at his bedside and read him mythology or classical literature. It came as a surprise that Treize, who even at eleven years old was busy with the kind of schooling and training that would befit the heir of one of the oldest noble houses in Europe, would have taken the time to come visit him, the landless prince of a fallen kingdom. Once he had asked Treize why he had done so.

The other man hadn't responded for a long time, and then had said in a calm voice, _because you and I were meant for something. The first time I saw you, I knew that we were meant for something._

It was Treize who had awakened in him his love of the stars, because Treize had been a stargazer from the first day they'd met. Treize had been both an astronomer and an astrologer, though he claimed he believed in astrology only so much as he could weed out the truths from the half-baked lies and old-wives tales that littered the practice. Astrology, to him, was something of endless fascination though of little real value. That was Treize - always curious, always wondering, carefully calculating but willing to embrace everything and anything as long as, to him, there was something of value to be learned.

In Treize's chambers and in his study were hung star charts and astrological diagrams, maps of constellations and old navigational parchments. He would spend hours sometimes poring over horoscopes, trying to predict exactly how accurate they were. For some reason, it never occurred to him that he could be wrong, that the ones who wrote the horoscopes were people who knew more about the subject than he did. As long as it was out there, he believed, it was to be studied, disproved if it could, and then if it could not be disproved, it was something to take to heart. There was really no in between.

That was why Treize had changed his own birthday. He'd learned this about after a year of living there, when August 1 had come and gone and he had asked Treize why they hadn't done anything for his birthday. He'd been startled when the other had informed him that his birthday really wasn't August 1, but November 1, but the official date on all his records, even his birth certificate, was August 1. August was under the sign of the Leo, the lion, the leader that Treize wanted to be. Treize was the ascending star, the waxing sun while the other stars were waning, and the astrologer side of him had wanted to capture that in stone.

But in reality, he'd admitted, both a bit ruefully and a bit proudly, he was no Leo. Treize was a Scorpio, the earth-crawler, the powerful, magnetic presence of a natural-born schemer, ruled by Mars and Pluto - war and death. But then again Treize had never regarded either with the same stigma that they seemed to carry with the rest of humankind. War and death, in Treize's eyes, were part of the natural cycle of things, the way things had to be.

He was Treize's eagle. That's what Treize told him a week after he had recovered from his fever and they were taking their dinner together on the western veranda, looking out at the setting sun. The Scorpio mythos spoke of the scorpion and the eagle, the crawler and the flier, the patient yet deadly killer and the beautiful bird of prey, two halves of a whole. Treize was the scorpion and he, Milliard Peacecraft, was the eagle, the one destined to fly higher and higher until he found himself among the stars.

He scoffed at first. Treize fascinated him and frightened him at the same time - such a passionate, bright mind covered in a veil of steel. Treize was more than a human, less than a god, even as a boy he had people in the Federation bowing before him. Sometimes after a conversation with Treize he would feel like something had taken him on a spin around the galaxy, dragging him through the molten cores of burning stars and then left him singed and gasping on a cold, dark planet at the end.

He wanted to be like Treize.

In Treize's mind, everything was an opera, those grandiose events that he would leave the house to attend every Saturday and then come back and sit up until two in the morning recounting the flawless performance of this singer or the substandard performance of that one, the beautiful plotlines and the gorgeous musical numbers. The world was not only a stage in Treize's mind - it was an opera, with the fanfares and the melodramatic arias and the blinding explosions of pathos that he so loved.

The name was Treize's idea, the mask also. If he was going to be the eagle, he would have to play the part to perfection. He had to become the part.

And that, in the end, was why he went to Lake Victoria.

It did seem a little foolish now, that he would have let someone, no matter how good a friend, dictate his life through the ruse of a legend, but at the time, the legend had been very very real to both of them. It wasn't in Treize's nature to cheat someone, to lie about something like that. Yes, he was a smooth liar and a clever politician, but there was something about the realm of destinies and stargazing and legends that he regarded as sanctified.

Treize didn't believe in God, but he was constantly searching for proof of one. Even until the end, even when he had changed into a man that neither of them knew, he was still searching for God. Or maybe it wasn't that Treize had changed, but it was he, Zechs Merquise, Milliard Peacecraft, whoever he was in Treize's eyes, that wasn't worthy to be his eagle anymore.

And now Treize was dead.

His eagle had left him, and maybe that was why he had died.

He didn't let that trouble him too much. There were so many ifs and perhaps-es and he was tired of hypothesizing, tired of hindsight. It wasn't like he wept bitterly for Treize, because there was nothing worth weeping about. He knew what Treize had tried to do - tried and succeeded. It was just like the end of an opera - the pathos, the brilliant explosion, except the explosion had been up in space and the pathos had been nothing but one man giving up.

That was what it all came down to. Treize had been searching for God for so long that he'd begun to think he was that God. But he wasn't God. He was just Scorpio, the one crawling along the earth, gazing up at the hot sun where his eagle flew, hoping that someday he could have wings too.

But it didn't matter now, because they were both dead. Treize Khushrenada and Zechs Merquise, burned up together in the last battle, trial by fire that they had braved and hadn't been strong enough to pass through. But still, they were together.

He remembered the one last conversation they'd had before he'd gone off to Lake Victoria. That last night on the veranda, gazing up at the stars and hearing the whisper of the night wind in the branches of the trees in the garden.

"I want to thank you for everything you've done for me," he'd said at last, preparing to stand up and head inside for the night. "You've given me more than I could ever have asked for - far more - given your time and resources for someone you didn't know, someone you had no obligation to help."

Treize had raised an eyebrow. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, you didn't know me. I was some no-name prince from a no-name kingdom that had been destroyed by the organization you serve, and if you'd turned me into the Federation, you'd have gotten more recognition than you would have known what to do with."

He had smiled that slow smile of his that only hinted at the secrets behind those blue eyes, hidden in under the elegant façade that he showed to the world and that even I had never seen through. "I don't want power and glory, Zechs. You know that."

"What do you want then?" he'd countered. "I don't want riddles and guessing games. For once."

He'd looked away to the horizon for a long moment, then sighed, a long, deep sigh. "You don't believe in destiny now," he said. "But…someday, you might." His bright gaze caught and held. "I hope that someday, you will."

If he'd believed in destiny he would have come home after the war and made his peace with the world. Would have sat down at his desk, pen in hand, a blank pad of paper before him, and begun to sketch out the words to a work that would take him perhaps the rest of his life, but a work so important that it could not be left forgotten. It would be the true legend of Scorpio, the tale of a man that had lived so briefly but died leaving an entire world to celebrate him, curse him, mourn him - a friend, a son, a brother, a mentor.

He didn't believe in destiny. Not anymore. He didn't know if he ever had. But he didn't need to anymore, because the only thing that had ever been his destiny he had already found, had, and lost.

  


* * *

  
**Scene XIII: Festival of the Harvest Moon**

  


_"A gem cannot be polished without friction,  
nor man perfected without trials."  
-- Chinese Proverb_

  
For a space colony, L5 was surprisingly traditional. The elders had brought with them all the ancient folklore, celebrations, and ethics that had been passed down from generation to generation through thousands of years of Chinese history, and transferring that to space was never a question. Instead, the question was how their children - the children of a truly new era, the era of space travel - would grow into proper Chinese adults without ever feeling the green earth of their motherland beneath their feet?

All this Wufei had learned from the history books, the thick scrolls and leather-bound volumes of vellum that lined the walls of the colony library. There were computers, of course, and all the information in those scrolls and books were safely stored electronically, in case something did ever happen. But reading the texts on a computer screen was about as tolerated as a child talking back to one of the elders - in other words, unheard of. There was something about the feel of paper on the skin, the smell of the old parchment, that brought history alive.

He'd been raised to be a scholar, inducted into the community on the Harvest Moon Festival the year of his ninth birthday, just like his father before him and his father before him. That was how it had been done in the mother country before they came to space, and that was how it would be done until the family line, the clan line, was extinguished.

He'd always loved the moon. Perhaps it was just because he had been raised Chinese and so thought of the moon as something mystical, magical, awe-inspiring, mysterious and feminine and beautiful all at once. The guardian of the night. His mother had a jade pendant that she wore on special occasions that she called her moon necklace, because when the moonlight struck the stone, it would glow a soft, pulsing white, a minature moon on her own breast.

When she died suddenly of surgical complications when he was ten, he'd taken that pendant and hung it by his window, so that the moonlight would find it every night. That way she would always be with him.

His father had left the colony when he had been only a baby, left the colony and tried to go back to earth, to China. His father had been born there in Shanghai before the clan had been exiled to space. According to the elders, Chang Anwei had always been a rash one, wanting what he could not have. He didn't have to guess very hard to figure out that what the elders meant by "what he could not have" was that his father missed the earth, missed China, and had braved the odds to go back.

The official records of the colony never mentioned Chang Anwei again, but when Wufei had been old enough, Elder Long pulled him aside and told him that a few days after his father's departure from the colony, a small shuttlecraft had been intercepted by Federation forces and been destroyed. He'd stood there, not sure how to react, and Elder Long's sharp eyes fixed on him.

"Do not grieve, for the cycle of life renews itself continually, even those whose ashes have been scattered in space."

"I can't grieve," Wufei said. "I didn't even know him. He deserved it…he killed himself for nothing."

"He is your blood," the elder said calmly, her aged voice creaking like trees in the wind, the artificial wind that blew across the colony sometimes, strong enough to simulate storms but not strong enough to cause any real damage. "Your blood, your ancestor. Honor him, respect his memory, but dwell not on his sacrifice."

The sun that shone down on the colony by day was an artificial sun, like the artificial wind, created by collecting rays of the real sun that was too far away to give as much light as the colony needed to survive. But the moon that shone through his window at night was the real moon - dim, faraway, but the real thing. He longed to see it up close, to watch the rabbit in its face jump nervously whenever the moon was full. That was the legend, at least, and he was a scholar, versed in the old legends.

There were things mentioned in the books that he had never seen. The ocean, wide, vast, and blue, that he could only imagine, because L5 was too small to provide little more than a small artificial lake from which the colonists pumped their fresh water. Mountains, tall snowcapped mountains. There were mountains on the colony, but Elder Long scoffed at them every chance she got, naming them little more than hills. "Where I came from," she would say, "the mountains were giants of stone, architecture of nature. You should see them, Wufei! You should see."

He wondered how old Elder Long was sometimes. She seemed as old as the mountains, as gray as the stone and just as unyielding. Those who she had journeyed with to the colony were long dead, but Wufei caught himself thinking more than a few times that Elder Long would never die - that she would only continue to exist, to grow older and older as the children grew up and had children of their own and died and those children grew up and still Elder Long would be.

On the Harvest Moon Festival every year, Elder Long would give a speech to the entire assembled colony. She'd reluctantly allowed the use of vidscreens to broadcast her speech into every home simply because the council hall was too small to fit every citizen, though Wufei knew that if the elder had had her way, every citizen would have been ordered to cram into the building which, though grand and spacious for seven council members and their clerks, would not even have fit a third of the colony population. The speech was always given from behind a podium that made Elder Long look even shorter and more shriveled than she appeared in real life, with red and gold decorations on the walls and images of dragons projected onto the tapestries behind her.

In Wufei's mind, the dragon had always been associated with the moon. He wasn't quite sure why. Both were Chinese legends, but had no real interconnection, no real correlation. But he would still stare at the moon outside his window at night, dreaming of dragons with gilded silver wings, coming to bear him away to the stars.

He was a dreamer, Elder Long told him with some affection, as much affection as the old woman had ever shown to anyone. They were Chinese, after all, and affection was not given in verbal or physical terms, but through the act of discipline. Elder Long said that he, Chang Wufei, was the most scholarly of all scholar boys he'd ever seen. That had pleased him, because even as young as he was, he'd known that was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life - sit happily surrounded by books and scrolls and quills and ink and peer through his trusty reading glasses at fading brush strokes of ancient characters.

It was at his eleventh Harvest Moon Festival that something first happened to make him think again. After the Elder's annual speech, the festival would actually begin, with the moon cakes and dancing and music. He knew that Elder Long would go into the temple to seek counsel from the ancestors while the festivities were going on, and he was determined to speak with the Elder beforehand, to ask her opinion on a rather hard passage of text that he had been trying to understand.

"It's a festival, Wufei," Elder Long said in response to his question, as he caught up to the old woman on the temple steps. "Go be merry with your family."

He paused. "They're not my family."

"They're your clan and therefore your family."

"That is to say that pigeons and hawks are related and therefore family. Would you want a pigeon to consort with a hawk?"

Elder Long began to laugh, which is to say that she made a wheezing noise that lasted for approximately thirty seconds and then stopped. When she had finished, she said, "are you saying that you are a pigeon, young Wufei?"

"No, Elder. I'm saying that I'm a hawk and I don't consort with pigeons."

Elder Long wheezed for approximately another thirty seconds, then peered at him with watery eyes that were somehow still bright. "Come with me," she said abruptly, then hurried up the steps with a haste that seemed impossible for someone as ancient as she.

The inside chamber was bare except for a small altar and a kneeling cushion on the floor. The cradle of the altar held a single stick of barely smoking incense and there were bright flowers lining its edge. Elder Long motioned for Wufei to stand behind her as she lowered herself slowly on creaking knees to the cushion, let out a long sigh, then went still.

He tried to be patient, but his child's curiosity got the best of him, and at length he ventured, "What are you asking them, Elder?"

"I'm not asking anything," Elder Long snapped. "I'm waiting for you to ask me."

He blinked. "Ask what, Elder?"

"Isn't that why you came?" The wizened face turned to look at him, and in the dim moonlight and the smoke of the incense, there was a faintly sinister look about it that made him shiver. "You wanted an answer."

"What is to become of me, Elder?" he whispered, and the aged eyes regarded him with a moment more of sharpened wisdom, and then turned away. The smoke of the incense wafted upwards to wards the darkened ceiling, towards the full moon, and he held his breath.

It seemed like ages before there was a rustle of cloth and Elder Long turned back to him with a look of almost curiosity in her eyes.

"Sir?" Wufei said.

"You're a strange one, Chang Wufei," the old woman whispered, then made her peculiar wheezing laugh. "Do you believe…you might not be a scholar after all."

He frowned. "Why not?"

"Why not?" Elder Long crowed. "Why not? One does not question the ancestors, boy. One simply bows and takes what has been said and obeys!" This was accompanied by a thump on the ground to emphasize its importance, and Wufei jumped.

"I am sorry, Elder," he said, bowing and beginning to back out of the room, but a sudden swiping gesture by the ancient clawed hand held him.

"I'm not done," Elder Long barked, but the expression on her face was partly of puzzlement and partly of wonder. "You will fly, boy."

"Fly?"

"That's what they told me. Fly. Out of here, out of the colony…"

"But no one has ever left the colony…" he trailed off, remembering the story of Chang Anwei and how he loved his mother country so much he was willing to risk everything - his family, his life - to return. "No one has ever left the colony and survived."

"No one," Elder Long repeated. "Not yet."

"But my father-"

Elder Long's watery eyes fixed on him again and he let the question slide into silence, into the cloying perfume of the incense smoke and the sweet odor of the flowers around the altar.

"You are not your father, Chang Wufei."

The words of the ancestors were, after all, not to be questioned, only to be accepted, so the matter was never mentioned again. But it was like being Chinese, Wufei knew. It was not to be questioned, only to be accepted, to embrace the tradition and the bad as well as the good. To know that the story of your father leaving his family, his wife and his baby son, to pursue a fruitless dream was not just a story of folly, it was a story of loyalty. To know that the moon pendant that hung by his window to catch the light at night held within it the secret of a mother's love for her child.

That was how history was brought alive, after all. It wasn't just the tellings and retellings of tales, the brush of ink across paper, because ink and paper and words were empty without the storyteller or the scholar to give them wings. History, in the end, was only a collection of small things: a father's sacrifice, a mother's pendant, the sound of children's laughter, a young girl with flowers in her hair, the wind and the waves pounding against the mountains he might never see, a shooting star. All these things, taken and collected and treasured in glass boxes of words, kept there forever so that even death and war and destruction could not erase them.

  


* * *

  
**Scene XIV: No More Than A Mortal Man**

  


_"Everyone must pay for their sins.  
Even my death is not without meaning."  
--Treize Khushrenada, Gundam Wing_

  
It was Christmas Eve in Geneva. The city had been preparing for the holiday for a month, and every time Une left the base, she had been confronted with signs of the season with trees, holiday lights and crèches. She had forced her eyes to maintain a carefully blank expression, containing the urge to cringe back. Christmas was nothing for her to celebrate anymore.

Une stared out the window at the gentle snowfall that dusted the Preventers' compound, wondering if she should leave. It was ridiculous to be here, this time of night. The offices were closed and the Preventers were operating on a skeleton staff. Everyone else had gone home to be with their families, but she had no one. Her mother, the only family she had ever known, was dead, and since Treize had died on this night a year ago...

Had it really been only a year? One year ago, the battle to end all battles had waged in space... It seemed impossible to believe that so much had changed in that time. The months had been so packed with activity and it seemed like Treize had been dead for centuries sometimes.

Sometimes, though, she expected to turn around and feel his hand on her shoulder as he chided her for something, for acting too rashly. She always rushed, where he managed to get things done just as quickly but with more style. She still hadn't mastered the elegance he had wanted for her. All she had done was work to keep his dream, a peaceful future where soldiers weren't needed for wars, on the right track. Eventually the Preventers would only be glorified police officers; soldiers were fading; within her lifetime, there would be no need for the career path of "soldier."

Now there was only the softly falling snow, seeming to blanket the world in muffled tranquility. It seemed to show how far they had come. They had all worked hard to bring themselves, their world, to this point, and perhaps she had worked herself hardest, some would say. She had devoted herself to creating a world peacekeeping force answerable to the government, separate but loyal, and she hoped that he would approve. It probably wouldn't have been the way he would have done about it, but there was no one who could replace him. She was a paltry substitute; all she could do was make guesses at the right path.

The paperwork on her desk never seemed to end. No matter how hard she concentrated, the eighteen hour days she put in, there was always more. She would delegate, but finding the personnel for the Preventers was something that had been near impossible. Many had died in those final battles; many more didn't want to return to a life of military duty. Still others couldn't be trusted...

She smiled a bit, thinking of Zechs - no, Milliard's- recent return. Treize would have been glad to know his prodigy had come back, had survived. Of all of them, Treize's heart had been divided between her, Zechs, and the pilots... they and the common soldiers were the ones who were to carry on his legacy, though few people realized what that legacy really was.

It annoyed her. People had wondered why she had thrown herself so full-heartedly into this mission, but they didn't understand - but that was because they didn't understand Treize. She picked up a pen, tapping it against one of the numerous forms that bureaucracy seemed to create, wishing that she could convey that to someone, make them understand.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the door chime. "Enter!" she called. She had thought everyone had gone...

The inner door, an old-fashioned wooden one designed for elegance, was pushed opened. A sharp-featured Asian face peeked in, and Une blinked in surprise. "Li? I thought you had the night off?"

Major Li Chun Tian, her immediate aide, shrugged, coming into the room further. "I traded someone else- I'm not Christian, so this night really doesn't mean anything to me. Someone has to be around to screen calls. Just because it's the holidays doesn't mean the world stops... crime goes up, and some of the Treize cultists might try something, since.." she hesitated. "I guess I don't need to remind you."

Une set her pen down, her teeth clenching at the mention of the Treize cultists. They were a small, splinter group, mainly made of Treize factionalists who were beginning to preach that Treize had been a true messiah and were trying to create a religion around him. They were still disorganized, but she greatly feared one of their number managing to come together with an workable religious philosophy. Fanatics were hard to deal with, because the government would be accused of suppressing religious freedom if they acted against them. 

"No, you don't. Those idiots are one of the banes of my existence," Une answered finally.

Li seemed to be a bit embarrassed about the whole mess, which didn't surprise Une. From what Une remembered of Li's profile, Li was an atheist. "Well, they are a bit cracked. No human is a god."

"No. Especially not Treize," Une said softly. "He was extraordinary, but in the end, he was only human. We seem to be forgetting that. I worry about it - in ten years, in a hundred, when no one remembers the man he was, what will history say? Will the Treize cultists succeed in creating a religion around him?"

Li remained silent for a long moment, apparently reluctant to speak. "Well... it's easier to follow a man not yet dead for a year than putting your faith in an older religion, sometimes. New faiths gather followers for reasons." There was a detachment in her expression.

"Yes, but... religion speaks to the divine." Une shivered as she rose, turning to stare at the snow, which was falling more heavily. 

"I did say they were cracked," Li said. "I understand why they say he was a god. He did seem godlike..."

Une started to laugh at that. "He did... didn't he? But there was a man under it. He was handsome, brilliant, charismatic... but he had flaws, Li. He had quirks. He loved chocolate to the point of not being able to control himself when you gave him a box - he'd eat his way through the entire box in one sitting. He claimed it was a genetic trait as an excuse. When he'd get nervous, he'd pick at his right glove, wearing it out before the left glove. Treize liked gardening and stars, and he liked to doodle. His artwork was horrible, but he never gave up trying. And he always wanted to learn how to play the guitar, but never found the time..." 

"You knew him very well." Though Une couldn't see Li's face, she assumed her aide's face was just as neutral as usual. Li had been selected for the position partly for her ability to blend into the background as well as her sheer brilliance. 

Une lifted her fingers to trace patterns in the pane of the window. When she had been younger, it had been a hobby. As a child, she had believed she could communicate with angels this way. Now she wrote silent messages to eyes that couldn't see any longer, a spirit that was out of her reach.

Her aide was waiting for some kind of reply. "I loved him. When you love someone, you watch them, try to know everything about them. Have you ever been in love?"

"No. I'm still heart-whole." Li seemed blithely unconcerned with the fact at how inexperienced in life that made her.

"I don't know whether to envy or pity you. Love is a wonderful experience; I wouldn't trade my years with Treize for anything. I paid for it - the hurt after he died..." Une lowered her eyes, shading her feelings. "It felt like he'd taken a part of me with him."

"He did," Li said softly, breaking out of her shell. "I've never been in love, but I've loved people. I was seven when my parents died, and it felt like a part of my spirit died as well. I think it's because when we love someone, we give them a part of our hearts. You've heard the saying, 'I'll give you my heart,' right?"

Une turned back to her aide, framed by the window. Li was ignoring the difference in their ranks, making an effort at offering comfort, awkward though it was. Une appreciated it. "Yes. I guess a heart is never something we can retrieve. But the pain grows less... I don't think of him as much as I did in those first days. I wonder why?"

"Because the heart heals, or so I've been told." Li shrugged. "I don't really know. You'd have to ask someone who's been in love."

Une shook her head. "I don't know why I'm rambling right now about Treize. I've made it a policy not to talk about him unless it's important. The news shows keep wanting to interview me for documentaries and tributes, but... they seem so petty. Tomorrow I won't want to talk. Maybe it's the night?"

"Anniversaries bring out weird things in all of us," Li said. "We start reflecting on what our lives are like, and what we could have done differently. That's why we mark them."

Une's lips tried to smile, but were unable to. "You're wise. I wish I could perceive things like that, sometimes..."

"It's because I'm outside the situation. We all screw up in our personal lives and need a different perspective, Though if you're worried about the Treize cultists, maybe the best thing to do is work on a documentary. We have a good PR unit here, and if you use it right, you can show the Treize you knew. The one who ate chocolate."

Une's eyes widened as she considered it. She had been rejecting the idea of talking about Treize for personal reasons, never considering the possible benefits. "That's not a bad idea. The media has unbelievable power, when it comes to controlling the public opinion."

"It's one of the first things I was taught as your aide, ma'am. Spin the news. So if you spin Treize's life, show the Treize you knew, rather than the demigod...."

Une shut her eyes, nodding. "We let him be built into a demigod immediately following the world to help stabilize the peace. Now it's time to shatter the illusion and let him be remembered as a man... a man people can strive to reach. Whose ideals we strive to obtain and uphold."

"I'll have the PR department get to work on the concept on the 26th," Li said. She went over to the office closet and keyed it open. "I think you should leave now, ma'am. There will be a midnight mass at the base's church."

Une blinked a bit at the sudden change of topic. "I-"

"You're Christian, right?" Li smiled a bit. "I think it would be a good idea for you to attend. You need to be doing something tonight, rather than sitting alone in your office. Church gives people a sense of community, and that's what you need." She pulled out Une's Preventers coat and came back over to her. "I'm already here, so you don't need to worry about the base. If something goes drastically wrong, I'll have you called. Just keep your pager on you."

Une opened her mouth to protest. "I hate Christmas." It was true; she had used to love it, but since Treize had died, she couldn't see any reason to celebrate. All it reminded her of was of his loss. She missed him so much this night; it wasn't right to expect her to be cheerful tonight, of all nights.

"I'm not surprised. But you need to pretend to like it. Years later, people will ask what you did on this anniversary... and what do you want the answer to be?"

Une stared into Li's face before reaching out to take the jacket. "I don't like you very much right now."

"Permission to speak freely?" Li asked. She brought her hands behind her back and drew herself into a parade rest stance, a carefully blank expression on her face.

Une quirked an eyebrow. Li tended to be retiring and strictly formal; this evening had been drastically out of character for her. Asking for permission to speak freely meant she was going to say something Une didn't want to hear, but it would be interesting. "Granted."

"We rarely like you, either. You're a hard taskmaster, and you have a nasty temper. But we respect you. You work hard for us, and we'll do the same for you."

Une looked at Li, knowing she should feel offended, but was somehow unable to. "I work hard for everyone. I work for the people… like Treize did. And… that was the key, that I wish people would understand."

"Oh?"

"Treize wasn't a politician or a leader. He was a person who cared about others, and he loved them deeply. And it's that legacy, more than anything, that we need to continue." She slid the jacket on, taking another glance out the window. "Treize was about living life; he celebrated every moment of it, and he mourned for those who fell. I'll go to church tonight, for him. Because he wouldn't want me sitting alone, mourning. He would want me to continue to live."

  
**END SAINAN NO KEKKA ACT 0**

  



	5. A Memory's Retrogressing Tide

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT I, PART I

_ Just wild beat communication  
Nani mo osorenai de  
Kanjiaeru tashikana ima  
Dare ni mo ubaenai kara_

Just wild beat communication  
Ame ni utare nagara  
Iro asenai atsui omoi  
Karada juu de tsutaetai yo  
Tonight

Just wild beat communication  
Don't be afraid of anything  
We feel secure now because no one  
Can take away the feelings

Just wild beat communication  
While being pounded by rain  
I want to tell you of the unfading  
Hot memories in my body  
Tonight

--Gundam Wing, _Just Communication_ [First TV opening theme] 

  
  
**Scene I : The Dance of Daggers**

  


_"Let's dance for a while; Heaven can wait."  
--Alphaville, Forever Young_

  
Catherine Bloom watched as Trowa spun into a series of elaborate leaps and somersaults, agilely dodging the knives she threw at him with deadly accuracy. If he had been anyone else, he would be dead by now. This performance required split-second timing, and though it thrilled the crowds, it had them on the edges of their seats as well. All it would take was one mistake, and Trowa would die. There was no second chance.

The siblings were wearing matching outfits. Trowa was clad in skin-tight spandex, provoking many hoots and whistles from an appreciating female (and some male) audience. The multi-toned green fabric flexed and folded around him like a delicate sheath. Here and there pieces of the spandex had been removed and replaced with emerald gossamer, providing a tantalizing glimpse of flesh.

Catherine's outfit was more extreme. She wore the same mix of green gossamer and spandex. Even though she, like Trowa, was covered head to foot, the placement of the bit and pieces seemed more daring, especially where the gossamer strained over the top of her breasts. The unitard displayed her lovely legs to their best advantage, and she was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman in the circus.

The Dance of the Daggers, as their act was being called, was one of the most eagerly anticipated events of the show. Neither of them were sure exactly how it had come about, but Trowa wasn't sure he liked it. He missed wearing the mask, missed being able to hide. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered, but the pleasure Catherine received from the act kept him from voicing his complaints- not that he would have. He usually kept things bottled up inside.

Catherine aimed a dagger at his heart, and he paused dramatically for the crowd, waiting until the last second before he caught it his left hand and threw it up in the air. The dagger struck the middle of the ring, and the siblings bowed in unison, signaling the end of the show.

The ringmaster came on to announce the next act, and the two left quickly. Trowa immediately reached for a towel to dry the sweat from his face.

Catherine bopped him playfully on the head. "Good show," she said with a warm smile.

He nodded, handing her a bottle of water that he had left near the lion's cage.

Rolling her eyes, she accepted, murmuring her thanks. After taking a few healthy swallows, she handed it back. "I swear, Trowa, will you ever learn to speak?"

He shrugged, and took his own drink. Then, with a spark of mischief, he upended the contents of the bottle over her head, listening to her squeal in surprised protest. "Trowa Barton!" she yelled, tackling him. "You are SO in for it!"

He was a trained terrorist and had the benefit of years of experience in the war, yet like a good younger brother, he let her drive him to the ground. She grinned evilly at him. "I think you deserve a good tickling!"

Trowa's eyes widened as her deft fingers worked their torture on his neck and under his arms. Laughing, he tried to get away from her, but she persisted.

The passed year had been the most joyous in his life. Together, with Catherine and the rest of the circus, he had learned what family and what joy was. He did not miss the war, had tried to put it as far from his thoughts as possible. Sometimes he would think of the others, and had even toyed with the idea of contacting them, but decided that they had their own lives. He was the one who had had nothing before the war- if he was doing this well, he was positive the others were doing even better.

Catherine had spent much of the last year breaking down the barriers that Trowa had put up throughout his life. They had helped him survive in the past, but now they could only inhibit the bright future that lay ahead of him. Already the two were talking about starting their own circus, or possibly buying out the one in which they already performed.

Trowa's slow smile became more frequent, and Catherine taught him how to laugh. It was something he hadn't known before, and the simple life they led together made him happier then he ever dreamt he could be. He had always assumed that he would die young; now, he had hope for a future. His war with OZ had reaped personal benefits he hadn't even begun to manage.

Catherine hated it when he got contemplative. It tended to send him into depressions, and she shook him out of them with determination. This time she merely pinched him sharply directly below the ribs. "Eh, Trowa, you know the rules. No brooding." She waved a reprimanding finger in his face, smiling teasingly. "What do you have to brood about, anyway? Did you notice all the girls checking you out tonight?"

He blushed. Catherine was an unrepentant matchmaker, and seemed to think that finding the perfect girlfriend for her beloved brother was a wonderful past time. So far Trowa had fought her in his own quiet way, but both of them knew it was only a matter of time before he gave in. He could deny her nothing. She was the first person who had ever loved him, and he returned her love with a fierce love that was close to obsession. Trowa's world revolved around making her happy.

"I didn't notice," he said after a moment. "They don't really know me- do you notice the men who stare at you?"

She blushed. "Of course. It's a compliment to be appreciated. As long as they realize they can look and not touch, that is," she said, frowning slightly. There had been an incident a few months where one of the spectators had cornered her after the show, believing, in his own psychotic way, that her costume had been an invitation meant for him. Luckily Trowa had been close by and heard her cry for help. She winced as she remembered how thoroughly Trowa had taken the man apart. Never ever upset a trained terrorist. That was what she had learned from that little incident.

He shrugged. "I guess," he agreed reluctantly. His voice was the soft monotone she had grown used to, and suddenly she found the courage to ask something that she had been wondering for a very long time.

"Trowa," she said, her usually mischievous soprano serious.

He noted her unusual behavior, and looked up through his bang, his expression slightly concerned. "Is something wrong?"

"Are you happy, Trowa?" she asked.

He smiled at her. "Every day I spend here is a day that I never thought I'd live to see. I know happiness… I never can remembering knowing it before. Catherine, you know I love you. You're my _soeur_, and that means so much," he said shyly. He wasn't used to speaking about his feelings.

Tears welled in Catherine's eyes, and she threw herself forward into his arms. "You're my _petit frere_, and the best family anyone could ever ask for."

He smiled and hugged her tightly, never wanting to let go. Now that the war was over, he knew he didn't have to. The world held so many possibilities.

_soeur : French, "sister"  
petit frere : French, "little brother"_

  


* * *

  
**Scene II: The Moon Rises Softly in the Night**

  


_"Someone was calling my name into the night  
As I run from a voice that was echoing mine."  
--October Project, After the Fall_

  
He couldn't see really much of anything in the darkness, but he was used to it. Darkness and emptiness. The house was quiet and the crescent moon was bright in the sky outside the window, but the thin rays of light didn't quite reach inside. That was always how it was.

The night insects were chirping outside and the flow of the stream in its bed should have been soothing to his ears, but it was foreign to him. The water grated, grated like the whir of gears should have grated on the ears of someone, anyone, who was anyone but him. Because he missed the whir of gears and the whine of engines and the crackle of static. Missed the feeling of power and control sitting in the seat of the greatest war machine ever created and knowing that all of mankind was in his hands.

Funny he couldn't remember the fear that came with it.

He remembered when all he had cared about were the insects and the stream and the sunshine and rain, sitting at his simple table with his scrolls and books around him and writing. He missed the ink flowing out from under his brush like a true river, a fountain of knowledge. Because he had believed knowledge was power. There had been such a time.

It was hard to believe, now.

The ancient volume trembled in his hand and he steadied himself on the ladder, wondering if he really should have lit a candle. Or at least fought down his pride and aversion to mechanical things and turned on the old electric lamp that hung inconspicuously from one corner of the worn ceiling. The bookshelf loomed large and black in the formless darkness.

Reaching forward, he braced himself with one hand, holding the ladder in place, then carefully slid the book onto the shelf. Slowly…ever so slowly…

The ladder tipped.

He gave a squawk as the book flew from his grasp, hanging onto the shelf for dear life as the ladder swayed and fell to the floor with a crash. His sweaty fingers slipped on the wood and he gave another wordless shout as he crashed to the floor on top of the ladder.

"MAXWELL!"

The dust was visible in the moonlight as he sat, blinking, too tired even to wonder why he had suddenly shouted that name while he was falling. He got to his feet, dusted himself off, straightened the ladder. Thought about retrieving the book, but it was too dark. He would have to wait until daylight.

It would have been just like Maxwell to pull a trick like that on him. It had happened before on many occasions to all of the pilots…except it hadn't been a wooden ladder leaning against a bookshelf, but a metal one propped against the leg of Gundanium armor on the hangar floor. As luck would have it, he would always be holding some kind of oil or box of bolts or something that would scatter all over the floor and him and have Maxwell howling with laughter right before he got the living daylights beat out of him by whichever pilot happened to be the butt of the joke.

Maxwell. Duo Maxwell.

Gods, how long had it been since he had thought of him? Of them? Days? Months?

He wanted to believe it was. He wanted to forget. He had come here to forget, after all. Just as he had run away from the memory of her all those years before, he had come here to run away from the memory of them, from the horrible war that had cut short childhood and innocence. He was sick of the smell of blood and sweat and machine fluid and rotted justice.

Sick and intoxicated at the same time, and he had to run away.

_That was beautiful…_

Days, months…hours, minutes. He couldn't stop thinking about them. Couldn't forget. He had put his sword away when he had come here. The stream outside flowed into a river which flowed into the ocean several thousand miles away and when had stepped off the shuttle he had seen the gleaming white ocean shimmering and knew what he had to do.

The beautiful sword was at the bottom of the ocean now, just like Wing Gundam had been all those years ago. But this time, there was no one there to pull it out. It would remain, until he lost his memories. And even then it would still remain. Winner would have said it was a waste of beauty. Winner had liked beauty, just as that man had…so long ago.

_That was so beautiful…_

Winner. Quatre Raberba Winner.

The night was just beginning. The moon climbed higher into the sky and he found himself looking at it in resignation, knowing that people on the colony there were going about their business, maybe sleeping, maybe waking, maybe hurrying to destinations important to no one but themselves. Maybe arguing about the great war that had been so unnecessary and just a waste of time and money. Arguing about the stupid pilots of the machines they called Gundams.

They had been stupid.

They had all parted ways, long ago. He didn't expect to hear from them again. It was strange…that the bunch of them would all separate like that and never even care where the others were going. Or at least pretend not to care, because he had cared. He had cared too much to ask. The only one he was certain of was Barton, who had gone back to that circus of his. To his circus and his family. He hadn't asked, but he had known with all certainty that Barton, at least, had found a home to go back to.

Barton. Trowa Barton.

He himself hadn't ever told the others where he had gone. He had packed his belongings, headed out to the hangar where the Gundams had once stood, so proud and beautiful. They were gone now. The hangar looked bare and huge and empty. So empty.

He hadn't seen the other pilot emerge from the shadows.

"Where are you going?"

Cobalt blue eyes gleamed at him.

"None of your business."

"I knew you would say that."

The spandex-clad form moved like a cat across the floor of the hangar bay. There was a spare bolt lying on the concrete floor and one sneakered foot kicked it carelessly away, clattering into the darkness. It echoed.

"Why do you want to know?"

Blue eyes shrugged. "No reason. Why shouldn't I know?"

"Damn it. You're not our leader anymore."

A thoughtful pause. "Was I ever?" Emotionless, questioning.

"I'm leaving. Get out of my way."

"Tell me."

"Ask Maxwell."

"Does Maxwell know?"

He didn't want to lie. Not to him. "No. No one knows. It's better that way. I want to be left alone."

He knew the cobalt eyes were watching him, drawing an invisible target on his chest, speaking the silent words inside his own mind, silently, questioning. _The war is over. Has the justice you so longed for come to pass?_

But instead the other pilot shrugged and stepped aside, motioning him towards the shuttle that stood at the opening of the hangar. "I understand."

He blinked. Looked at the shuttle, looked back at the blue eyes. For a moment, he thought he saw compassion there.

Compassion?

Yuy. Heero Yuy.

The Perfect Soldier.

There was no compassion. He would not have cared if he had died. If they had all died. In fact, he might have even preferred it.

After he left in the shuttle, he had piloted it to a private spaceport, bought a ticket on a passenger liner back to Earth. It felt strange riding in a liner, like being chauffeured to some private party given by some great personage. There were crying babies on board, old men, loud-mouthed women. No other boys his age. He didn't expect any. They had all been killed in the war.

As space slipped by, he watched from the porthole. The small black circle with pinpoints of stars wasn't space. They had killed space, too. Killed the vast sphere of majesty and might that had been space, just him sitting at the controls of one man-made machine in the midst of a vast forever. Space was dead.

He'd gotten off at the spaceport in China and taken a bus. Went back to the old capital and the clearings in which the rebels had fought at the beginning of the war. There were still scorch stains on the ground where no grass would grow.

He built his house there.

It was a simple dwelling made of wood and bamboo and whatever other natural things he could find. The stream he thought would prove an ample source of fish and would soothe him at night and when he was working. He had been a scholar before. Surely he could be one again. He went off to Beijing with a list of book titles he could remember, classics of literature, and bought all of them that he could find. He built bookshelves to house them all.

And when he was finally finished, he couldn't forget.

Sometimes he would jerk awake at night, thinking he heard the alarm and the ship was under bombardment, or that he had been captured and that he was going to die alone in solitary confinement on the OZ ship. That he was having a nightmare and the war was still going on, up there in the sky with the full moon, and that his Gundam would be waiting for him when he stepped outside, tall and beautiful and silvery in the darkness.

He had fought all for her, at first, for her dead memory, and then for himself, and then for his friends. And then not even for his friends, but he fought because that was all he knew how to do anymore. And when the war was over he was a wreck of a man who had never really been a boy and had nothing left but to go back to the existence he no longer knew.

Alone, as he had always been. The lone dragon, even in the midst of war.

The crescent moon wavered in the sky like the sword that now lay at the bottom of the ocean, covered in silt and sand and no longer beautiful.

It was a pity.

He could still hear that voice in his ears, the point of the sword at his throat, the proud eyes. He had never known there could be someone as proud as…as she had been. 

Meilan.

Chang. Chang Wufei.

_Kill me! If you don't kill me now, I'll keep coming back until I kill you!_

He had thought that was what she would have wanted him to do. He fought for her, after all. But maybe…she hadn't wanted anything.

He wondered if she saw him now, if she would weep for him.

_That was beautiful…Wufei._

So beautiful.

  


* * *

  
**Scene III : Fencing with Foils and Words**

  


_"I'm a fountain of blood in the shape of a girl…"  
--Bjork, Bachelorette_

  
She lunged forward, her fencing foil racing towards her opponent's heart. He managed to parry her first blow, then the second, and the next, but in the fast flurry of exchanges, she finally managed to snap his foil hard, knocking it free.

Raising her mask, Dorothy looked at the man who had been her opponent with scorn. "Weak!" she declared. Tossing her long hair back, she glared once, then spun around, storming off.

Making her way to the showers, she started to shed her clothes, carelessly dropping them on the floor. Her maids would pick up after her- they always did. They were constantly picking up after the whirlwind of energy they called Mistress.

Stepping into the shower, she hissed slightly as the hot sting hit her well-toned body. Someone had been messing with the water heater (which she had set for a comfortable 120'), and that meant she was hit by the slightly too-hot water.

She stood under the pounding water for a few seconds, letting her body adjust. Then she took out her favorite bath gel and a sponge and lathered it over her body, starting at her toes, working up her legs and over her hips, around her back and across her breasts. The soap was pleasantly fruity, and she luxuriated in the feel of being clean. It was one of her few sins, she realized. If she had been taken captive during the war, she might have gone nuts just from being unable to wash the daily grime that living produced off her body.

Then she decided it was time for the more difficult task- washing her knee-length hair. It took forever to work the shampoo and conditioner properly, and even longer to rinse it clean. Still, she refused to cut it. She had always had a long banner of hair flying after her, and if she had her way, she always would. She didn't like to think of herself as vain, but recognized that her hair was indeed her best feature.

Half an hour later, she was stepping out of the shower and wrapping herself in a pre-heated towel. Picking up a comb, she attacked her hair again, working out the snarls. Thankfully, her straight hair never seemed to acquire any untanglable knots, something she was eternally grateful for.

Just as she was finishing up, a knock sounded on her door.

"Yes?" she asked in a slightly annoyed voice. The staff knew very well that her bath time was sacred, and interrupting her without a damn good reason was enough to get a servant fired.

The voice that replied was trembling. "I'm very sorry, Lady Dorothy, but your mother is on the vid, waiting to speak with you. She's MOST insistent."

Dorothy growled and started to slide into her clothes. "Tell her I'll be five minutes," she said, hurriedly dressing and stalking to her living room, where the vid screen was.

Dorothy had always prided herself on being a strong woman, yet one person was capable of hitting all her buttons and reducing her to the status of whining child. Her mother.

Her mother's latest hobby horse was Dorothy's unmarried status. Dorothy was only seventeen and didn't see the point. She wanted to marry a strong man, and came to realize that there were none who were stronger then she was. Her family had produced Duke Dermail and Treize Khushrenada- no mere mortal could compare to them. Even some of the Gundam pilots were weak. She remembered battling the peace-loving Sandrock pilot, and thinking he was a poor choice to handle some of the most destructive machinery in the history of the human race. Heero Yuy had been respectable, though; he had understood the true glory and suffering of war. Still, he was Relena's, even if the Wing Pilot was unaware of it.

Relena Peacecraft… Heero Yuy… polar opposites, yet Dorothy understood them. They were drawn to each other, seeing what they needed most. Even though Heero had vanished to God knew where, Dorothy bet anything that he would return to Relena, as he had done before. It was inevitable.

With a groan, Dorothy straightened her jacket and tossed a lock of her damp hair over her shoulders. She wished she had time to blow-dry it, as it took forever to dry on its own, but her mother had been kept waiting long enough. Grunting slightly, she slammed her palm into the switch that would turn the vid screen on, and forced a friendly smile to her lips. "Hello, mother," she said.

Her mother sniffed and raised a hand to her own elegantly coifed hair, pretending to fix the already immaculate arrangement. "Hello, Dorothy. You haven't been returning my calls," she said accusingly.

Dorothy barely refrained from sighing. Looking at Emily Khushrenada Noventa, she wondered, not for the first time, how the woman could possibly be her mother. Emily was motivated by one thing: social status. She believed in marrying well and marrying often. Her latest husband was the brother of the late General Noventa, and Dorothy despised him. Dorothy's father, Leon Dermail Catalonia, had been husband number three and the only one that she hadn't divorced. He had died in a hijacked shuttle incident during the turbulent times leading up to the war, and that had left Dorothy in the hands of Duke Dermail, since Emily was moving onto husband number four, and Dorothy would have been unwanted baggage.

Snapping her attention back, Dorothy mentally chided herself for letting her mind wander. "I've been busy," she answered, trying to keep the resentment out of her voice. Emily only called when something could possibly benefit her… Dorothy hated how self-centered her mother was.

Emily sighed. "Not doing the right things, apparently. I'm sending over a few young men to meet you. Please at least give them a chance. They're all from excellent families."

Dorothy rolled her eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you, I'm only seventeen? I am most definitely not interested in marriage right now!"

Her mother glared at her. "Dorothy, we've been over this. You don't have that much of a choice. You're the last living member of the Dermail family, and you're female. You HAVE to marry so that the Duchy will pass on; since you can't inherit, it's your husband who will become the new Duke, and you'll finally be able to call yourself Duchess!"

"So?" Dorothy asked. "It can wait."

Dorothy watched as her mother, her elegant mother, gnashed her teeth in frustration. "How is it possible you're my child?" she asked rhetorically, voicing the same line of thoughts Dorothy had herself had entertained a few moments before.

"I honestly wish I knew," Dorothy answered. "Please save yourself the trouble and stop trying to matchmake for me."

Emily opened her mouth to protest, but Dorothy slammed the switch again, cutting the connection.

_I'm sure I'm going to hear about THAT little rash move, and probably live to regret it,_ Dorothy thought. _But she's so irritating that I can't stand dealing with her ninety percent of the time._

Dorothy leaned back, settling into the chair she had been too tense to sit in during the brief interview. Her mother always set her off.

Uncharacteristically, she wondered if her mother might have had a point. Even though marriage was pushing the envelope, Dorothy had, in the past six months or so, become more and more aware of how far apart she was from the rest of her age group. She had commanded mobile dolls in the final battle, been aboard the Libra, looking death in the eye without flinching, yet she had never been on a date. Seventeen years old and never been kissed, she thought. How pathetic.

She had never really been that interested in the boys her own age. They had seemed so juvenile, and many of them were afraid of her strength. She needed an equal, and she hadn't found that yet.

Only one man had ever set her heart racing. She would dream about him, embarassing dreams that made her flush when she woke up. Long blonde hair, beautiful blue eyes… Zechs Merquise…

She shook her head, trying to drive those unwanted thoughts from her mind.

  


* * *

  
**Scene IV : An Accusation and a New Identity**

  


_"If I could change anything, then I would change everything."  
--Nine Days, Bitter_

  
"You're powerful and relatively mysterious, sir," said the face on the comm screen, "and you don't care for media attention. That's why you're getting all this coverage."

Milliard Peacecraft threw the thick newspaper down on the desk, running one hand through golden hair, now only a fraction of the length it had been during the war. The hair had been frustrating and heavy and a vainglorious ornament of his youth. So he'd cut it off.

"You'd think they'd understand why I don't care for media attention!" He paused, started to add something to the outburst, then shook his head. "Make it go away," he said between gritted teeth. "Tell them…"

"Tell them what, sir?"

"Never mind."

The girl on the screen frowned at him, curving perfectly shaped eyebrows. She was seductive even when she frowned, seductive even in uniform. Milliard sighed.

"That's all for now, Captain Harper. I'll call you when I need you."

"Of course, sir," the silken voice said, and the screen flickered and went black, in the shape of a flower petal. Damn. Girls these days…

One hand strayed to the bulky paper he'd thrown on the desk, and almost unwillingly he pulled it to him, allowed himself to lift one corner of it and view the front page in all its disgusting glory.

"COMMANDER MILLIARD PEACECRAFT: SORDID AFFAIRS DURING THE WAR," it read. On it was a photo of him and Treize, obviously doctored to make it look like he and the OZ commander had been doing something they had most certainly not been doing. The tabloid promised "sizzling stories and hotter pictures" of his so-called "trysts" with various ladies and gentlemen of the OZ and Federation circles.

He flipped through the pages again, knowing already what the photos would hold. He didn't know where the tabloid editors had gotten those pictures, but they were the most crudely doctored photos he had ever seen. Him posing with a female Federation general. Him and some male officer kissing. Him and Treize…

Milliard's fingers were shaking and he had to put down the paper, letting it fall this time, too tired and too drained to even throw it across the room like he would have a year ago. A year ago he would have been filled with righteous rage, ready to go out and avenge himself upon the perpetrators of this horrid act. A year ago he wore his hair long and golden and his helmet silver and bright, fighting for what he called justice and the kingdom he thought he believed in, fighting a war that had ended up killing the only person in the world he had ever truly cared about.

Treize had been like the father he had lost too early in his childhood. Treize had had a vision, a belief of how the world should work, and he had believed in Treize. Had…

He didn't know how that belief ended.

He didn't know how Treize had died.

The blip on the monitors had faded suddenly in the midst of battle, and Tallgeese just wasn't there anymore. The sense of hollow loss he had felt should have been for the machine that he had so fondly taken care of and that Lieutenant Otto had given his life for, but instead he had gone back to his ship and wept for the man who had believed in him even when that belief was not returned.

When he "regained his senses," as he liked to think of it, he'd gone back to Earth and raided Treize's private mansion, looking through all his papers and going through private belongings. No one minded. No one cared, except for maybe Lady Une, and she hadn't been the same since Treize's death. He didn't know what he was looking for, but he kept looking. He had never found it.

Treize's will had named him sole heir of the Khushrenada estates and all Treize's possessions. He had kept the house but sold all the miscellaneous items: the stocks and bonds, the antiques that Treize had apparently kept stocked up in hundreds of storehouses. He had been an elegant man, Colonel Khushrenada.

And now he was Colonel Peacecraft.

Not Merquise anymore, he reminded himself again as he reached for the drawer to pull out a stack of paperwork. Relena wouldn't allow him to keep his old name, even if he'd have wanted to hide under it again after the war ended.

"I'm Queen of the World," she said, "And I won't have a coward for a brother."

He didn't love her.

She was in love with that boy, Heero Yuy, the Gundam pilot. Sometimes when he looked at her, he saw bits of Heero in her. He wondered if she even realized it, or if she was still in mourning for the boy who she believed had forsaken her, forsaken the world after his part in this drama was played out. Relena always felt things too deeply, but he supposed that was to be the fate of those who had been tied to people like the pilots, to people like him.

If the tabloids ever got wind of who the Gundam pilots actually had been, there would be an uproar.

Milliard's hand paused slowly as he reached for his keyboard. Tabloids? It didn't have to be tabloids. Real news sources…holonet, television, interspace broadcasts…

No one knew who the pilots had been.

He wondered briefly how large the uproar would actually be, the truth that the killers behind the war had been fifteen year old boys piloting machines with capabilities for mass destruction, then dismissed it with a shake of his head. It wasn't worth the thought or effort. He had fought those boys fairly in combat, and they had been warriors, both in strength and honor. He wouldn't ever compromise them for that.

Respect for an opponent was one thing Treize had taught him.

There were three messages from General Une on the computer and one from Sally Po, wondering about the tabloid. So they had gotten wind of it too. Must have been that over-talkative executive officer of his. Milliard deleted the emails, deciding that telling the story in person would have a much better effect than trying to explain electronically.

Une had discarded her "Lady" title after the war, discarded the glasses and the disturbing hairdo, and formed the Preventers to keep galactic peace. Ironic. Sally Po had joined her. Most of the OZ pilots and cadets in training had followed, either seeing no better alternative or needing something to do after the war was over. Some were court-martialed. Some went insane. Milliard pitied them.

And Lieutenant Noin…

Lucrezia Noin had disappeared.

According to Une, she was doing "scouting" elsewhere. Milliard knew better.

It was better this way. He wouldn't have known what to say if he had seen her again, so soon. Even hearing her voice over the speakers on Epyon had been a struggle for him to remember that he was Milliard Peacecraft and no longer Zechs Merquise, Lightning Baron, the man with whom she had fallen in love.

He didn't know if he loved her, either. Didn't know if he had ever loved her. He knew that she had loved him. That much was certain.

It was so hard…being a Peacecraft.

The comm beeped.

"Yes."

"Commander, it's a call from General Une."

"Patch me in. Audio only"

There was a crackle of static, and then the familiar voice came over the comm.

"Good day, Colonel."

"General," he said, sitting with his hands on the keyboard but not typing, tapping short nails against the keys.

"I trust you are doing well?"

"What do you want?" Milliard said, not really caring what she wanted, but wanting to get the conversation over with.

She laughed, as he had known she would. "Cranky in the morning, aren't we? No wonder you didn't want me to see your face. I have an assignment for you, if you would like to take it."

"Any assignment is better than this paperwork."

"You might not think so after I brief you."

He blinked. "Is it that bad?"

A pause. "Come see me as soon as you can. I'll give you the details then."

"I will do that. Could I come see you now?"

"I have no problem with that, Colonel." She sounded surprised. Did she actually think he was doing paperwork?

"Yes, ma'am. See you in a few minutes."

The comm clicked off without further word, and he sat back in his chair, flicking off the computer monitor and watching the white screen with the endless rows of words dissolve into darkness. He fingered his short hair. Too short. He hadn't worn it this short since his cadet days.

He wondered what Noin would think if she saw him now. Wondered if she would recognize him.

He wondered what Treize would think.

He knew what Khushrenada would say.

_Zechs. What happened to the elegance? What happened to the perfection? What happened to all that I taught you?_

Treize had believed that Zechs Merquise could achieve the same fame that he and all the Kushrenada line had achieved in the past. Their pictures hung in the hallway of the mansion, like his own family pictures had hung in the hallway of the Cinq Kingdom palace. Elegance was in their bloodline, their features, their eyes.

Treize had been wrong about him. All he was now was a prince without a kingdom, a warrior without a war, serving second-rate leaders in a second-rate organization.

He got up from his creaking chair, flinging the paperwork carelessly across the desk, glancing at the dark comm screen, seeing his reflection wavering in the black polished surface. Milliard Peacecraft was who looked back out at him now.

He wondered where Zechs Merquise had gone.


	6. A Memory's Retrogressing Tide

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT I, PART II

_Tooi yoake made  
Yorisotte sugoshitai yo  
Nani mo kamo nakushite mo   
Yasashisa dake nakusazuni_

Kotoba yori kisu de  
Tagai no kodou kanjite  
Jounetsu wo hikiyoseru  
Isshun dakedo eien  
Setsunaku hageshiku mitsumetai

Nakitai kurai ni  
Anata dake ga itoshii

Until the far dawn comes  
I will be near you  
We can lose everything  
As long as we keep gentleness

From words to kisses  
We feel each other's heartbeats  
Bringing us closer to passion  
For a moment, for eternity  
Gazing fiercely at sorrow

In the weeping dark  
Only you are beloved

--Gundam Wing, "Just Communication," (TV opening theme) 

  
  
**Scene V : Salvage of Love and Loss**

  


_"My memory of love will be of you."  
--John Denver, Perhaps Love_

  
Hilde Schbeiker sat in a junk yard, clicking items off a manifest. She was organized today- none of the papers that seemed to multiple by themselves overnight. Paperwork made the colonies go around, or at least L2.

Frowning at a row of columns that just didn't want to add up correctly, she pursed her lips, wishing Duo was around. He was good at math. Though he had acting like an idiot down to an art form, he was one of the brightest people she had ever met. The ease which he had managed to juggle the various aspects of the salvage business was amazing to watch, and she stopped wondering why he had been chosen to be one of the pilots. It was obvious; he was an unrecognized and under appreciated genius.

She hadn't thought much of his brains the first few times they had met. He was gorgeous, yet appeared to have the intellect of a slug. It took a lot of stupidity to challenge OZ directly the way he had, stealing a mobile suit in broad sight! She herself had chased him, but let him go in the end, persuaded by his smooth talking, and turned to cover his escape.

The results of that escapade had landed her in OZ's most uncomfortable prison cell. She had been rather unhappy about that, but luckily for her, she had friends in high places and had persuaded them to swing the insanity plea for her. She had returned to her L2 colony, and took the salvage business her aunt had been running before the occupation by OZ had forced her to leave.

Two weeks later Duo showed up, with no explanations, and moved in with her like he had the right to. There was something almost charming about his quirky assurance and he'd be welcome. By all rights, she should have thrown him out, but being with him made her feel alive.

Her musing was interrupted by a cheerful voice calling her name. "Hilde! Hilde!"

She laughed and jumped off the pile of salvage she had been sitting on, and raced over to the owner of the voice. "Howard!"

He smiled at her and offered his hand. "Hilde!" he said teasingly.

Hilde shook Howard's proffered hand, then leaned forward and brushed a kiss across his cheek. "How are you?" she demanded with all the eagerness of a puppy.

"Well enough," the engineer answered. "Got some good salvage for you."

Hilde beamed like a lighthouse. Her business was doing wonderfully, but if Howard said he had something good, it would undoubtedly be very good. "Do you want to haggle the price now? Perhaps maybe I can make you lunch? I'd love to have some company."

Howard smiled at her, shaking his head with regret. "This is just a flying visit. My men are already unloading in the yard. I'll trust you to give me a fair price."

"Leaving already?" Hilde asked with severe disappointment. Howard knew the war, knew Duo. He was exactly how she pictured Duo would be in fifty years: cheerfully irreverent, brilliant, and a tacky (yet unique) dresser. It made her feel both nostalgic and refreshed to spend time in the older man's company.

"Yup," he said. Straightening the collar on his loud Hawaiian shirt, he spread his hands to indicate his helplessness. "It's business, what can I say? I'll be back in six weeks. How about I take you out to dinner then?"

Hilde looked at him with her wide blue eyes, her lips trembling slightly on her pixie-ish face. "Why, Howard, are you flirting with me?" she asked with feigned innocence.

Howard placed a companionable arm around her shoulders, giving her a quick hug. "And have Duo ready to kill me if I don't make and honest woman of you? Not hardly!"

She couldn't help laughing. Duo had made it clear that anyone who messed with her would have to deal with him from the moment she had arrived on the Peacemillion. And Duo, like Heero, always made good on his threats. No one wanted the Deathscythe pilot angry with them.

After stealing the plans from the Libra that would provide vital intelligence for winning the war, and narrowly making her escape, she had been sidelined for the final battle for space. Hearing the stories about the firefight that resulted, she had been disappointed that she missed it.

Waking up in the infirmary had not been a pleasant experience. Hilde's entire body had been one big bruise, and several of her bones, including her left arm, had been fractured. Opening her eyes, she squinted in the bright light.

An attractive woman with honey-blonde hair separated into two braids smiled at her, rising out of a seat that was obviously for observers. "You awake?" the woman asked in a husky voice.

Hilde groaned, trying to keep the melodrama out of her voice as she asked a question, "I wish I wasn't. Can I have some morphine?"

The woman's lips curved into a slight smile. "No. You've been unconscious for a week, and I need you to tell Duo to calm down. He's been in here every five minutes, and I'm sure you know how annoying he can be."

Hilde let a giggle slip out. "But we love him anyway."

The medical professional raised an eyebrow. "Sometimes. Most times I could cheerfully shove him out the nearest airlock. I'll go get Duo- he's visiting Quatre. Oh, if you need me, my name is Sally Po, and I've been acting as your doctor. If I were you, I would prepare myself to be seriously yelled at. Duo is not happy with you."

The doctor disappeared, and less then thirty seconds later, Hilde heard the sound of pounding footsteps that signaled that Duo was on the way.

Duo flew into the room and wrapped her in a tight hug. Hilde was the very definition of hurt, but for the moment, she ignored the pain. Are those tears in my eyes? she wondered, feeling the dampness spill over her cheeks.

They clung to each other for a moment of eternity, and all was right with the world. Then Duo eased his grip, propping her up against a few pillows. "YOU are an absolute IDIOT," he snarled, bouncing to his feet, and beginning to pace. His face flushed and he glared angrily.

What followed was the worst chewing out Hilde had ever gotten. Duo was restless, moving forward and back, waving a finger in her face as he described everything that could have gone wrong, should have gone wrong, her idiocy, her probable parentage, and any other insult he could throw at her.

Hilde took it all in stride. Duo didn't let her get a word in edgewise, but she figured that when he calmed down, he would be more likely to listen to her reasoning.

About half an hour after he started raving, he had calmed down enough for Hilde to ask a question. "Did you use the data I got?"

Duo scowled. "Yes," he admitted. "It helped a lot."

"So don't yell at me!" she said. "You may have a Gundam, but you're not the only soldier! We all battle in our own way- the chance I took was certainly worth the reward!"

He clenched his hands, and prepared to launch another verbal assault. His violet blue eyes blazed in an uncanny parody of Deathscythe's, and Hilde bit her lip, knowing she was about to get royally reamed.

It never came. The door open and the boy Hilde had seen at the circus entered, leaning against the door. "Quatre wants to visit," he said.

"Quatre?" Hilde asked, surprised. She had never met the pilot of 04, but Duo had talked about him while they had been living together.

The boy with the bright green eyes nodded. "He wants to say thank you- and Duo, he can feel you yelling at Hilde. It's upsetting him."

Hilde blinked, not getting the reference. It would be a week or so later that Quatre would tell her about his _uchuu no kokoro_. "Send him in," Hilde said, throwing a cocky smile at Duo. It'll be nice to deal with someone who appreciates me," she said bitingly.

The quiet boy smiled and left to get the other pilot.

Duo looked at her for a second. "I do appreciate you, you know," he said. "Maybe too much. I just don't want to see you hurt."

She smiled. "If you really do, you have to let me be myself. I have to stand on my own."

He reached down and hugged her again, more careful of her broken ribs this time. "It's so hard," he said.

"Am I interrupting something?" a voice asked.

Duo let go of her guiltily, a faint blush staining his cheeks. "No. Hilde, meet Quatre Raberba Winner. He's another pilot."

Hilde looked over at the blonde boy who walked into the room. He looked sweetly androgynous, and seemed to be favoring one side. "Are you injured?" she asked with concern.

"I ran into the wrong side of Dorothy Catalonia's temper," he said with self-deprecating humor. "My own fault."

She recognized the name. "You mean the one who was on Libra?"

"That's her," Quatre said. "Never, ever fence with her. She plays to win."

"Most people do," she said, looking at him with empathy. "What did you want to see me about?"

The blonde's smile was one of the sweetest Hilde could ever remember seeing. "I wanted to say thank you. Without your information, I don't know if we would have won the battle."

Hilde returned his smile. "It was nothing. I did what I could. I may not be a Gundam pilot, but I can fight in my own way."

"And die!" Duo said.

"And die," Hilde agreed. "We all take those chances to shape the world we want to live in."

Quatre had smiled at her then, but Duo looked sad.

"What are you thinking about?" Howard asked her, snapping her back to reality.

Hilde adjusted her beret self-consciously, and handed Howard an IOU. "Not much. Just someone I used to know."

  
_Go to Hilde story Lass Ihn Frei_

  


* * *

  
**Scene VI : Rebuilding Kingdoms on the River**

  


_"You drive me crazy; I just can't sleep."   
--Britney Spears, Crazy_

  
There was only one thing in the world that Relena Peacecraft really hated, and that one thing happened to be the former Gundam pilot known as Heero Yuy.

Everything else she could handle. Politicians bent before her like soft grass in a breeze. Servants and underlings bowed to her every wish. Affairs of state were flowing along smoothly, and she was enjoying a nice long break from work in her summer home on the Cinq River.

Heero drove her insane.

Intelligence had turned no leads on the missing boy, reporting to her again and again that no person of this name existed anywhere on galactic records, responding patiently to her endless request for information, glancing at her with that look in their eyes that she had come to know. They thought she was crazy.

Maybe she was crazy…crazy for the Japanese boy who had disappeared at the end of the war and who she had so briefly known.

The sun was bright on the river, and there were pleasure cruisers going up and down the waters. Occasionally the odd decrepit fishing boat scuttled by, a relic of pre-war times, but one of the first things Relena had done was to get the Cinq economy back on its feet after long years of neglect. Her advisors had scoffed at her efforts. Stocks? Shares? When the mostly agrarian economy was barely producing enough food even to feed half of its meager population? She was dreaming, they said.

Barely a year later, she had proved them all wrong. The Cinq economy was booming, converted from agrarian to industrial, trading with other nations and reaping a fair profit in return. The bombed out cities had been repaired and tourists were flocking to the "ancient" kingdom, gawking at the classical restored architecture, and returning to their own countries to write glorified accounts of the magnificent kingdom and its amazing ruler.

Who just happened to be Relena Darlian Peacecraft, former Queen of the World.

She really didn't mind the title, though use for it had really passed and been forgotten long ago. Treize Khushrenada…the Romafeller Foundation. Zechs Merquise…Milliard Peacecraft.

She was pleased when he cut his hair. She had seen him three weeks ago and still couldn't get over how different he looked with his hair short. He looked younger, boyish, almost innocent. Though innocent Zechs Merquise certainly was not.

She had thought he had died in the war…after that furious last battle in which the very stars seemed to have been destroyed. Until one day the mysterious visitor appeared at the gates of the palace, demanding to be shown entrance. When he had taken off his hood and cloak and she had seen the long blond hair and the blue eyes, and she had known her brother had come home at last.

He never told her why he had decided to come back or how he had survived. Just that he was glad to see her. She had asked him, of course, but he simply shrugged and smiled and left her to her own guesses.

So she decided if he wanted to play his games with her, she'd do the same to him, to show him that she was not to be played with.

"I don't want you to go by that horrid name anymore," she had told him.

He'd stared at her. "Why not?"

"The war's over, oniisama. You're a new man."

He had laughed. He had thought she was kidding.

Until she had launched the startling headline in the paper: ZECHS MERQUISE ANNOUNCES FORMAL NAME CHANGE TO MILLIARD PEACECRAFT.

He hadn't been happy about that. In fact, he had been downright furious. Milliard, he said, was someone he had created during the war to keep his identity separate from the Zechs that had served Treize Khushrenada and OZ. "I am NOT Milliard Peacecraft!" he had stormed, grabbing her and shaking her. "I have my own identity and I don't need you of all people taking it away from me!"

"I'm not taking it away from you, oniisama," she'd said, standing in the pool of sunlight from the high windows that framed the desk in her audience chamber. She placed her small hands over his large ones on her shoulders. "I'm giving it to you. To start over. A new life. You want that, don't you?"

And of course she had won, like she always did.

Except with Heero.

He infuriated her. Anywhere she got, he was always just one step ahead of her. Always just one wild card ahead of her in the game. She didn't understand. No matter what happened, no matter what promises he made to her, in the end, he was always running away.

Her brother had simply shrugged. "Do you know the boy?"

"KNOW him? We...I understood him. He needs me!"

"Relena."

His quiet voice had drawn her to him, unwillingly.

"That's not what I meant. Did you know him? Did you know his faults and his flaws and his dreams? Did you accept him for who he was?"

She hadn't answered that, and he had finally left the room.

Milliard hadn't understood. Heero had no faults or flaws or dreams. He was the perfect soldier.

She left out the fact that she could not have succeeded without him. She'd worked so hard to get the Cinq Kingdom back on its feet, through Romefeller and the absolute pacifism, through the Queen of the World crisis and finally the showdown at the Peacemillion. She'd never stopped believing that if she worked hard, if she stuck to her goals and never gave up, something would happen. Dorothy had been right about that - one of the many things Dorothy had been right about in the end.

When she'd come back to Cinq after the war was over and her ministers had elected to change her title to Queen instead of just Princess, she had hesitated. She was still not a Cinq citizen and could not be for another five years, according to the laws. Not even her bloodline could change that. The populace that had so adored her during her brief sojourn as Princess was now distant, jaded from memories of the destruction that had happened there. She'd read some of the most scathing comments in the newspapers.

_The war is over and now she returns. Where was she during the last terrible days of it, when fire was raining down and torching entire cities and taking innocent lives? Where was she with her ideals of absolute pacifism? They did us no good in the end. When the going got rough, she ran away. What makes you think she's not just here for the sunny days and won't run away again when it begins to cloud over?_

She'd showed her press secretary the editorial, and he'd ripped it up and thrown it in the trash. _Rubbish,_ he'd said. _There will always be dissenting voices. Your job is to figure out what part of their philosophy is the truth and to dismiss the rest. Besides, you're showing them, aren't you? What of your rebuilding effort? What of the fact that the Cinq economy is growing stronger by the day?_

_That's not enough,_ she'd replied quietly. _They want something concrete. They want solid proof that I will be the leader they've always dreamed of. And I can't give them that, not without another war. And that is the last thing I want._

The memories stirred a sore spot within her and she stood from her sun-chair, placing her cold lemonade on the table, and paced to the railing, watching the cruisers.

"Queen Relena."

She turned. One of her bodyguards and her chief advisor, standing there with eyes bowed respectfully.

"Yes? What is it?"

"We have a call from the Head of Internal Affairs back at the capitol. He said there has been some problems with the irrigation plan and he is wondering if you have time to speak to him."

Irrigation plan. The whole plan was a ridiculous affair. Cinq was moving out of agrarian status and had no need for an irrigation system, but she had let the Head dish up a plan of his own, just to humor him. Apparently he hadn't realized that her interest in his plan was merely a cover. She hated the scheming and side-bargaining that was the essence of politics, but someone had to do it. And if she wanted things done, that someone would have to be her.

Relena Peacecraft wanted industry.She wanted technology. She wanted an economic boom like the country had never seen before, because they had said it was impossible for her.

Nothing was impossible for her.

"Tell him I am busy. I'll call him later."

The men bowed and left, leaving her. The breeze stirred the butterfly clips in her hair and she smelled the scent of blooming flowers.

She was no longer the naive, peaceful girl she had been two years ago, believing in the good of mankind as the end of everything. Romefeller had taught her how cruel humans could be. True, there might not be such a thing as war for the good of the people, as Treize had tried to convince the world. But again, she was no longer sure that absolute pacifism was the answer either. The answer lay somewhere in between, in the misty veil of gray that shrouded the future.

She buried herself in projects. The more projects she took on, the more aggressively she demanded reform and rebuilding, the less she'd have to think about the war. They called the war over, but in fact there were too many issues left undone, too many loose threads left untied. And then there was Heero.

Or perhaps everything was merely a reflection of the fact that in the end, Heero was once again the one who had left her without giving an answer.

The grass was green and the water was blue…as blue as his eyes.

_Heero…_

  


* * *

  
**Scene VII : The Boy With no Name**

  


_"Burning up, don't know just how far that I can go…"   
--John Parr, St. Elmo's Fire_

  
It wasn't any face that haunted Heero Yuy's dreams, but always that buzzing through his head of the entity that he had both come to love and hate, that intangible force that had been known as the Zero system.

It spoke to him in the night, telling him of the power he could have had and the weakness that he was made of not to have taken full advantage of its abilities. It came to him, wrapping him tightly in its embrace and he would struggle and fight until it was no use anymore. And he'd give in to the madness and feel his brain become a mass of wires fused to the parts of the Gundam and his limbs go lax and his body surrender.

And then he would wake up.

He wondered sometimes if it would have really been like that. If he had given into the call of the Zero system, if he would have become a mindless killing machine, just like Wing Zero. Never mind that he thought he already was. After all, it was what Doctor J trained him to be.

Duo had always insisted he was something more than a mindless killing machine. Heero wasn't quite sure if he believed the other Gundam pilot. Duo was secure in his role as Shinigami, never quite facing his past but never quite running from it either, fully aware of why he was fighting and why he had to win the war. Quatre was the same way, fighting for a higher ideal that he believed in. Wufei fought for Nataku. Whoever or whatever that might be or have been, Wufei fought always for something else. Never for himself.

That had left him and Trowa.

Trowa was the most like him, but Trowa had been noble. The pilot of Heavyarms carried himself with a dignity that was far above the common bearing of a killer.

Heero, on the other hand…

Heero Yuy was nothing but a killer.

It was what Doctor J had trained him to be.

After the war had ended, he'd decided the best thing to do would be to kill himself. Had decided to, after the semi-party the pilots had had with the crew. Duo had gotten smashing drunk, as he had expected. There was no non-alcoholic champagne to be found in the near vicinity, so Quatre had drank very little, but had spent the entire evening shadowing the drunken pilot of Shinigami and making sure the other didn't jump out of any portholes. Trowa sat in a corner, alternately sipping his drink and taking deep drafts of a cigar. He had never figured Trowa to be much of a smoker, but war did change people. Wufei had gone off with Sally somewhere.

Heero had figured he could be alone. Fitting, for the end that he had chosen. He should have died along with Zechs, but instead he had chosen to live so that all the people who depended upon him would be able to wake up the next day after Treize Khushrenada's death and see the sun shining. Others would continue the work which he had started for them, but his part here was finished. For him, Heero Yuy, to whom war was not only a way of life but something imbued in his very soul, existing no longer held any purpose. His story was over.

Doctor J had told him that this day would eventually come.

He'd have preferred seppuku, but that would have required someone else to be present, and he had wanted to die alone. There was a dagger that Doctor J had given him for this very purpose, still sheathed in its leather case. He had never taken it out, had never felt the need. Before, there had always been the self-destruct button.

This was different. This was a conscious choice, personal. He would have to slide the blade into his own flesh, watch as the blood pooled around him and as he slid slowly into painful oblivion.

All this he knew.

He positioned the point above his heart and lifted the dagger high.

"Heero! What are you doing??"

Arms flung themselves around him and the dagger was knocked out of his grasp, clattering away behind the drawer that held the leather sheath. He felt warmth pressed against his back, blond hair flowing at the corner of his vision.

"God, Heero, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

He didn't know what to say.

"Get away from me."

"I won't! If you kill yourself, you'll just as well kill me too! Don't you know that? Don't you have any common sense? Heero!"

"Relena," he said. "Step away."

"No! I won't let you do this to yourself. Heero, I-"

He heard footsteps in the hallway, a startled gasp.

"Heero, man, what-"

Duo. Duo must have lost Quatre somehow and wandered off on his own.

"Shit!"

That meant Duo had spotted the dagger. Duo, even drunk Duo, was bright enough to know what a dagger meant when he saw one. The other pilot pounded into the room, stopping when his eyes came to rest on Relena.

"Is he-"

"He was going to kill himself!"

"I know that," Duo said. He sounded perfectly sober. "Heero? Are you ok?"

"What kind of question is that?" he snarled, not caring how the words came out. It was a moot point now. "Get out of here and leave me alone! Both of you!" He struggled, but not hard enough to break Relena's grasp on his arms.

He could have, if he wanted to. He could have easily extracted herself from her death grip with a twist of his body, dived for the dagger, brought it up and into his heart before Duo could even move. But he didn't. Instead he just stood there, looking at Duo, when he could have so easily done what both of them were afraid of him doing. And Duo knew that. Their eyes met, and Heero blinked.

The braided pilot sagged against the wall, one hand covering his eyes. "Thank God. Heero, don't scare me like that, man."

"What are you talking about?" Relena's voice was muffled behind him. "He's still dangerous! He's still-"

"My dear," Duo said wearily, "if you're going to go after Heero Yuy, you gotta learn a few things about him. And one of those things is that he's always dangerous, armed or not."

"But-"

Heero leaned forward and slipped out of her grasp. He could feel her gawking behind him, her gasp of horror as he leaned over and picked up the fallen dagger…and handed it to Duo, along with the leather case.

"Keep this for me," he said roughly. "I might still need it in the future."

Duo had taken it, not looking at him.

"I hear you," he had said. "We all might. One day...or another. What's the difference?"

They had all left him, then. Wufei had gone back to Earth. That was all Heero knew and all he cared to find out. Trowa was back at his beloved circus, reunited with Catherine. Quatre…Quatre was an executive now, almost on level with Relena in the political arena, with not quite so many connections. And Duo…

The boy was nowhere to be found.

Granted, Heero hadn't looked far. Duo hadn't wished to be found, and Heero respected that, just as he knew the other pilots and crew respected his wish not to be found. Still, he wondered where the braided pilot was, the boy who, though they both did not care to admit it, had been the best friend he had ever had.

Heero had gone back to his colony, back to face Doctor J's assistant and replacement, who had basically told him to leave the laboratory and never to come back. Heero had expected that. After all, no one in their right mind, or even in their wrong mind, would want to keep a sixteen year old killing machine around.

So he had gone out in the streets with his meager possessions and his killing ability and people had hired him.

He didn't take dirty jobs, but he took most of what paid. The higher, the better. He had enough common sense to research the jobs before he took them, to know which were the right kind of jobs and which were the wrong kind. Before long, he'd fallen in with a group of semi-professional assassins who worked the streets hunting dirty-dealing crime lords and double-crossing agents. It wasn't the best living, but it paid.

The name he gave to others was Zero, or Wing. There was another boy like him, the dark-haired, dark-skinned leader of the group, who called himself Darkflight. They made a good pair. Soon, there were more jobs for them as a team than the group of them, and the others began to get jealous. So they split.

They called themselves Shadowwing. No one who knew anything about the lower levels of humanity in the dredges of Colony L1 was sure if Shadowwing was a living human, a ghost, or simply a myth made up to cover more down-to-earth assassination jobs. Except no human being could work the job as perfectly as Shadowwing did. They slept in alleyways and hiding holes, taking jobs by word of mouth and demanding payment on word of honor. If the client refused to pay, they killed him too. It was that easy.

And slowly, he forgot.

Except at night the dreams came, and then he would remember. When he jolted awake, and he would have to climb out of the dirty blankets he called a bed, step over the sleeping Darkflight and to the door or opening of whichever hideaway they happened to be staying in that night. Step outside and fall to his knees, remembering the feel of the dagger in his hand.

The memories would be gone by morning.

In waking he was Shadowwing, part of something that kept him from remembering, and in sleep he was Heero Yuy, prisoner of the Zero system, Gundam pilot.

The perfect soldier.

He figured as long as he kept killing, the memories would never return completely. That if he kept on killing, maybe someday someone would kill him in turn and then he would be truly free.

Until then, he lived, slept, killed, breathed. Never wondered about his present or his future or his past, except once in a while he thought of a golden-haired girl who had been the very definition of broken innocence and a Gundam pilot who called himself Death and who had once upon a time taken his dagger from him.

  
_Go to Heero story Sin_

  


* * *

  
**Scene VIII : School Lessons in Many Languages**

  


_"I was walking home from school on a cold winter day  
Took a shortcut through the woods, and I lost my way."   
--Alabama, Angels Among Us_

  
Duo stood on the edge of the cliff, looking out at the gray waters below. North America was the land of his ancestors, and he had come here to find the roots he had no where else. The war was over; the need for soldiers was gone. He couldn't return to L2; much as he loved the Colonies, he couldn't forgive them for betraying him when he had been fighting for them.

He had tried, lord knew he had tried. Duo had wanted to return to his life before Shinigami, but he couldn't remember when death hadn't been his best friend. He had spent the first three months after the war with Hilde, the girl who knew him better then anyone else. Together they had worked in her salvage yard, buying scrap that spacers brought in. Most of the scrap was twisted wreckage that came from the space battles. Sometimes Duo wondered if he was the one who had inflicted the destruction.

Hilde had tried to make him comfortable, but he was out of sync with the rest of the world. He had spent the last year of his life submerged and hiding, and now learning to re-adjust to society was a problem. Many soldiers had the same problems after a war, but Duo had assumed he would be different. He wanted a normal life.

He wasn't going to get it, no matter how much he wished for it. He was different, and it had been impossible for him to stay on the Colony that held so many bad memories. It was like trying to take a pair of clothes that hadn't fit well to start with and pretend they were a tailored suit.

With regret, he had bid Hilde farewell. She had understood, even if he hadn't. She had packed his bag for him, wordlessly handing him a ticket for Washington DC. Her eyes had been terribly sad, and he knew that she wanted to come with him, but she had a business to run. If the world had been perfect, they would have been able to overcome it and go together. But the world wasn't a perfect place.

Landing in North America had been decidedly odd. The air was full of pollution, and it had been a gray, hazy day. His lungs, accustomed to the carefully recycled air of the colonies, had burned as he stepped off the shuttle onto the tarmac. Still, he felt an odd sense of homecoming. There was something inside each colonial that longed for the planet of their origin. Something about Earth called to all its children, no matter how far away they may have been born.

He had caught a cab to the nearest hotel, and started to do his work. He had already had accounts set up in his name during the war, and those accounts had lay fallow until the moment. Accessing the largest account in Geneva, he sent a sizable donation to one of North America's most prestigious academies, ensuring himself a seat, even though the semester had already begun. For large chunks of money, even the most uppity institution would accept a student, particularly if the student had decent grades.

It took Duo a week to create the rest of his legal identity. It was strange to think that this was an identity he might actually be using for the rest of his life, so he took care to be as thorough as possible, even going so far as to use his real name. There was no way he would spend the rest of his life as someone else; he was proud of his name, having chosen it himself. He might not be Shinigami anymore, but he could still be himself.

Arriving at Cliffside Heights, he had plunged gladly into the routine that the school offered. The courses were hardly challenging, but he was careful to always blow a few points off his tests, particularly the physics exams. It wouldn't do to stand out too much.

Duo had his own fan club. Most of the resident female population (and a few of the male population as well) had swooned as soon as they saw him. He wasn't handsome; Duo knew that most people would have called his appearance closer to beautiful. He had an untouchable beauty about him that lured others to him like flies to molasses. The girls all wanted to be the one he loved, but he could have told them it was useless. Still, that didn't stop them from trying.

Like now. He had finished an exam early, and taken off to the cliffs where the school was located. The school used to be a five-star hotel, but had been converted around the start of the twenty-first century. The students were amazingly lucky in that the administration had decided to leave the rooms mainly alone, giving amazingly spacious dorm rooms. 

Duo wasn't too concerned about that. What he enjoyed was the untouched beauty of nature that surrounded the school. He spent time every night staring at the stars and colonies, thinking. It was such a pleasant thing to have time to enjoy the natural wonder of the world. The cliff was one of his favorite places to do so. This late in the day, he could see the setting sunlight reflecting off the Colonies.

Unfortunately, three girls he didn't really know had taken it into their small minds that it would also be a perfect time to corner him alone. Duo hated to be mean, but he simply wasn't interested in any of them. If he couldn't love Hilde, he didn't want to love anyone.

The girls came up to him anyway, and he forced the cheerful smile they expected to see from him onto his face. "Can I help you, ladies?" he said.

They giggled in unison, and Duo barely kept from rolling his eyes. "Duo, we know you're one of the best students at school. We were wondering if you could help us study our French?"

Duo shook his head. "I'm very sorry, but I simply don't have time," he said, stretching the truth a little. "I'm doing a double course load to make up for some of my credits that didn't transfer," he said.

The girls sighed, and one of them rested a hand light on his arm. "Please, Duo? Dolores said that you were a BIG help when you studied together. We won't take too much of your time up," she wheedled.

Duo felt his resolve start to waver. "Really, though," he hemmed, trying to keep from committing to yet another obligation with some ditzy girls who only wanted to spend an evening flirting with him.

"Am I interrupting something?" a curious soprano asked.

Duo looked up from the girls, who pouted and started to withdraw rapidly. When the trio had gone, Duo fell to his knees dramatically in front of the girl who had just arrived. "How can I ever thank you?"

Helena Rosenbaum, president of the junior class and girlfriend to Duo's roommate Chris Johnsen, smiled at him. "Are you sure you're not upset about me interrupting?" asked the pretty blonde. The redhead looked like she had a MAJOR crush on you. Might have been interesting."

Duo looked up at Helena and bounced to his feet, painting a cheerful smile on his face. "Oi, oi!" he crowed cheerfully, wrapping an arm around her waist. "You know I could never love any but you, but you have rejected me," he said melodramatically, fluttering his long eyelashes in mock agony.

She punched him playfully. "Duo!" she protested. He was a terrible flirt. If she hadn't been well and truly in love with Chris, she would have definitely joined the other girls in longing to be the one who caught his heart.

Still, she was his friend. Along with Chris and Ilene, her roommate, she could count herself as one of his closest friends. Something about that struck her as being terribly sad. She hardly knew anything about this boy with the luxurious wealth of brown hair.

In the aftermath of the Great War, many new students had come to their school, former soldiers who wanted to be retrained and relearn aspects of civilian life. Duo hadn't been among the first wave of transfers, but he had entered about three months later.

Helena had no doubts he had done something during the war. The question was what. He seemed far too undisciplined to be a soldier, but sometimes Helena saw the shadows in his eyes that could have only come from watching death and destruction. Once Ilene had asked if he had fought in the Chinese resistance, to which Duo had replied that he'd never even been to China.

Duo didn't lie, but Helena was convinced that he was a master at not telling the whole truth. Behind his joking façade, there was a mind that was as brilliant as anyone could have wished for.

Duo tightened his hold on her, lowering his head so that their eyes were inches apart. "Dump Chris and I will sweep you off your feet!" he promised, proceeding to pick her up and toss her over his shoulder with easy strength.

She squealed as she felt her short shirt ride up. "Put me DOWN!" she protested, a hand automatically trying to keep her skirt from displaying all her wares.

Duo laughed lightly and obliged, grinning at her with childish irreverence. "You WILL be mine," he said, leering at her like a cheesy movie villain.

She whapped him lightly upside the head. "Duo, you're an idiot," she said. "You almost made me forget why I came out to see you!"

"You had a reason?" he asked lightly.

"Yes. Shinobu is having problems with one of the teachers- he doesn't understand what Shinobu's trying to tell him. We need you to translate."

"No problem," Duo said. "I assume it's Old Hickory again?"

Helena nodded wearily. "I swear, you think he'd be used to foreign students now. He's so xenophobic."

"Least we don't have any colonials here right now," Duo said. "Old Hickory really has a problem with them. I think he blames them for the whole war."

He started off towards the classroom, Helena following at his heels. "He's partly right," she said behind him. "The war was everyone's fault. They should have tried to sit down and talk things through, rather then shoot at each other."

"They tried that. That's what got General Noventa and the Federation leadership killed." Duo shook his head, opening one of the magnificent French windows that led into English Department from outside. "By the time Noventa was moving to open peace talks, it was too late. There had been too many misunderstandings, and the Gundam had already been released. The time for talking went by when Heero Yuy had been assassinated."

"Heero Yuy?"

"What did you learn in school? About twenty years ago, the leader of the Colonies was assassinated. Everything fell apart. The war was inevitable after that, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't resent it. A lot of good people died. Some of them killed each other over ideas and disagreements. We all wanted peace, we just didn't know how to go about it." Duo shook his head, and Helena saw the sad glint enter his usually happy-go-lucky eyes.

They turned a corner and heard the sounds of a loud argument. Duo sighed and walked right in. Shinobu was the Japanese exchange student. Even though he spoke English, he would often times get frustrated by others' impatience and forget what he knew. Duo was the only person on campus who was fluent in Japanese, so Duo was constantly being called to act as a translator. "_Oi, matte zo_!" he said, switching languages.

Helena marveled as Duo sorted out the misunderstanding with ease, bouncing between languages with no problems. As far as she knew, he spoke at least six languages fluently, and there were probably more. Duo was just a bundle of surprises. Just when you were ready to thought you knew him, he'd pull another rabbit out of the hat and surprise you like a mischievous child on Christmas Day.

Duo himself hated dealing with this. It reminded him of the times he had been with Heero. Heero had said that there was no reason that they had to use English, since Duo talked ENOUGH in Japanese and Heero loathed the thought of what Duo would say if he was permitted to ramble on in his native tongue.

Finally Duo was able to make peace between Shinobu and the teacher, carefully making sure to take the edge out of each of their comments.

Grabbing Shinobu's elbow, he hauled the student out of there. "That's enough," he said in Japanese. "You and I both know Wood-sensei is an absolute idiot, but telling him that isn't a good idea. We'll take this to the principal if it becomes necessary. Ne?" he said encouragingly.

Shinobu managed to free himself of Duo's grip. "Hai," he agreed, then turned to Helena and thanked her for getting Duo, using his halting English.

Helena smiled back at him. "Would you like to join me and my friends for dinner?" she offered. "You, too, Duo."

Duo looked at her. "_Aa_," he said. "_Sorya ii da na_."

She blinked. "What did you say?"

He smiled infectiously at her. "Yes, sounds great," he reiterated in English. "Sometimes I forget who I'm talking to."

Helena frowned. "You know, it's a little odd. Even though you're as American as I am, you always speak in Japanese first. Was it your native language?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. But I had a friend who was Japanese and hated when I started yammering at him in English."

Helena smiled. "Really?"

"He was a character," Duo said, then his expression grew shuttered. "But that's past. You're right, I should get out of that habit."

"I never said that!" she protested.

Duo tossed his long braid over his shoulder. "No. But someone should have," he said. "It's time I stop dwelling on the past- I can't do anything about it."

Shinobu and Helena looked at him with confusion.

He smiled suddenly, his glum mood forgotten. "Saa. Let's get something to eat. How about making it a picnic? I know a really good place to watch the stars. It's one of my favorite hobbies. Come on, I'll show you."

* * *

  
**Scene IX : A Thoughtful Morning in Enemy Hands**

  


_"I'm no heroine, at least, not last time I checked  
I'm too easy to roll over; I'm too easy to wreck."   
--Ani DiFranco, I'm no Heroine_

  
Lucrezia Noin woke in a cell.

It wasn't the conventional definition of a cell. The ceiling was high and sunlight streamed through the triangular, modern windows and skylight. The bed she lay in was soft and there was the smell of breakfast wafting through the air.

Still, she was a prisoner in a cell.

She blinked, trying to clear her eyes of sleep, and rolled over and swung her legs over the side of the bed. It was cold, she realized, as the chill air hit her bare legs. She rarely slept in anything more than a long shirt nowadays, and it might be some time to ask for some comfortable pants for the colder nights that were sure to come.

Her cell was not large, but not too small, either, a bedroom of sensible dimensions, with a queen-sized bed at one end of the room, a dresser and mirror, a small desk, and a closet. The only windows were set high in the walls overhead, and there was a small skylight. Escape was not impossible, but it was far from easy.

Her captors liked a challenge, she knew.

She had been careless. That was how she had been captured. If she had considered all her options, hadn't gone foolhardily into the enemy compound with only limited intelligence information, she would not be here.

They had taken her comm equipment to make sure no one knew where she was. Maybe they were hoping her troops would think she was dead, and retreat. She hoped they wouldn't do that. Granted, there were not many of them…but surely they didn't think she was this easily beaten?

The end of the war had been an anticlimax for all of them, Noin included. She thought of herself as Noin now. She had always hated her first name, and going into the military was just one of the excuses for her to be known simply as Noin. Everyone at the academy had called her Noin. Cadets were surprised to learn that the lieutenant was human enough to have a first name. She'd heard the stories, and laughed. Even…

Even Zechs had called her Noin.

She had gone to the L2 colony to help with the rebuilding effort. Colonists had avoided her warily for a few weeks, knowing her only as "That OZ Bitch" who had been with Khushrenada and Merquise. But in the end, the need for money and supplies had won out over hatred, and Noin had connections to both. In the meantime, she spent her days proving to the colonists that she was not really that much of a bitch and really did have their best interests in mind.

And she did. She'd grown to respect Duo Maxwell during the short time they'd known each other, and the least she could do was to help rebuild the colony where he had grown up. Maybe someday he would actually come back to L2, see the things that had happened there, and learn to let go of the bitterness and the loneliness she could detect in his voice every time he had mentioned his childhood.

Maybe.

Then she had heard of the Preventers. At first it was only a word on the lips of one of the puzzled colonists, and she had dismissed it as some new group or hearsay. Then it was in the newspapers. Then it was on the holovids. The Preventers, created to keep peace across the galaxy, headed by the woman known as Lady Une.

That gave Noin a shock. Une?

She wasn't surprised when the call finally came one day, asking her if she wanted to skip off L2 at last and join the cause of the Preventers.

"I know we were never the best of friends, Noin," Une had said. "But you're one of the best we've got. With you on the team, we can recruit people faster. They respect you, Noin."

She didn't like to admit it, but she was eager to get off L2. She loved the colony, but it was not her home. She'd sold her house, transferred her funds off-colony, announced to the man she was seeing that she was leaving. He had taken the news in stride, taken her out to a farewell candlelight dinner, and bought her flowers. And then she left.

She had not heard from him since, and she wasn't surprised. Maybe a little sad, but it was all right. She hadn't loved him anyway, and she had suspected the only reason he had been dating her was because of her visible status within the colony. She had always had that effect on people, both men and women; a stepping stone for them to gain something. Only one man had never treated her that way.

The only man she had ever truly loved was Zechs Merquise, and he was dead.

Une had been kind and more generous than she ever could have imagined. She'd given Noin the rank of major, assigned her to the new Preventers base at Sparta to take command of the new mobile suit combat squadrons being formed there. There were very few new mobile suits being manufactured nowadays, and when she had asked Une for more, Une had revealed that the new World Nation was so terrified of another war that they had decided to restrict mobile suit production until further notice. Asking what that "further notice" was brought a shadowy smile to the former Lady's lips.

"They think that by getting rid of the weapons, they can stop war," Une mused. "Let them try. But in a few years, Noin, I'll be willing to wager there won't be a single mobile suit left in our arsenal."

She spent the first two weeks or so shuttling back and forth between Sparta, Kashmir Command Base in India, Forteleza Sea Station in South America which had the sea docks in which the Cancer suits were kept, and the main base at Geneva. She was most comfortable at Geneva, not only because it was the main headquarters, but because Une and Sally were there. When she was at Sparta, she was in command, but she was alone.

"Noin," said Une, a few weeks after she'd settled in, "how would you like to take an assignment?"

The assignment was to the part of the solar system known as the Outer Territories, a new expansionist project by the current government to Terraform and colonize several moons in the nearby planetary systems of Jupiter and Saturn. Apparently, one of the new colonial governments had decided to take matters into its own hands and launch a small-scale rebellion. There were always some of these little rebellions taking place in one place or another, but this one had been going on for a while and the government wanted it halted. Quietly, if at all possible, which explained how it had not and probably would never make it into mainstream galactic media coverage.

"This is the first real chance for us as Preventers to have an effect," Une had said, pacing behind her desk, hands clasped in front of her. Treize used to do that sometimes. Noin wondered if Une knew how much like Treize she had looked just then. "If we manage to stop this rebellion, the government will have to be grateful to us. They'll have to recognize us as a legitimate organization."

"Aren't we already?"

Une pursed her lips. "All they know of us is that we are former OZ soldiers. What I have heard from Queen Relena is that they think of us as our own little rebellion, 'a relic trying to stay afloat in the ocean of modern times,' as one general put it."

Noin frowned. "So why send us?"

The smile that graced the general's face was not pleasant. "Maybe they can't spare anyone else. We're expendable, Noin. That's how it's always been."

She was tired of being expendable, but she went anyway because it was the only chance she had to get away from the loneliness, the ghostly presence of Treize Khushrenada which still haunted the Preventers headquarters, and the memories of one Lightning Baron. Une had given her a handful of troops, a handful because the Preventers could not afford to spare more. Expendable was expendable, but there was a limit to how many could be expended at one time. They could not afford to expend any more mobile suits, so Noin was not given any of those.

The small rebellion was larger than the government had made it seem in the information they had received. She thought back to the rebel uprising in China when the Gundams had appeared a few years back. It was little larger than that, but large enough to keep Noin and her troops on their toes. Still, it had seemed controllable, until six months ago, when the rebellion had unexpectedly gained some old model OZ mobile suits from somewhere. Noin didn't know where, but with her troops equipped only with ground arms, it was a losing battle.

If she could only get a hold of one of those mobile suits, she was sure her battle reflex was as sound as ever, and she had been one of the best pilots in OZ and the Federation. But the mobile suits were too closely guarded, and she could not spare a single one of her men. Soldiers might be expendable to the government, but not to her.

She had resigned herself to the fact that they were probably going to die here on this far colony, unknown and unmourned, because the government wished to keep this quiet and it would never be revealed to the media. Apparently, the media was more dangerous than rebels.

On second thought, that was probably true.

She had been captured on a raid into a mobile suit yard where two Aries models were kept. She hadn't seen the guard until too late, and beforehand, she had ordered her men to retreat if she was captured, promising to rejoin them later, downplaying her concern over the rebel's prison facilities. A piece of cake, she'd told her second-in-command.

"I'll be back with you in no time. Move the forces back and wait for me."

It had been two weeks, and she had not figured out a way to escape yet.

They had taken her not to a prison, as she had expected, but to the mansion of the colony governor. He'd treated her with respect, telling her with eloquent elegance that she was a fool to ever have come here, and locked her in one of his guestrooms. For all she knew, she could spend the rest of her life in here. Or maybe one day they would poison the food that came sliding into the room from the mechanical food dispenser and she would die young. That was more likely. She had always known she would probably die young, one way or another.

That was the fate of a soldier, Zechs had told her. _Good soldiers die young, Noin. It's our glory._

Noin got up from the bed, grabbing the bathrobe from the floor and wrapping it around her to ward off the chill. The breakfast on the delivery tray looked tempting, but she needed a shower. The mansion was equipped with excellent bathroom facilities, and she intended to take full advantage of them, prisoner or not. She wondered if they could somehow find a way to poison the shower water.

Flipping on the light as she walked into the bathroom, she glanced at herself in the mirror and was surprised to find how pale she looked. She had been eating and sleeping well, but she had lost at least several pounds in the past two weeks, and she looked like a ghost. Maybe the food was poisoned. Or maybe she was just imagining things.

She touched a hand to her cheek, watching the reflection in the mirror do the same. If she had a comm unit, she would radio her troops right now, and if the governor knew what she would say, he would have gladly lent her one.

_Go home_, she would tell them. _Go home, and forget this war._

The bath water was already warm when she turned it on, and she watched the smoke rise from the heated bath, filling the air.

There was a skylight in the bathroom too. It was frosted, and as she watched, something dark passed over the surface. A bird? A transport? A mobile suit?

She would tell them to go home and tell the galaxy what was happening here. The galaxy deserved to know, after all the pain and darkness they had been through with the last war. Keeping civilians in ignorance was the worst thing soldiers could do to the ones they were defending.

Of course, her ideas were old-fashioned. She had never believed that soldiers were expendable, either. She was probably wrong about that too, because all good soldiers died young.

Zechs had said so. 


	7. A Memory's Retrogressing Tide

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT I, PART III

_ Just wild beat communication  
Nani mo yuzuranai de  
Wakariaeru hito ga ireba  
Tatakau koto dekiru kara_

Just wild beat communication  
Ai wo hanasanai de  
Afureda shita atsui sugao  
Motsureta mune toki hanatte  
Tonight

Just wild beat communication  
Don't surrender anything  
Because we who understand each other  
Will battle as one

Just wild beat communication  
Don't let love go  
The overflowing passion tangled  
In the heart will reveal itself  
Tonight --Gundam Wing, "Just Communication" (TV opening theme) 

  
  
**Scene X : Arguments of a Futile Nature**

  


_"The system gives you just enough  
To make you think that you see change."  
--Ani DiFranco, The Waiting Song_

  
Sally Po, former revolutionary, sat behind a desk in the Preventers' Headquarters in Geneva, up to her elbows in unwanted paperwork. If people had told her two years ago that she was going to be a bureaucrat, she would have laughed in their faces. Now she might slap them if they reminded her of her duties. She was a woman of action, or she had been.

_How quickly things change_, she thought, picking up the black ball point pen and scribbling a few notes to her secretary. _And I'm not sure that's a good thing. I joined the Preventers to maintain the peace, but how can I do that if I'm not at peace with myself? I'm not happy with the person I'm becoming._

Her thoughts had been much along the same lines ever since she had accepted the commission. Lady Une had argued long and hard to get her to agree, telling her that many people still followed her lead, and that if she joined, many former revolutionaries would join as well.

Having no clue what else to do with herself, since she had been military all of her life, she agreed, believing Une would find some kind of appropriate medical position for her. To her surprise, Une made her Deputy Commander instead.

The argument that had followed had been intense, yet oddly polite. Neither woman raised her voice, yet the passion was there.

Sally had been moving her belongings into her newly acquired apartment in Geneva. She had been loath to leave her homeland, but consoled herself with the thought that her family was less then five hours away by shuttle. At least she wasn't on one of the colonies, like Noin.

The messenger had arrived late morning, wordlessly handing her a thick vellum envelop with a wax seal that had been imprinted with the elaborate series of triangle that represented the Preventers before hurriedly departing. Breaking it open, she hastily perused its contents, then bolted for the door, ready to do battle.

She must have set a record, for it took her less then fifteen minutes to find her way to Lady Une's office. Pounding once on the entry, she threw the heavy oak door open and started in, tossing the message on the cherry wood desk.

Une hadn't been surprised to see her. Frank brown eyes assessed the Chinese woman before Une spoke. "Is something wrong, General Po?" she asked in a mild voice.

Sally tried to keep from flinching, but failed to do so. "That's just it! Brigadier General? My Lady, I am a doctor! When I accepted, I was under the impression that you would find somewhere that needed someone with my medical talents, not an administrator!"

Lady Une raised tired eyes. It had been only about a month since Treize Khushrenada had died, and her love for him was already legendary. It was doubtful that she would ever fall in love with anyone else; the memory of Treize was too powerful. So instead, she worked to maintain what he had fought to achieve. "Sally, you know I would love nothing better then to put you in a medical position. I need more medical professionals, but you're famous, and I need to put you somewhere noticeable even more. There are a lot of former soldiers from all sides who need to be shown that the healing of our world is taken place. We need to unite."

"I'm not a bureaucrat!" she protested.

"We all must do what we can," Une replied.

Sally decided to take a different tact. "But General? I'm only an ex-Colonel from the long deceased Federation Army. How can you possibly justify giving me that much of a jump in seniority?"

"You were a General already when you fought against OZ," Une returned without rancor or resentment. "I'm merely giving you the rank you deserve."

Sally stubbornly shook her head. "No!"

Une sighed and rubbed her temples. "It's too late. I've already appointed you, through all the legal channels. If you resign, you'll create a problems and instability."

Her eyes widened. "You trapped me!" she accused.

Une looked at her, and for a second Sally would have sworn she saw the familiar glint of light across glasses, which was ridiculous since Une had had corrective surgery on her retinas. "I did what I had to do," she said with quiet strength.

Sally spun on her heel and left, shutting the door with deceptive gentleness. It had taken her months before she had forgiven Une for her duplicity. Sometimes she was still angry, yet recognized now why Une had acted in such a fashion.

Une was using the Preventers to keep the peace they had all fought so hard to achieve; a peace that was as tenuous as a fiddler on a roof. Squabbles broke out daily and Une was constantly sending out teams to put out those fires. Sally herself often was one of those people; with her ties to the Resistance, she had been instrumental in defusing two such situations so far.

Still, that didn't make her happy. She felt she could do a lot more good if she was stationed in the field, healing lives one by one, rather then trying to keep fixing the system as a whole. Une was trying to bandage a body that needed surgery, and Sally was the one of the ones most capable of performing that much-needed work. Still, she was stuck behind a desk, only making calls to her contacts when a crisis arose.

Sally remembered the party after the war. It had been a time of celebration, yet great sadness as well. She had been so happy when hostilities had ceased; so naïve in her faith that everything would be okay now that the threat Libra had represented had been eliminated.

Not everyone had been so optimistic. Noin had found a corner and quietly drank by herself, rebuffing the occasional Maganac who offered his company. Sally kept an eye on her, but understood. Noin had just lost the man she had loved, and she needed time to readjust her worldview alone. Sally would check on her later.

Wufei, though, had been of more immediate concern. He had sat quietly, glowering at Duo, who was busy trying to organize a game of "I Never". Wufei had already rebuffed the incorrigibly cheerful American's invitation, but that didn't stop him from muttering curses under his breath in Mandarin.

Many people didn't understand what he was saying, but Sally would have bet her Doctorate that the rest of the Gundam pilots did. Quatre's pale skin blushed whenever the Chinese soldier got particularly descriptive, Trowa would occasionally turn an interested ear his way, Heero would break out of his brooding to smirk slightly, and Duo would become more and more provocative the more Wufei swore at him.

Sally winced as Wufei let loose a exceptionally vulgar epithet, and decided to take matters into her own hands. Feeling like she was walking unarmed into a heavy barrage of mobile suit fire, she approached where he was sitting and tapped on his shoulder with a gentle hand.

Wufei hadn't been drinking that evening. His left hand reached up and caught her wrist, twisting it lightly. He obviously didn't like people coming up from behind, and she cursed herself for a fool. Biting her inner lip, she caught a pained gasp before it could escape. "I guess I should know better then to sneak up on one of you pilots, shouldn't I?" she asked.

Wufei let go of her, turning his black eyes onto he face. "What do you want, woman?" he snarled in Japanese.

She frowned and answered in Mandarin, which was their native tongue. "How many times do I have to tell you? My name is Sally."

His eyes showed no acceptance. "What do you want?" he reiterated.

She raised a hand and ran it through her hair. She had let her braids loose this evening, and the honey-colored locks tumbled freely around her face. She had forgotten how pleasant it was to literally let her hair down. It was freedom. Wufei's hair was still tightly pulled back, and she wondered, not for the first time, if it was partly responsible for his grumpy attitude towards life.

"It's a party, Wufei. Can't you at least pretend to enjoy yourself? You're dragging down the atmosphere," she teased, leaning close to him. She was tempted to tweak his nose like a child who was misbehaving, but realized that he would most likely hit her hard if she did such a thing.

"There's no reason to celebrate," Wufei said in his usual brash fashion. "Don't any of these people realize how much work lies ahead of them? They're celebrating like all of their problems are solved!"

Sally looked at him, and sensed the confusion and sorrow inside. Looking around, she saw the other pilots were all occupied with the joyous climate that surrounded them, though Heero's eyes would go vague now and then as he brooded on his own problems. "How about we go somewhere and talk?" she suggested.

He nodded, wordlessly rising to his feet. She led him to the main hangar, where all the Gundams were stored. Wordlessly he used the Zero G to propel himself up so he was sitting on a somewhat battered Shenlong. She followed him, cautiously taking a seat beside him.

"What's really bothering you, Wufei?" she asked gently.

He looked into her eyes. "It is not a matter that a woman can understand," he said with his usual stubborn pride.

"Wufei, we fought together," she said. "At least give me some credit."

He looked her over, and she could feel him weighing her. She must have measured up to whatever invisible scale he required, for he looked down at his clenched fists, speaking slowly and carefully. "How come those people don't understand?" he said with fierce intensity. "The war isn't over- it's just beginning."

"Oh?" Sally said quietly. "What do you mean by that?"

One of his hands reached out and caressed the side of the Gundam. Sally had found that all of the Pilots seemed to take comfort from being near their machines. She had even overheard Quatre talking to his at one point. Wufei was no different; if anything, he relied upon his Gundam more then the others did upon their own. "There is no such thing as peace," he said. "It's an elusive dream."

"Then what did you fight for?" she demanded.

"I fought because someone had to. I fought for the Colonies. I fought- I fought because there was no other way. I know nothing else."

Sally looked at him and barely refrained from sighing. "Be honest with yourself, Chang Wufei. Why did you fight?"

He looked at her angrily and started to get up.

"Scared?" she teased lightly. "Chang Wufei afraid of the truth?"

"I fear nothing!" he declared, rounding on her. He hovered in the air, and Sally lightly propelled herself towards him, so they were within arm's distance of each other. "I fought for Nataku!"

She looked at him thoughtfully as he glared at her, as if her closeness was invading some invisible private space around him.

"Wufei? Who is Nataku?"

She saw the look in his eyes change abruptly from anger to deep pain and then bitterness and then the anger was back.

"None of your-" he began, but she stopped him.

"I'm not asking who Nataku was. Obviously whoever or whatever it was, it was something close to your heart, and I don't want to…intrude. But who is Nataku? Now? To you?"

"She's-" Wufei said, then stopped. Sally waited for him to continue, but he simply sat there, silent.

"She…she's more than a Gundam, isn't she?"

"Shut up, woman," he returned, but the words held no sting. They were simply empty.

"Wufei-"

"I fought for her," he said at last, quietly. "I fought for Nataku. She was my reason for battle."

"No, you didn't," Sally returned calmly, knowing she was hurting him. But it was the only way she could make him understand. "You fought for penance. You're not a fighter, Wufei. You're a scholar- or you were. Now, you've made yourself into a man who walks two worlds."

He looked at her with eyes that were far too old. "So?"

"So, no matter what you do, you will be searching for your place in this life. What I'm worried about is that you won't find it."

They were quiet. She knew Wufei was watching her, but she sat looking straight ahead, waiting for a reaction.

Finally, Wufei's hand reached out and touched the side of the Gundam again, as if the metal were the face or hand of a lover. Then he vaulted off Shenlong's shoulder, disappearing into the darkness of the hangar.

He did not look back.

That was the last time she had seen him…

Sally snapped out of her flashback and looked at the papers she still had to go through. _At least then_, she thought, _I knew who the enemy was. Now, the enemy may be myself._

  


* * *

  
**Scene XI: A Soldier, not a Politician**

  


_"All my instincts, they return  
And the grand facade, so soon will burn."  
--Peter Gabriel, In Your Eyes_

  
Quatre looked over the papers on his desk, trying to refrain from sighing. His shoulders were cramped from the many long hours he had spent poring over the papers, and he was starting to squint at the squiggly black lines that were supposed to represent words. As head of the Winner Group, he had endless amounts of paperwork to take care of.

Looking up at his secretary (personal assistant, he reprimanded himself firmly), he handed the pen over. "That's all for today, Mr. Bartlett," he said in his sweet voice.

Frances Bartlett looked at the slender young man who sat in front of him, having a hard time believing that Quatre Raberba Winner was possibly the most powerful man on the entire colony. The seventeen-year-old was slight, with long feminine lashes and huge blue eyes, and he was so soft spoken that sometimes Bartlett had to lean closer to hear what he was saying. Still, he had inherited the family empire, and he was doing his best to maintain -even expand- it. A respectable goal.

Still, Quatre wasn't one of Bartlett's favorite people. The boy had everything, and he was weak. He had run away from home when he was thirteen, only reappearing in time to have a few spectacular rows with his father (which no one knew the cause of) before the elder Winner had died. Then he had disappeared in the confusion of the war, finally surfacing when peace had been achieved. It gave him an aura of mystery the girls adored, since he was refusing to tell where he had been, but Bartlett had an idea.

The boy had been hiding. The war had probably scared him witless, and like the sniveling coward he was, young Winner had hidden for all he was worth. But now the prodigal son had returned, and must be treated with respect. 

Quatre looked up at Bartlett, sensing a sudden wave of hostility. Raising pale blond eyebrows, he tilted his head inquiringly. "Is there something else?" he asked politely.

"No, Mr. Winner. I'll go send these off." The older man turned on his heel abruptly and walked out, leaving the teen to himself.

Quatre finally released the sigh he had been holding in. Dealing with Bartlett wasn't his favorite thing, but the man had been his father's assistant for as long as he could remember, and he was good at his job. A lot of the older employees resented him coming back and taking up the reins of the Winner Group, but it wasn't HIS fault. He wanted to get back to a normal life and enjoy the peace he had fought so hard to achieve.

Rising to his feet, he slowly stretched, feeling his muscles pull slightly. He'd been spending too much time behind a desk. He needed to get back into shape- after all, who knew? The next fencing match might be a rematch against the somewhat unpredictable Dorothy Catalonia.

Wincing at the thought of her, his hand reflexively went to the scar on his abdomen. He had been crazy to crawl back into Sandrock after it he'd been stabbed. Still, he'd done worse.

Sometimes at night he would wake up, trying to remember where he was. Dreams of the Zero System plagued him, and he cursed himself for being stupid enough to build the thing in the first place. Still, he remembered the feel of it- it was like becoming one with the universe, being in complete control. Even worse, in the still hours before dawn, he longed to know that feeling again.

He felt apart from everyone else; no one could understand the terrible toll the Zero System had imposed on him, except the others. Yet the other Gundam pilots were scattered, disappearing into the populace as suddenly as they had emerged.

Quatre realized that he had the resources to attempt to track them, but doubted that his attempt would get anywhere. Heero had the technical know-how to become a different person, Wufei had always been unreachable except when he wanted to be found, and Duo was most likely out on the colonies, where records and people changed daily.

Surprisingly, it was Trowa who would be the easiest to locate. Trowa's heart belonged to the circus, with his sister, Catherine. It was funny that he was the one who had returned to family; Quatre was the only other one with any family left, yet he wasn't close to any of his sisters. He didn't want to be.

Family was something that Quatre longed for, yet he didn't dare let himself get too close. He had been terribly hurt by his father's death, and Iria's as well. She had died saving him, and he hadn't forgiven himself for it. She had been a healer; he was a killer. It had been such a poor bargain.

As he walked out of his office, he glanced out of his window, looking up at the sky, where he had fought so many battles before. His real family was out there… the only ones who could ever understand who he was.

Shutting his eyes, he remembered one of the few times they had all been together on the Peacemillion, preparing for the final battle.

It was like all the times before- Duo was bouncing like a three year old who had just been introduced to the wonderful world of pixie stix, and Heero was trying to decide the most efficient methods to dispose of him. It made for interesting listening, and a good distraction. None of them wanted to think of the battle they would shortly fight.

CRASH!

"I told you NOT to touch my laptop!"

Wufei paused, holding one of his weights mid-curl.

SLAM!

"If you have to jump on the bed, use your own!"

Trowa stopped reading his book for a second, an eyebrow lifting a minute degree.

BAM! BAM! BAM!!

"DUO!"

Quatre looked up from the financial papers he was reviewing. "Wasn't that suppose to be a 'WHAM'?" he asked no one in particular. The fights were so common that the other pilots were able to predict exactly what would happen.

Wufei nodded. "Duo must have done something even more annoying then usual, if that's possible," he said in an irritated voice. "Anyone want to take a bet on how much longer it is between Heero starts threatening to kill him?"

"Two minutes," Trowa said.

"Thirty seconds," Quatre said.

"Now," Wufei said, just as Heero bellowed his familiar "Omae o korosu!"

Quatre giggled, and the door slammed open. Duo careened around the corner, laughing madly, agilely avoiding every one of Heero's attempts to grab him by the braid and strangle him.

Quatre knew that Heero was supposed to be the best soldier among them, but for some reason, Duo always managed to get away with whatever mischief he created. Duo dodged around Trowa and started to run in a circle around Wufei, still laughing like a loon. Heero finally managed to corner the self-proclaimed God of Death, who looked like a better name for him would be the God of Trouble. Duo gave him his patented puppy-dog look, but Heero was having none of it.

"Can't you, for once in your pitiful life, just act your age? You're a Gundam pilot, for God's sake! If you don't grow up REAL soon, you're going to get someone killed! If you're lucky, it'll be YOU instead of some more vital member of the team!!"

Everyone stopped what they had been doing, stunned. Duo just stared for a moment before taking off, out the door before any of them could do anything about it. Heero watched with an impassive expression, but the other three turned to glare at him. "That was uncalled for, Heero," said Quatre in a slightly reprimanding voice. "Duo is childish sometimes, but you can't find any fault in his skills or devotion to the mission."

Heero just stared at the closed door for a second before shrugging. "I have work to do."

It had been that way. They hadn't been close, had always fought and disagreed, but in the end, they had learned to rely on each other. Each of them brought something irreplaceable to the team, no matter what Heero had thought at the time.

That was how they had won the war. They had finally worked together, and in doing so, made the whole more then the sum of its parts.

"I'm thinking of you," he whispered to absent comrades, then turned back to his public persona.

  
_Go to Quatre story Homecoming_

  


* * *

  
**Scene XII: Ghosts From the Too Vivid Past**

  


_"She's sun and rain, she's fire and ice."  
--Garth Brooks, She's Every Woman_

  
She still wasn't prepared for the sight of him as he appeared behind the glass door that led into her office. It had been a year since Treize's death; a year since the Lightning Baron's treachery and the throw of OZ into ruin, and seeing him even now brought back waves of memories into her head that she could live without.

The uniform of the Preventers looked good on him, but hell, anything looked good on him. He was just one of those men who had been born to please the human eye, and he didn't even realize it. She knew he didn't realize it, because he had cut his hair. Those long blond tresses were what every female officer and common soldier of any rank in the Specials had dreamed of for years. She had been there herself, before Treize took her under his wing. Zechs Merquise, the Lightning Baron, with hair the color of gold and eyes the color of the deep sky, as beautiful as an angel and as strong as any god that had ever walked the heavens.

That was what he had been once.

Now he was just another officer, waiting behind the door to her office to see her because she had ordered him to, beautiful face blurring behind the shadow of another that he had betrayed. She had gotten over girlish fantasies long ago. The war had changed her, made her older and wiser and more aware that life was too short to waste on fantasy and wishes.

At first she had lived under the impression that to get something done, she would have to do it herself. But that wasn't what Treize had wanted. She still wasn't sure what he wanted, after all this time.

_Elegance, Lady_, she heard him say as she closed the windows on her computer and reached in her drawer for the briefing documents that she would give to the man who was about to come into her office. _Be elegant._

He was the one who had given her that title. She was no lady. She hadn't been fit to serve as his right hand. She had wondered why he hadn't picked Zechs Merquise.

The figure outside the glass raised his hand to knock, and she beckoned to him.

"Enter."

The door slid open and he marched in with perfect arm swing and timing, stopping two paces before her desk. The eyes that watched her beneath the impeccable salute were hooded.

"Ma'am, Colonel Peacecraft reports as ordered."

"At ease." She waved to a chair. "Sit down."

She watched as he moved to sit, gingerly perching on the edge of the chair. Short cropped blond hair glimmered in the light. He had put gel or something in it, and it looked hard and unnatural. A military haircut wasn't for him, not the flamboyant boy with the fire and the vision of galactic revolution.

He looked a bit like Treize, with a weary look in his eyes.

"Colonel, have you any idea what I'm about to brief you on?"

A brief shake of the blond head, a small smile. "I have no idea, General. I hope it's something exciting."

"Anything is more exciting than paperwork."

He smiled. "That is true." Even the smile looked haggard.

She leaned forward across the desk, papers in her hand forgotten for a minute. "Zechs, are you all right?"

The face hardened, the mask slammed shut. She had never known anyone who could assume a mask as quickly as he.

"General, my name is Milliard Peacecraft. Zechs Merquise is dead."

She closed her eyes, sighing, pushing the papers across to him. She had been about to ask him about the articles in the tabloids today, but she had already contacted him about it, and he would respond when he was ready. One did not push Zechs…Milliard Peacecraft. Not that she was worried about the articles being true. He was an honorable man, unlike many of those in the media.

"As you wish."

He took the papers from her, reading silently, his face betraying nothing. She watched him as his eyes scanned the paper. If he tried…if he only tried…he could help them shake the world.

He had tried once. Maybe that was the problem. They were all so tired, and it was too late to start over.

"Lucrezia Noin?"

She nodded, not taking her eyes off of him. For some reason, she had known that would be the first thing he would say, had known that the name would jump off the page at him as if it had been highlighted. "She was the first Preventer officer who was sent on the mission. She-"

"-hasn't returned. Yes, I just skimmed that section. So this is your 'scouting' mission. Did you order her to go?"

"No."

"Don't lie to me."

He watched her. She resisted the urge to squirm in her chair, not knowing why the blue eyes made her so nervous. It wasn't like she was lying to him…more like, twisting the truth. It was like an art to her, an elegance that Treize had admired. The only elegant thing about her, apparently. She felt for a second that he was the superior officer and she the offender, caught in some dishonorable act.

"All right, Z-Colonel Peacecraft. Yes, I ordered her to go, but she had requested a hard mission. And this one was the hardest I could find."

"Apparently," he grated, throwing the papers down on the desk. He hadn't even gotten halfway through the stack. Blue eyes glared.

"Major Noin was a perfectly capable officer who had the qualifications, the experience, and the talent to handle a mission of this sort. I don't regret sending her."

"Was? Had? Is she dead?"

She debated several answers, and then decided that shrugging would be the best option now. "I don't know. I haven't heard from her. It says in the briefing."

His shoulders went up and down in a brief sigh, the uniform which covered them looking plain and poor compared to the ones he used to wear in the days of his glory. "I-I'm sorry, my Lady. I don't mean to question the actions of my superiors."

The office was quiet for a minute as she looked at him and he looked at the table, and then she laughed.

"You have every right to. You know that."

"I don't want to."

"To be perfectly honest, Milliard," she said, taking the papers back and throwing them in the drawer under her computer, "I wish you would."

His head came up and that, and he frowned at her. "Why is that?"

"You ask me why? Such a question from Treize's protégé?"

One hand came up to rub his eyes wearily. "I was never Treize's protégé. He wanted to make me into…into something I didn't want to be. That's why I broke away in the end. Well, part of the reason," he amended.

"And the other part?"

He didn't answer. She hadn't expected him to.

"You have been in more engagements than I ever have. You know more about war than I ever will know. You went to the Academy and studied with Treize Khushrenada. You're a valuable man, Milliard. If things were going the way they should, you should be running the Preventers, not I."

A shadowy smile crossed his face. "Well then, I'm glad things aren't going the way they should." She started to say something else, but he raised his hand. "My fighting glory days are over, Lady. I'm just a soldier now, like everyone else. I don't want to be treated any differently. I…" He stopped, then sighed. "I'm tired."

"You had a vision, Zechs-"

"Milliard!" he snapped, the mask again falling into place.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Milliard."

"Treize had a vision too," he said. "A grand one."

She looked away.

"I'm sorry," he said in his turn, after a minute. "That was uncalled for, Lady. I apologize."

She flicked the computer monitor on, darkened the room with a flip of the lights. Unshed tears stung the corners of her eyes, and she blinked them away. Not here. not now. The conversation was closed. In the light of the computer screen she saw him looking at her, wondering, but she didn't have the strength to enter into another sparring match with him.

Why did speaking with him always have to be a battle?

"Colonel Peacecraft, I have called you here to brief you on your mission to the A007 Colony." It was an effort to roughen her voice into the distant briefing voice she had been so familiar with just a year ago. It was her mask of protection, and as long as he had his up, she would have hers. She did know something about human relations. The projector screen flickered and showed a small moon, brown against the black backdrop of space, then flickered in closer to show an actual picture of the colony. It was like any other colony in any other part of space: sprawling, spider-like, metallic and ugly.

"A007 is a mining and test colony site settled mainly by peoples from Terran South America. It produces many kinds of ore that are shipped back to Earth and its closer colonies. Approximately eighty percent of the traffic out of A007 at this point is composed of mining transports and other ore carrying vehicles."

She briefly explained the uprising to him, knowing he had skimmed that part in the briefing notes and feeling no need to go over the Preventers involvement in the whole crisis. It shouldn't have happened, she knew. And she knew he knew. It had been a mistake on her part, one that Milliard Peacecraft would not have committed had he been head of the Preventers. So many things…

"The Preventers sent Major Lucrezia Noin and a team of specially trained commando troops to the A007 colony six months ago. We received their last transmission approximately two weeks prior to the present date. At this moment, Major Noin is missing, presumed dead. Less than half of the Preventer force remains."

"Now," she said, flicking a switch, and she heard him draw a breath at the image that appeared on the screen.

"The A007 colony has apparently acquired OZ Mobile Suits from an unknown source and are using them with great effectiveness against Preventer and government troops. With Mobile Suit production suspended in the Terran part of solar space, it is impossible for any of our troops to acquire them in time to match fairly against the rebels."

"That's an Aries," he said, sounding stunned. "And a Leo. How the hell-?"

She switched off the projector, sitting back in her chair and relaxing a bit. Wondering if he had dropped the mask. Turning up the lights slightly, she watched him. He looked puzzled.

"We have no idea. They're apparently getting them from some smuggler groups somewhere out in the territories who have escaped government attention. Since the Federation and the Romefeller Foundation fell apart…"

"It's been hell out there. Yes, I know."

She nodded. He turned back to the desk, expression serious.

"When do I leave?"

She blinked.

"I do believe, Colonel, you are the only man alive who is capable of catching me off guard."

"When do I leave?" he repeated, tone never changing. "I'm going. You know that. How many troops will I receive? What types of weapons will I have access to? How is communication between here and A007?"

Suppressing a smile, she held up a hand and rummaged through her hard copies for a printout of stats she had acquired from Intelligence at the briefing a few weeks ago, the last time they had had any contact with Noin.

"I wanted to give you the same kind of soldiers Noin had, but we don't have too many trained commandos. Our organization is young, and most of our trained personnel were…" She swallowed, not finishing. "There is a record of solar storms and strong solar winds interacting with Jupiter's outer magnetosphere. The colony itself is having a hard time with their solar shielding, and everything I have on it indicates the high temperatures make it a less-than-pleasant place to live, unless you're a Maguanac. Success of communication depends on how heavy the solar storms are."

He nodded. "I see."

"I can't give you much more information than that…they don't tell me much. I'm just the commander." She attempted a smile, and he attempted one in return. "I will tell the Intelligence executive officer to get in touch with you later on this week about details. A transport is being prepared, and you need to contact personnel to get some paperwork and to organize your forces. Weapons and supply will need to contact you as well."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'll contact the required people and let you know. When you leave depends on how much preparation is required."

The look on his face was cryptic. "How much time do I have?"

"Preferably no more than a week. Why?"

"I…" he murmured, then flicked a glance at her. "You said we were in need of specialized soldiers?"

"Yes I did." She frowned as his expression grew even more cryptic. "Milliard, what are you thinking?"

He blinked, then looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure yet. I'll get back to you on that one."

"Milliard!"

He rose from the chair and bowed swiftly. "With your permission, ma'am, I'll be on my way. I have some errands to run."

"I can't win with you," she said. "Zechs."

"Milliard," he ground out, and the mask clicked back into place. "Don't make me tell you again. Lady."

He turned on his heel and strode through the doorway, the automatic door barely sliding open in time. If he had gone any faster, he would have walked into the glass. Not that it would have been a problem. Knowing him, the glass would have parted to let him through.

It was he who should be the head of the Preventers. It was apparent to everyone but him. Most things were, she had realized. Zechs Merquise saw what he wanted to see, and right now, all he saw was Milliard Peacecraft.

He hadn't even seen all the data before he had accepted the mission. She had files to show him, documents and printouts and slides and disks full of pictures, and she hadn't even started before he had said yes. And from the look on his face, he already had some tricks up his sleeve. She wasn't surprised. He had learned from Treize, the best tutor in the art of war and treachery, and it was only fitting that he would carry on the legacy. She wondered, if Treize could see them now, if he would be proud of the men and women they all had become.

She wondered what would happen if indeed Noin was still alive, and if Milliard did indeed find her, and all she could see was Zechs Merquise, who he said was dead.

Would Milliard Peacecraft die too?

  
_Go to Une story While You Were Sleeping_  
_Go to Treize story Dreams_

  


* * *

  
**Scene XIII: The Secrets that were Thought Lost**

  


_"Now I told you my reasons for the whole revival."  
--Billy Joel, Keeping the Faith_

  
His name was Muhammad Ali Banks, and he was destined to shake up the world.

From birth, he had been different- tenacious, a fighter; his father had been fond of boxing (which most people considered to be a barbaric sport, preferring the grace and speed of fencing), and had named his son after the most legendary of all boxers, hoping to inspire the same spirit and drive that made people remember, and question.

The name worked. Banks had the fair complexion and coloring of his Irish forbearers, and a temper to match. He was a Christian with an Islamic name, and that set him apart. The world wasn't kind to him, so he wasn't kind back.

He fell into investigative reporting almost by chance, yet he took to it like a dog with a familiar bone. Here was something he could succeed in, reveal the truth (hard and cruel though it may have been) and force the world to look at itself. It was thrilling and dangerous, yet he never shirked from the challenge. Now, at the tender age of twenty-seven, he was about to stumble upon the story of the century.

The war had made for excellent stories. He had covered many different aspects of it, starting with the ruins of the Lake Victoria Base after the cadet barracks had been bombed. He hadn't been able to believe the destruction that had resulted. Attempting to get an interview with Lieutenant Noin, one of Federation's head instructors and commandant of the base, had proven impossible. He had had to settle for the cadets themselves, and the confused stories they told made him angry at the terrorists who had attacked people -some of them no older then fifteen- while they slept.

He had made it his personal crusade then to get to the bottom of who the Gundam pilots were and what their motivation was. Terrorists usually saw themselves as freedom fighters, and he, remembering the long history of his homeland, was torn between the desire to expose them, and the desire to understand. The reporter in him won out; he was going to have the story.

Then General Noventa was killed by the self-same warriors. He remembered watching the footage with horror- the Federation brass had never stood a chance against the war machine people called 01.

Five Gundams, seeming to operate with separate orders. Sometimes they fought besides each other, sometimes they fought one another. People wanted to know where they were going to strike next. Children began to have nightmares about the Gundams coming to get them. Families began to prepare bomb shelters, not that it would do much good.

Gradually the mystery unraveled. The Gundams had been sent by factions in the Colonies that wanted freedom from the rule of the Federation. Little by little information was unveiled, though no one ever seemed to be able to answer the question that burned in Banks' mind:

Who were the pilots?

What motivated the pilots to take the risks they did? Where were they from, what were they fighting for? Did they have families? Who were their allies?

Events happened so rapidly that people were still sorting out the mess. Zechs Marquise was revealed to be the long-lost heir to the Cinq Kingdom, but yielded the throne to his younger sister, Relena Peacecraft. She became the so-called Queen of the World at bequest of the Romafeller Foundation, but was quickly deposed by Treize Khushrenada. Banks had always considered himself an intelligent man, yet he was as confused the dizzying display of political maneuverings as the next person.

Then White Fang emerged, and the Gundams prevented them from destroying the Earth, making themselves world heroes in the bargain. Still, Banks refused to forget those young soldiers who had died at Lake Victoria. He wanted to know the Gundam pilots- it had become an obsession.

In his pursuit of the truth, he had final come to a crucial decision. The law didn't matter anymore. _Someone_ knew the identities of the pilots, and that someone most likely would be Lady Une, the leader of a new task force called The Preventers.

Lady Une was an enigma. She had been unpredictable throughout the entire war (he had seen her before and after she went into space, and was hardly able to believe that she was the same person), and afterwards had settled down to create a force to protect the peace that was so hard won.

Still, she had been in the thick of the battles, commanding legions of OZ. She would know. Many former soldiers had found their place in the Preventers, such as Lucrezia Noin and Sally Po, the head of the Chinese rebellion against OZ. Perhaps the Gundam pilots had managed to find their way into those ranks.

What Banks had decided to do was risky. He was going to break into the personal files of Lady Une, undoubtedly some of the best guarded secrets in the world.

It had taken a while for him to get here. First he had to join the Preventers, which had taken six months. After managing to be assigned to Headquarters, he had to wait until he found a chance.

That chance had come. He had been assigned to guard the offices during the night. With a regretful sigh, he had tranquilized his partner and hid her sleeping form in one of the low-security offices. Realizing that there was no going back, Banks went to Une's office. He would likely find himself in jail for this stunt, but it would be worth it. He would know.

Using his key, he entered cautiously, worried about possible traps. Carefully he worked his way over to her desk, and jimmied open the lock on one of her doors.

Hard copies. Lady Une didn't keep any of her truly personal information in a machine, as a skilled hacker could access it. Pulling out the files, he started to rifle through them until he found what he was looking for.

His green eyes widened in disbelief. This couldn't POSSIBLY be right. The thick files laid out all the information in crystal-clear detail. Yet his mind refused to accept it.

The pilots were CHILDREN.

Still, he couldn't argue with the facts. Securing the files on his person, he walked out of the office, locking the door behind him. If he were lucky, he would be able to give the information to his editor before he was arrested.

Fortunately for him, he made it. Unfortunately, he actually printed it, causing a storm of debate as hadn't been seen in decades. The article that graced the front page of his newspaper would be the first real threat to the fragile peace that had been established:

AND A CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM? GUNDAM PILOTS REVEALED!

  
**END SAINAN NO KEKKA ACT I**


	8. The Moving Time that Shatters Peace

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT II, PART I

_ Yume o yoberu hodo no  
Amai mono ja nai  
Inochi o nakushitemo  
Kuyamu koto wa shinai_

Kaze no uta ga kokoro o furuwaseru  
Ima wa me o tojite  
Toki o wasurete miru  
Kurai sora o honou ga someteyuku  
Subete yakitsukushite  
Yasuragi ni kaesu

The dreams I call for  
Are not as sweet as those of others  
But if I lose my life  
I will know no regret

The melody of the wind shakes my soul  
Now I close my eyes  
Forgetting to keep watch over time  
Fire is tinting the dark sky  
Everything is burning  
Returning in peace

--Gundam Wing, _Hoshikuzu no Senshitachi_  
[_Soldiers of the Stars_, Treize Khushrenada image song] 

  
  
**Scene I : The Breaking of the Storm**

  


_"Run for cover - Oh your life is in vain if you try to escape me  
Don't look back - Oh your wealthy world cannot save you  
'Cause I'm gonna break you"  
--Kansas, Lightning's Hand_

  
It was raining. How fitting, Lady Une thought. Brushing the sopping long brown hair away from her cheeks, she placed the bouquet upon her grave. Roses. Always roses.

It wasn't technically her grave. She was alive, breathing, but her heart was six feet under, with the man who was not there. He had died; there was no question about that. Still, there was no body to bury, so she could claim the grave for herself just as easily as the man whose remains were scattered among the stars.

He had died; with him, he had taken the Colonel who had fanatically tried to please him, and the woman he had named Lady in one fell swoop. Une had been forced to pick up the pieces of her life, forced to make decisions she hadn't wanted to.

More then once she had been tempted to follow him. Without Treize, the world had lacked spark, lacked logic and reason and passion. Still, he would never forgive her for doing such an inelegant thing. He had worked so hard for the world to be at peace- now it was her job to protect it.

Thus, the Preventers. She straightened the collar of her jacket, staring down at the letter written on the memorial. The color of the uniform was amazingly unflattering. She doubted that anyone would look good in it (well, with the exception of Zechs, who would make a sackcloth and ashes look good). Beauty wasn't important. What was important was the mission. The dull colors were reminiscent of military units of old, and called a subconscious respect whenever someone looked upon it.

She reached out and touched the letters on the memorial, wondering. She still dreamed of him, often.

_"Are you still mine, my Lady?" he would whisper, and she would turn her head, hopping to catch a glimpse of his much-beloved face, yet the shadows would obscure his features. She would feel his hands on her waist, icy with the chill of death. She knew that if she leaned back into his embrace, he would take her with him, yet she couldn't let go. She loved him too much. She needed to protect the world he had created. Love hurt. God, it hurt._

She would dream, and her dreams hurt her. She loved him.

"_Je t'aime_," she whispered, struggling not to cry. She didn't cry. Une was the woman without tears. Tears did no good.

She heard footsteps behind her, and she almost growled. This was her private time, a daily ritual people knew better then to interrupt. Before heading to work each morning she made this pilgrimage.

Turning around, Une set her eyes on Sally Po. The brigadier general's lips were tight, and she wondered what was wrong. Sally never worried unless something was drastically wrong. Une rose to her feet, bracing herself for bad news.

Sally gave her an abrupt salute, then stared into her eyes. "We had better get out of here. The Press is going to be looking for you," she said, taking hold of Une's right arm, and dragging her towards the car.

"What's wrong?" Une demanded.

"There was a break-in at Preventers Head Quarters last night. Apparently a reporter managed to infiltrate our ranks."

Une felt herself go white. "What office did he get into?" she demanded.

"Yours," Sally said grimly.

She forced herself to keep from panicking. Blinking slightly, she called on the part of herself that had mercilessly ordered the destruction of the colonies. Colonel Une flashed into the forefront of her mind. "What information did he get?" she demanded in a hard voice.

Sally blinked, surprised to hear the harsh tone. "The worst possible. He got the files on the Gundam pilots."

"Shit," Une swore quietly, once again speaking in her sweeter soprano. Her head hurt. "Has he done anything with it?"

"Unfortunately. He published some of the basic information on the pilots, including their ages. Luckily he left their names out of it, but there's no way we can do anything to prevent the damage this is going to do to our credibility as an organization. People are going to be mad, and I can't say I blame them. Finding out that the most feared terrorists the world has ever seen aren't even old enough to have beards wouldn't be something that would reassure me."

They reached the limo and slid into the back seat. Sally carefully raised the soundproof glass that would keep their conversation from the ears of the driver. "Here's the article."

Une quickly scanned it while absentmindedly wringing out her wet hair. She had a change of clothes in the office- it looked like she would be needing them. Then she wondered why she was worrying about her personal comfort when the world was about to explode. "This is not good," she muttered.

"Agreed," Sally said. "Do you know where any of the pilots are? We should warn them- it's only a matter of time before the press releases the information. Perhaps put them in protective custody- they're still minors, so we should be able to manage that. There're going to be some lynch mobs forming."

Une snorted. "The pilots aren't children, no matter what their chronological ages may be. I only know where Quatre Raberba Winner and Trowa Barton are- the other three disappeared into the general population, and to be honest with you, I let them."

Sally raised an eyebrow. "You let them?" she asked in surprise. "You let three of the most dangerous terrorists humanity has ever produced vanish?"

Une nodded. "They deserve to be left alone after all they've done. If they want anonymity, then I will do my best to see that they get it. Besides, it would be very… tempting to use them and their skills. They aren't children, but they should at least have a chance to grasp their youth again."

"Will you at least warn Trowa and Quatre, then?" Sally asked worriedly.

Une shook her head in the negative. "I can't. Obviously our security isn't as secure as we believed it to be, especially if they were able to break into my office. I don't want anyone tracing my phone calls."

Sally nodded. "I guess they'll all hear soon enough." She hesitated. "What do you think will happen to them?"

"To be honest, I don't know. There's going to be some people out for blood- the Gundam pilots have a kill list longer then the bible, after all. Quatre's the one I'll be most worried about- aside from the fact that he's a public figure from a family renown for its beliefs in pacifism, there was the incident with the Zero System where he destroyed two colonies."

"What about Zec- Milliard? And Relena?"

"They'll have to fend for themselves. You and I are going to have our own share of problems as well. Is there any spin control we can put on this?"

Sally shook her head. "No. We kept a secret from the public, and they're going to want to make us pay. I just hope no one gets the bright idea to start hiring assassins."

Une waved that concern away with a negligent hand. "I have assassination attempts on my life every other week. I'm not worried about that." Then she stared at her fingers, feeling a great sense of depression well up within her. "Why do they have to drag up the past?" she wondered out loud, clenching her fists. "We're finally starting down the road to true peace, and then someone has to find something wrong with the lives we're leading. Why can't they see that? Why do they have to destroy the chance at happiness we've all worked so hard for?"

Sally, in a rare moment of compassion for Une, wrapped a comforting arm around the general's shoulders and gave her a brief squeeze to show support. "I don't know," she said. "But we've got to get ready for the barrage of accusations we're about to find ourselves in the middle of."

Une nodded, then straightened her shoulders. She was not weak. Tears were no good. Now was the time for action. "Tell me about this reporter."

Sally pulled up the file she had assembled rapidly before going to fetch Une from Treize' s memorial. "I haven't had time to do a thorough background check yet, but his name is Muhammed Ali Banks. He's twenty-seven and apparently quite a hot shot. He covered a lot of the Gundam attacks during the war, and apparently has a very strong grudge against them, though I haven't been able to determine why. He infiltrated the Preventers about eight months ago- long term project. He passed all of our security checks using a fake identity. We're going to need to see who made the mistakes and reprimand them."

Une rubbed her temples. "So this hot-shot reporter is ready to turn the world upside down for a story? Of all the…" she broke off before she degenerated into unladylike language. "Didn't he think about who he would hurt? There's nothing to be gained and much to be loss."

"Reporters seldom think of anything besides the story."

The two women were quiet as the car started to pull into Head Quarters. Already there were a small crowd of reporters gathered, hovering like vultures over a dying animal. Looking at each other, the two top-ranking Preventers straightened their clothes, aware that they were about to be the subjects of a barrage of flashbulbs and prying questions. The chauffeur came around the other side of the car and opened Sally's door.

The blinding flash of camera lights assaulted them as they got out of the limo with unhurried ease. Une stared stonily forth, trying to ignore the prying question.

"General Une! What can you tell us about the pilots?"

"If you knew their identities for so long, how come you kept it quiet?"

"General Une! Can we have the names and current locations of the pilots?"

"Are you aware that the civilian courts are ready to try you for obstruction of justice?"

"General Une!"

"General Une!"

"General Une!"

Together Sally and Une entered the building, maintaining their silence. The automatic doors shut behind them, shutting out the clamor. 

"That went well," Sally said in her usual dry tones.

Une rolled her eyes. "It went just swimmingly," she said sarcastically. "Come up to my office with me. We need to figure out what our next step is."

Sally nodded, obediently following her commanding officer into the elevator. They watched the numbers tick up as they ascended to the topmost floor.

"Did anyone do a scan for bugs?" Une asked as they stepped off.

"First thing I ordered when I found out. There was nothing."

Une opened her door and looked around. The office which had previously seemed so comfortable now felt foreign. She had had her privacy infringed on, and she felt as though she had been attacked personally. She looked at the drawer which had been pried open, and bent down. "The investigators come already?"

"Yes. They were here while I was getting you. You can touch things now- holos, prints, and DNA evidence have already been taken. There's no question that it was Banks. We have a rock-solid case, should you want to press charges for breaking and entering, theft, and whatever else we can throw at him."

Une ran a hand over the place where the missing files should be. "Damn it," she cursed. "DAMMIT!" she yelled, punching the metal drawer angrily, uncaring of the injury she was inflicting on herself. "Why did he have to do such a rotten thing?" Une sank to the floor, trying to suppress the tears that were welling behind her eyes. "Treize-sama would never forgive me," she whimpered slightly. "I should have destroyed those files."

Sally knelt down beside the guilt-wracked Lady, and gently hugged her. "There's always a lot of 'should haves', but we can't do anything about it now. It's not your fault, but we have to figure out what to do now. The world is going to need us more then ever, but they won't accept our help."

Une looked up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "What are we going to do? Just sit back and take it?"

"I haven't a clue. You're the politician," Sally said.

Une nodded, and divorced her emotions from her thoughts. "The first thing we do is go after this reporter. It'll be like shutting the barn door after the cows have gotten out, but there's no helping that. We need to make sure no one else thinks that infiltrating us is a good idea. There's even the possibility that we should execute him."

"That'll make him into a martyr, and cause civil unrest."

Une closed her eyes, trying to envision what Treize would do in the same situation. Her tendencies were still those of the Colonel she had been whenever she was backed into a wall. Treize wouldn't be so inelegant, though. What would Treize have done? she wondered.

"We need to arrest him to prevent him from doing any further damage. We can call it protective custody, and then we can investigate the options. I personally want his guts for garters."

"You and me both," Sally agreed with a nasty grin, which Une returned with a weak smile of her own.

"We're going to have to have our lawyers ready for lawsuits as well. You and I need to work on a case that proves that we kept the information quiet for public well-being."

"Me? I'm the Deputy Commander and Personnel Operations Officer… it's not exactly my forte, law."

"Aside from Noin, Milliard, and myself, you're the one with the most vested interested in this. Noin… well, we don't know where she is, Milliard is off hunting for her in a covert operation, so that leaves you. We've got to protect ourselves."

Sally nodded. "Should I send a squad out?"

"Yes. Go arrest Banks. I want his ass in a cell before I snap my fingers three times."

The other General blinked at her superior officer's crude language. "'Ass in a cell?'" she reiterated.

Une's smile grew stronger. She was going to fight this battle. If she had learned anything from Treize, it was when it was worth making a stand. "Oh, yes. We're going to be playing dirty, Sally. The gloves are off, and someone's going to get hurt. And if I have my way, it won't be any of those who matter."

  


* * *

  
**Scene II : Those Who Hide from the Light of Day**

  


_"Goodbye cruel world Blow your mind game  
Goodbye fresh dead I feel your pain…  
Breathe with me."  
--Weiss Kreuz, Spiritualized (Schuldich)_

  
When he awoke that night, he felt something was different. The boy who called himself Wing breathed deeply, smelling the stale, cold air coming in through the cracks in the walls before opening his eyes to the flicker of the cheap light of the glow-stick. This hide-hole was one of the best they had found yet. Then again, there wasn't much choice in the slums of the L1 colony, the part of the colony that the inhabitants called the Breaks.

Rolling over, he found a pair of dark eyes staring him in the face, and he fumbled for a gun that wasn't there before recognition set in and he relaxed.

"Stop doing that."

The eyes blinked at him for a second and then withdrew. They were narrow and expressionless, set in a dark face with short-cropped hair and a long, almost invisible, scar running across the forehead. Darkflight had never told him where the scar came from, and he wasn't going to ask. Wing had his own share of scars, and the stories behind them were not fond memories of his.

"I swear, someday you're going to learn not to sleep through half the night."

"What?" Wing was up in an instant, alert and hand reaching for the weapons belt that lay within arms reach of his ratty pillow. "Did we miss a mission? What's happening?"

Mission.

Darkflight smiled sardonically, lithe arms folded over a thin chest. "Nothing like that. What's gotten into you, anyway? You've been sleeping a lot lately."

Wing didn't answer, throwing the weapons belt into a corner. "Anything to eat?"

The silence spoke volumes.

There had been no food since the day before yesterday. The last of their food supply had consisted of old Federation Army issue MRE's, and now that those were gone, there was nothing left in the smelly bag which acted as their food storage compartment. Times were thin, the money was only trickling in, and work was hard to find.

"It's ridiculous," Darkflight said after a moment, watching him. "Shadowwing is the best fucking assassin group in the city, and we have more talent than all the others combined. But we don't get hired."

Shrugging, Wing rummaged around in his pocket, drew out a cigarette, and lit it. Smoke clouds were gray fog in the bluish light.

"Maybe there's no one to kill," he said.

"Oh, there's people to kill, all right," his partner said. "But we're not the ones getting the better end of the deal. No fucking money, no fucking food…"

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. Wing could feel the blood in his veins craving the next fix of whatever drug happened to be the choice drug of the streets that month. This month, and for two months past, it had been heroin. Before that, it had been Ecstasy. Before that….

He couldn't really remember before that. Even remembering that far back was an effort. Memories, real and imagined, blurred in his brain and he found it easier just to focus on the present. That was hard enough.

Funny how the price of heroin kept going higher as the price of kills slid slowly downhill. Darkflight had brought home a little bit of the drug in a small pouch the other night, and both of them had sat there and looked at the meager supply, remembering back to the days just a month ago when a supply twice that size could have been bought for half the money.

No, it wasn't funny. It was just sad.

But the drugs kept him from remembering, and that was all he wanted. He craved the forgetfulness. He was addicted to it.

"Wing?"

"Hn."

"We got two jobs, if you wanna go out tonight. Lower level Breaks cop is one of them. Other one is some minor government official. We're movin' up in the food chain, pal."

He raised one eyebrow. "Really. Government official."

Darkflight snorted. "Government official, drug dealer scum, it's all the same to me. Bunch of bastards."

"Hn."

"I take that as a no. Atsuki and Steel said something about meeting them down at the bar, if you'd like to go to that, then."

Through the smoke, Darkflight looked like an Arabian genie, ready to vanish at the slightest touch.

Arabian…there was something important about that.

"You'll go even if I don't."

"Isn't that how it always is?"

Wing shrugged. "You just never struck me as the social type."

"I'm full of surprises," Darkflight returned. "I'm leaving now, if you want to tag along. Atsuki asked about you the other day…says she hasn't seen you in fucking ages."

"She just wants sex."

Darkflight grunted. "That too. You coming?"

"Maybe they'll have something there for us," Wing said, standing up. His head almost touched the cracked ceiling. "There's nothing here for me to do besides sleep."

"I take that as a yes."

He flicked the cigarette butt away and ground it into the dirt with one boot heel. Reached into his pocket and pulled out another, lighting it. He offered the pack to Darkflight, who waved it away.

"You know I don't smoke."

Wing replaced the pack into his coat pocket. Outside, thunder rumbled and he could smell rain mixed with smoke and car exhaust. It would be muddy.

"There are worse things in the world you could do than smoke."

In the light of the glow-stick, Darkflight's eyes glittered as he shrugged into his own threadbare coat, slipping his pistol into the pocket, easing open the door.

"But I do those things. I figure, why kill yourself slowly by smoking when there are other, better ways to kill yourself?"

"Or," Wing said as they stepped out into the wet night, "you could do both. And be dead even faster."

Darkflight laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound. "You're going for that, aren't you?"

"Yes."

The inside of the bar was hot and sweaty and smelled of beer, as it always did. Darkflight moved through the crowd like a shadow, knowing that Wing was one step behind him. He didn't frequent bars and neither did his partner, but when he did it was as if he melted naturally into the greasy shadows, blended as one with the shame and the sin he found there.

He needed the sin.

He could tell Wing needed it too, could tell it from the way his partner drank and smoke and slept around. Granted, the other assassin was as emotionless as a rock, but Darkflight had developed the knack of reading the other's stance, his eyes. It was the small details about the way Wing stood and pronounced his words that made all the difference.

They'd known each other for about a year now, and Darkflight could honestly say he'd never had a better partner. Wing killed like a natural and had all the planning and stealth capability of a trained assassin. Perhaps he'd been one before they'd met; who knew? Wing certainly never volunteered information, and Darkflight never asked. As long as Wing never asked about his past, they were equal.

Besides, asking was a bad thing. There was such a thing as asking too much and winding up with your throat slit. Darkflight had no doubt that Wing could easily kill him if he asked the wrong questions. He wasn't so sure if the opposite were true. Better not to ask…though he doubted anyone would miss him if he died. It was like that in the Breaks. If Wing died, he would simply find another partner. Granted, they would not have the level of skill that the other boy had, but then again, no normal human being would. There was something uncanny about the boy with the long black hair and dark blue eyes, a story that was deeper than the thick, raised scar that ran from Wing's neck up to his face, running across his nose and right eye to disappear above his hairline. Much deeper.

The stench of the air in the bar was almost nauseating. Darkflight bumped shoulders with drunken gang members, breathed in the smell of cigarettes and other, more dangerous substances. He turned, trying to look for Wing, spotting him in what looked like an intense haggling session with a man who was obviously too stoned to catch half the words Wing was saying. It didn't matter. Wing always won.

"Hey…Darkflight!"

A large hand landed on his shoulder and he looked up to see a dirty, bearded face grinning down at him. The stench of unwashed clothing swirled around him, but he managed a smile anyway. "Steel!" His eyes caught sight of the slim girl standing next to Steel, smoking a joint and dressed in garish colors that looked almost black in the dim bluish light. "And Atsuki. How you been? Haven't seen you in a while, man."

"Times change." Steel slapped Darkflight on the shoulder. Atsuki smiled seductively at him, twirling her joint between her fingers. She was wearing even less clothing than he remembered her in the past…but she was Wing's. He'd promised Wing that he wouldn't touch her, though it probably didn't matter if he did or not. Atsuki was a prostitute, and she took what came to her without complaining.

"You heard the news?"

Darkflight raised an eyebrow. "News? No. What news?"

"Big news, man!" Steel raised a shaking hand towards the crusty bar he was leaning against, raising his beer mug to his mouth. Beer spilled down the front of his chest. Darkflight tried to back away surreptitiously but the big man's hand was clamped firmly on his bicep.

"What news?" he repeated.

The bartender behind the counter snorted, moving to where they were standing. "Steel's too drunk to tell you anything. The news about the fuckin' war, of course. Haven't you heard?"

"What news?"

That was his partner's voice. He looked over as Wing moved next to him, parting the sea of bodies and pulling up a crooked bar stool. Wing had won his deal. "You got the junk?" he said in a low voice.

Wing blinked and gave Darkflight only a brief glance before his eyes slid over to where Atsuki stood, but the look in his eyes and the cigarette in his hand that didn't smell like a regular cigarette was all Darkflight needed to know. He held out a hand and Wing slipped a joint of heroin into it, handing him a lighter as well. The first few drags were like heaven to his deprived body.

"What news?" his partner repeated, his stare boring holes in the bartender's forehead.

The man affected not to notice, polishing the grimy countertop with a blackened rag. "You know, about the war. About the uh…pilots."

"Pilots?" Wing repeated sharply. The cigarette wavered in his hand, and Darkflight looked over at him, concerned. The other boy still wore the same expressionless mask, but his eyes…

The bartender nodded. "Yeah. Crazy shit. Seems like they found out the pilots of those Gundam space robots were fifteen year old boys or some shit like that. There's a big disturbance back on the planet…politicians and all that. There's a whole shitload of lawsuits and shit goin on too." He reached behind the bar and pulled out a dirty newspaper. "Here ya go."

Wing took the paper, eyes scanning the headlines. Darkflight watched as his hand gripped the table and the cigarette fell from his fingers. He bent and picked it up for his partner, shoving it back into his hand. Wing stuck it back in his mouth, knuckles white on the paper. "Where did you get this?" he demanded harshly. The scar on his neck and face throbbed in the dim light. Darkflight placed a hand on the other boy's shoulder, but Wing shoved him away.

"On the radio, man. It's on holovid too…all over the damn place on the news. In all the papers…hey…where ya goin?"

"Wing!"

The other boy disappeared between the crowds of people, clutching the paper. Darkflight slid out of Steel's drunken grasp, not even bothering to answer Atsuki's puzzled inquiries as to what was going on. He was going out, to find out what the hell was bothering his partner so. His normally inscrutable partner, with the emotional capabilities of a robot.

The rain was coming down in a slight drizzle, and he almost didn't see Wing slouched against the rough brick of the outside of the ramshackle bar. The clouds covered the moon. Garish neon lights blinked against the black of the sky, highlighting barbed wire fences and abandoned houses and the shaking body of his partner, still clutching the newspaper in one hand.

"Wing? What's going on?" He reached out to touch the other, then stopped. Wing flinched away from his hand.

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me."

When Wing didn't answer, he lowered his hand toward the newspaper, pulling it from the other boy's hand.

_AND A CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM? GUNDAM PILOTS REVEALED!_

"What the hell…?" he murmured, eyes sliding down towards the words of the article. Reading had never been his strong point, but he could get by, and he skimmed the articles and commentaries on the front page, skipping the big words and hoping that none of them were important.

_Formerly classified documents have proven that the supposed "saviors of the colonies" were none other than genetically engineered, brainwashed teenagers…This is a truth that the colonies should not ignore…How can a power as great as that which could destroy the galaxy be given to children?…An atrocity that cannot be passed over…_

Darkflight flipped the page. The newspaper was getting soggy with rainwater and he moved into the relative shelter of the bar's awning. There were pictures of politicians on the other side, their raging comments against the war, the Gundam pilots, and the military in general. There were testimonies from families who had supposedly lost their sons or daughters or uncles or fathers to Gundam attacks.

_I can't believe that children would do such a thing…a disgrace to our generation and to the military…the repercussions will be wide and far-reaching…_

There were no pictures of the pilots.

"I don't understand," he said, looking up. Wing was staring at him, frozen against the red neon lights in the distance. "What's this got to do with you?"

The other boy blinked. He was silent for a long moment, the rain pelting both of them, dripping from Wing's long hair and running down Darkflight's forehead.

"I don't know," Wing said at last. He pressed a hand to his head. "I can't…I can't remember. It's all so hazy…"

"Did you ever encounter a Gundam?" Maybe that was it. Wing had probably fought in the war in one way or another, and even though the drug use and life on the streets had in all likely erased most of his long term memory, there might still be dredges left. "Did you know someone killed by a Gundam?"

"No…" There was confusion in his voice. "I…"

"C'mon, Wing…forget this. There are plenty of things in life for you to get worked up about without worrying about some damned pilots who have nothing to do with you anyway."

"I suppose…" Wing said. His voice trembled. "I can't remember…"

Darkflight bit his lip, thinking fast. Wing had never displayed emotions so obviously before; hell, he'd never displayed emotions at all before. Something must be very wrong. "Come on. Let's go back inside. Have a drink, a smoke. Forget this shit. Atsuki's waiting for you, remember? You came to see her, right?"

For another moment Wing stood there, looking at the newspaper in Darkflight's hand, at the headline splayed across the front page, and then nodded.

"See? There you go. It's nothing, seriously. It'll all blow over in a day or two…you're probably just having junk flashbacks or something. Should be used to it by now."

"Yeah…" Wing whispered. "That's probably it." He brushed past Darkflight to the door, digging in a pocket for a cigarette, or perhaps a lighter, or maybe a tablet of some other drug. The whispered voice came back to him. "That's all it is…"

Darkflight watched him disappear like a wraith into the mass of bodies and voices, then dropped the soaking newspaper into the gutter and followed him back inside, out of the rain.

  
_Go to Heero story Remembrance_

  


* * *

  
**Scene III: The Illusion of Happiness that was Shattered**

  


_"His own life's crisis pales  
In the shadow of this truly dying world"  
--The Adventures, Broken Land_

  
Duo sat in his math class, throwing spitballs at the wall. It was tempting to actually throw them at other people, but he knew that it would catch up with him. The last time he had created mischief -starting a food fight in the cafeteria, he had ended up with a plateful of jello in his hair- the strawberry kind.

_Sad that one of the world's most renown terrorists is reduced to attacking with spit-balls instead of a beam laser_, he thought in amusement. _Beam lasers are a touch more predictable though,_ his thoughts continued with a mental wince as one of his projectiles hit the clock and bounced onto the floor, narrowly avoiding the class representative. _Close call._

Beside him, Chris yawned, not even bothering to hide his boredom. The sensei (teacher, Duo reminded himself, think in English) was known for his long-winded discourse on the possibilities that imaginary numbers added to the mathematical community, and right now Mr. Glenburnie was raving about his favorite topic, oblivious to the fact that the day's lesson was supposed to be on fractals.

A note landed on his desk, and he looked over his shoulder to see Ilene smile at him- though he noticed that it lacked her usual sparkle. Curious, he unwrapped it.

Ilene's handwriting was the bubbly script that Duo had found many girls had, and all of her dots were shaped like hearts. It was too cutesy and he sometimes thought of telling her that, but Ilene was a cutesy person overall. She had a strange joie de vivre that he found infectious, and he loved her for her sweet innocence. He recognized that she wanted to pursue a relationship with him, but his heart belonged to Hilde. Ilene was too innocent to understand who Shinigami was- had been. Hilde had been there, and was a strong enough person in her own right.

The note was brief:

_I have something I want to discuss with you. Meet after class outside. Big news.  
~Ilene_

Frowning, he looked over at her. He had been planning to go up to his cliff and watch the water, but from the way she was biting at her lip, this was important to her. He wondered why she wasn't discussing it with Helena, but there was no figuring out how the female mind worked.

Duo saw her watching him, and he nodded at her slightly to indicate his acceptance. He was rewarded by a large smile, and he glanced at the clock. There was half an hour left of the lecture.

The time dragged by, time that Duo spent trying to make a smiley face out of spit-balls on the opposite wall. He could feel Ilene watching him, and wondered what she was up to. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, the bell rang, signaling their release. Ilene grabbed up her books and clutched them to her chest, waiting for him.

"What's up, doll? You finally get a boyfriend and want to break it to me gently?" Duo asked teasingly, leaning forward to tug one of the two long ponytails she wore.

Duo recognized that they made a striking couple. Their coloring was similar, and her hair matched the color of his eyes perfectly. She assured him it was her natural color, and he was inclined to believe her. There was the time the four of them had gone skinny-dipping and he doubted most people would color theirs to maintain the illusion of naturalness…

She shook her head. "Duo, this is serious," she said, her voice grave.

He looked at her sympathetically. "Do you want to go somewhere to talk?"

Ilene nodded. "Please. How about the lounge? There shouldn't be many people there."

He nodded his consent. "Sure thing, little one. You're worrying me."

She didn't answer, and he wondered. Usually she would rush to reassure him that it wasn't that bad, but this time her eyes remained glum.

Duo grabbed her hand and started to drag her away, holding onto his books with the left hand. She kept pace with him, which was amazing, especially when Duo's rate of motion was taken into account. He was incapable of walking- he bounced, skittered, ran, or bounded; Duo Maxwell did not walk. Walking was too pedestrian.

Soon they reached the lounge, and Duo threw his books onto one of the tables and sank into an over-stuffed chair. The thing was one of the ugliest things Duo had ever seen, but it was comfortable. He looked at her, scooting over to allow her a place to sit. She just stared blankly, remaining on her feet.

"Oi, what's the matter?" he asked, leaning forward and catching her hands in his own. Her touch was clammy, and he rubbed her hands gently, trying to give them a little of his warmth. "Tell me," he begged.

She blinked. "You know I had an older brother, right?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No, you never mentioned him to me," he said, wondering where this was going.

She looked at him, her brown eyes verging on black. He recognized the sorrow in them, and knew this wasn't going to be pretty. "His name was James, and he was three years older then me. He was killed in a Gundam attack."

Duo barely kept from flinching. People had died in the war, and sometimes it hit a touch too close too close to home for his liking. "And?" he prompted.

Her eyes filled up with tears. "There was an article in the paper today- apparently the identities of the Gundam pilots were discovered."

Duo couldn't stop himself. He lounged forward and grabbed her by the upper arms. "Did they release the names?" he demanded urgently, blinding panic assaulting him. He had sudden visions of the life he had so carefully built for himself being destroyed. There were so many people who would want his hide.

"Duo!" Ilene protested, wincing at his bruisingly strong hold on her. He was strong- how could such a slender young man be so impossibly strong? she wondered, trying to escape his grip.

He shook her, causing her teeth to rattle in her head. Her ponytails swung back and forth like they were in a strong windstorm. "Tell me, did they release the names?" he reiterated, his voice dangerous.

She didn't recognize this fierce boy who stood in front of her, wearing the face of someone whom she had believed to be a friend. His purple eyes were blazing with a terrifying light, and she felt like she would be consumed by the flames within them.

Ilene may not have recognized Duo Maxwell at that moment, but any of his fellow pilots would have known that look in an instant. Shinigami had returned, and Shinigami should be obeyed. In a way, Duo was the most frightening of the pilots- he was the only one who let his emotions rule him, and right now he was letting his darker side have free reign. It had been over a year since he had last let this side of him come to the fore, and it was coming out with a vengeance.

"They-they didn't say who they were, only that they weren't even old enough to vote," Ilene managed to get out through stutters. "Duo, please- you're hurting me."

Duo blinked, suddenly aware of his surroundings. He was holding Ilene- one of his best friends- several inches off the ground in a painful grip. Everyone in the lounge was staring at them, and he noticed the shocked looks on their faces and could practically read their thoughts from the expression in their eyes. Duo Maxwell, reacting violently? Impossible! Not Duo, the guy who was always good for a laugh!

He blinked a few times, desperately trying to find the happy-go-lucky attitude everyone expected from him. "I'm sorry, Ilene," he whispered softly, setting her down gently before he bolted for the door.

No one made a move to stop him.

Half an hour later, he sat on the cliff, staring off broodingly, trying to work out what to do next. He could always disappear again; there were places that a person who wanted to be lost could go- Duo had been to most of them. He was an expert at it, but that defeated the purpose.

_What did I fight for?_ he wondered. _Why can't things just stay the same? I was doing good, and for the first time, I was enjoying my life! Is it too much to ask for?_

Apparently it was. He didn't turn when he heard the footsteps approaching from behind him. He just kept his chin on his knees, staring forward without really seeing anything.

"I knew I would find you here," a male voice said.

Duo didn't do anything to acknowledge his roommate's presence.

Chris Johnsen sank down to sit next to him. "I can't understand the fascination you seem to have for heights," he said with a mock shudder. "The first time I saw you up here I honestly thought you were going to fall off. You sit so close to the edge," he said pointing at Duo's legs, which were hanging careless over the very end.

"I've always sat on the edge, no matter what I've done," Duo said quietly.

Chris looked at his roommate. Duo was rarely this serious, and now was the time to push a few issue he had been meaning to ask about for ages. "I heard about what happened in the lounge," he said softly.

Duo winced. "I'll write Ilene an apology later- I really didn't mean to. I just got a little bit carried away."

Chris sighed. "She'll understand. It's not a big deal- news about the Gundam upsets a lot of people," he said. He paused carefully before continuing.

"You're not fooling anyone, you know."

"What?" Duo asked, feeling his blood pressure start to rise again.

"It's obvious that you were involved in the war somehow. I just haven't figured out what you did yet- you're obviously not one of the OZ soldiers, or else you would probably be working in the Preventers," Chris reasoned. "Still, there's something about you that just screams soldier."

"Really," Duo said in a flat voice that Heero Yuy himself would have envied.

"Yes, really!" Chris snapped back temperamentally. His voice rose. "There comes a time when you have to trust other people! What's wrong, Duo Maxwell? Did you see a Gundam attack? Is that why you're so scared?"

Duo looked over at him, his expression grave. "Please, Chris. I need to be alone. I need to think."

Chris looked like he was ready to argue, but rose to his feet, stalking off. Duo knew he'd have another apology to be making shortly.

He buried his face in his hands, for the first time giving into despair. "It's going to come out. It's only a matter of time," he whispered to himself. "The question is, what do I do then?"

  
_Go to Helena story Someone Special_

  


* * *

  
**Scene IV: Of War, Past and Present**

  


_"If I were someone else, would this all fall apart?  
I wish the real world would just stop hassling me."  
--Matchbox 20, Real World_

  
"I beg to differ," Dorothy said, sipping lightly at her tea. "I have killed many men more skilled than Okure-san. His form is lacking."

The young Japanese man across from her swallowed compulsively and looked at her with wide eyes. "Truly? Dorothy-sama…"

"Of course," she said with a hint of the slightest arrogance. She wondered how long it would be until she got rid of this one. The last suitor her mother sent had only stayed fifteen minutes before she'd sent him scurrying out the door with her barely-concealed barbs. She was good at this. It was fun. "My opponents are weak. I would like to fence with Okure-san. It would be an opportunity, I think."

The man stood up, placing his cup on the table hastily. "Well..uhh…Dorothy-sama…"

"You are tired?" Dorothy said, stretching out on the sofa, waving one ringed hand. "It was a pleasant discussion, Aka-san. Perhaps you should come again sometime."

"Of-of course," the man stuttered, before she reached up and rang the small bell that called for the butler. The black-and-white clad servant appeared, bowing.

"Would you show Aka-san to the door, please?" Smiling, she turned to the young man. "It was a pleasure."

"Ah…for me as well, Dorothy-sama," he said, turning and hurrying out of the room before the butler could follow, at a speed which amazed Dorothy. After he had gone, she looked down at her watch. Ten minutes. This was a record.

Smiling to herself, she gathered up the teacups and set back on the teacart. The maids would clear them away if she left them on the tea table, but there was no harm in her making their lives easier. She enjoyed being helpful sometimes.

Her mother would no doubt call in the next hour or so, wondering how the visit went, and Dorothy would have to nod and smile and reply in sweet yes's and no's and convince her mother that yes, she had been nice to this suitor. She wished she could just discard the smiling façade and proclaim to the overbearing duchess that this was a all a waste of time. If she could not have the man she wanted, she would have no other man. She had made up her mind, and when Dorothy Catalonia made up her mind, nothing, not even her mother, could change it.

There were too many weaklings in this world, and she would not be another one.

Sighing, she stood up from where she'd been reclining on the couch, adjusting the white gossamer dress that floated around her body in sweeping folds. She hated dresses, hated wearing them even more, but it was necessary to maintain her feminine image while scaring the hell out of her would-be suitors. It was all part of the game, and Dorothy loved games.

Life, after all, was one giant game.

She rang the bell, sighing, and a maid appeared this time, dressed in a starched apron and uniform. Dorothy waved at the tea cart, and the maid curtseyed.

"Would you like anything else, Lady Dorothy?"

She shook her head. "Not now. Perhaps later."

The maid wheeled the cart out of the room and Dorothy stood there for a moment, watching the sun through the blinds and wondering what to do with the rest of her day. It was only morning - not even late morning at that - and there was nothing that she felt like doing. Fencing would help if she had a good opponent, like that boy Quatre Raberba Winner…but Quatre was stuck on some colony with some title, an inheritance, and a high class position. He was always on the news for something or other, blamed for high petroleum prices or praised for some new colony renovation.

It wouldn't be such a bad idea to have a go at winning Quatre's heart, just to appease her mother, but Dorothy had never liked the executive types, and even Quatre, with his land and money, might not be high-status enough for Emily. Besides, Quatre wasn't…exciting. Kind and gentle and a noble warrior…but not exciting. She wanted someone exciting. Someone dangerous.

Damn her mother. Damn all the men, at that. She leaned against the wall, watching the dust motes swirl in the sunlight, waiting for the eventual appearance of her butler and the message that her mother had called.

Not for the first time, she wished she was still aboard the Libra, reveling in her freedom and glory, by the side of one of the most powerful men in the galaxy…

The blank holovid in the corner caught her attention, reflecting her glittering white dress in its dark surface, and on a whim she reached for the remote. She rarely ever watched holovid, getting her news through more elegant and perhaps less trustworthy sources, but it was late morning and she was bored. With a flick of a button, the vid flickered to life.

"-latest from the breaking Gundam story here on Earth. Stay tuned after these messages."

The smiling face of the news anchor disappeared in a flash of light and a commercial for some facial cream powder. Dorothy frowned. What Gundam story? 

A nagging feeling crawled at the back of her neck and she leaned closer to the viewscreen as the commercials ended and the news station sign flashed back on. The anchorwoman appeared again, dark eyes looking serious as a series of pictures flashed to her right. Dorothy recognized some of them…politicians, government officials, friends of her mother. Others looked more lower-class; people interviewed off the street, perhaps.

"Welcome back. I'm Alanna Bar-Ali, here with the latest news on the Gundam Revelation. Here's the story."

The screen flashed to a picture of a Gundam-Wing Zero, Dorothy realized with a feeling of impending doom. The anchor's voice cut into the background.

"It has been one year since the war some people call the War to End All Wars, but for many of us, it might just be beginning. Yesterday, some startling news was released from previously classified military information. The Gundam pilots who had been destroying the lives of innocent civilians and colonial dwellers were revealed to be no more than fifteen year old children given toys to play with. However, what not many realized was how destructive those toys, the Gundams themselves, could be."

Dorothy stood, frozen, as the anchorwoman rambled on about the role of the Gundams during the war. Children? Toys? Her hands worked against the sides of her dress. Heero Yuy had been no child. None of them had been. It was the same as saying…that she had been a child. She was no child.

This was outrageous. How had this classified information been released to the public? What had Lady Une told the media? Didn't the woman understand the meaning of tact?

"Charges are being pressed against the military, former members of the colonial resistance, and the five Gundam pilots, whose names and whereabouts are yet unknown at this time. There have been riots in several cities…"

"Ridiculous," she murmured, carefully placing the remote on the tea table. "Utterly ridiculous."

Her mouth felt dry and she couldn't seem to take her eyes off the screen. It was ridiculous…she had thought that the identity of the five Gundam pilots was rather common knowledge. Then again, she had been privy to much information that many people, not even top officials in the Romefeller Foundation, had had access too. Still, to react this strongly…?

Damn the media, while she was at it. Still…

She watched as images of burning buildings and smoking hulks of vehicles filled the screen. Still, it was fascinating. A game, of sorts. She felt a smile begin to curve her lips as a politician's fat face appeared, ranting against the "outrage" the Gundams had caused to his country and his people. 

_The injustice must be stopped!_ he announced. _The criminals must be held accountable for their crimes!_

Dorothy sniffed. How little someone like him would know about crime. She had been a criminal during the war; she admitted it, and it had been…exciting. Controlling those mobile dolls had stirred her blood like nothing else in the universe could, and the fact that she was a rebel had excited her even more.

She held the remote in one loose hand, considering, the voice of the anchor a low buzz in the background. With her high status, she could perhaps influence the sway of the players in this new drama. The war was still a hot issue in her political circles, the Gundams even more so. At every social function she had attended there had always been the curious question of what exactly she had done during the war and the heated debate of whether the war should have been fought at all. Any single word from her, and…

Yes, this could be interesting.

The game was still in too early stages for her to try her hand at the cards, but soon, very soon.

There was a brief flash in her mind of the face of a boy, blue eyes wide, begging her, speaking of war and peace and ideals. He was so innocent…it wasn't right.

She smiled, flicking off the holovid, cutting off the woman in mid-sentence.

_Quatre…we'll see who wins this time. The war isn't over yet._

"Lady Dorothy?"

She jumped, smoothing down her dress as she turned. It was her butler.

"A call from Mother? I'll be right there."

The butler blinked. "Actually, Lady Dorothy…it's a visitor."

It was her turn to blink. "A visitor?"

"Yes, Lady. He's waiting in the parlor right now. Should I show him into the tearoom?"

Dorothy frowned. She was expecting no visitors except for the failed suitor this morning, and there were no people she knew who would want to drop in to visit her. Dorothy Catalonia did not pride herself in being the center of any purely social circles, much to the disappointment of her high society mother.

"Lady?"

"Oh. Yes, show him in."

The butler bowed and left the room. She crossed to the couch by the tea table, seating herself and arranging her dress so that it fell in graceful arcs around her. Whoever this mysterious visitor was, she hoped he didn't stay long. She had things to do.

Her life up to this point had been a waste. With the war over, there hadn't been anything useful she could do with herself, and a lady of her station and class did not simply wander off into the galaxy to become a sweeper or mercenary or anything that might be remotely exciting. Dorothy had thought about renouncing her title and joining the Preventers group, but that would mean risking the wrath and possible estrangement from her mother. She wasn't quite willing to risk that yet.

Not quite.

Now, with the identities of the Gundam pilots at stake, there might be no need to.

She had to plan. Mentally counting on her fingers, she reviewed in her mind the faces and names of politicians she knew, whether intimately or just as acquaintances. She would have to gauge their political stance, their ability to be swayed, their response to popular opinion. There were so many factors in this game, just like the game where she had controlled the mobile dolls. She-

"Dorothy?"

Her head shot up at the voice, towards the figure who stood uncertainly in the doorway. Her breath caught in her throat.

Oh dear god.

_This can't be._

All plans and thoughts of the war vanished from her mind and all she could see and think and feel and breathe was the man in her tea room doorway whom she had for the longest time thought to be dead and then had suddenly reappeared, when she had fallen in love with him all over again.

She wasn't a fool for any man-had never been, and yet...

Of all people, she hadn't expected him to come here. Not him. His eyes were bluer than she remembered, and his hair…

He had cut his hair.

"Dorothy?" Zechs Merquise said, stepping forward into the light. She couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Could only watch as he smiled at her, a bit uncertainly.

"May I come in?" 


	9. The Moving Time that Shatters Peace

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT II, PART II

_ Namae mo shiranai hana ga  
Tatakai no akai hi ni tsutsumareru  
Itsudemo seigi wa hitotsu  
Shourisha no te no naka_

Mirai o sagasu you na  
Kirei koto ja nai  
Dareka o nakasete mo  
Mayou koto wa shinai

A flower of an unknown name  
Is consumed in the red flame of battle  
Eternal justice is alone  
In the hands of the victor

This is not something beautiful  
Like searching for the future  
If I caused someone to weep  
I still would not lose my way

--Gundam Wing, _Hoshikuzu no Senshitachi_  
[_Soldiers of the Stars_, Treize Khushrenada image song]  


  
  
**Scene V: All That He Seems to be and More**

  


_"I want something else  
To get me through this  
Semi-charmed kind of life."  
--Third Eye Blind, Semi-Charmed Life_

  
Mornings were not his thing. Despite what many people may have believed, Quatre was not a cheerful person until he had a few ounces of caffeine running through his veins. His sister Jaffa had once tried to give him decaffeinated tea in place of his regular ultra-caffeinated brand without informing him. By noon, he had thrown two temper tantrums over relatively minor matters, a maid had quit, and Jaffa was forcing two cups of Darjeeling down his throat.

Six AM, and his manservant Kasserine threw his curtains back, letting the false light of the dawn of the Colony into Quatre's room. The blonde teenager mumbled a derogatory comment about Kasserine's probable ancestry and rolled over, pulling his pillow over his head.

Used to the antics of his employer, Kasserine jerked the blankets off the boy. Quatre made a hurried grab, but his manservant deftly avoided him. "You're fired! Lemme alone!" Quatre snapped irritably.

With a sigh, Kasserine ignored the order and shoved a cup of Earl Grey into Quatre's hands. Ten minutes later, Quatre gave him smile that was wonderful in its sweetness. "Why do you put up with me?" he asked.

Kasserine stifled a smirk. "You pay well, sir," he said. "Would you like the rest of your breakfast now?"

Quatre nodded, running a hand through his mussed hair. "Please. And since I'm sure Bartlett is waiting outside, send him in.

Kasserine nodded, left to carry out his orders, and was replaced almost immediately by Bartlett, who was holding his daily planner. "Morning Bartlett," Quatre said, sipping on his second cup of tea. "What's on for today?"

Bartlett didn't look up from the notebook, and Quatre barely kept from sighing out loud. Over a year, and still the man was like an iceberg. His aide was suppose to be his most valued employee, yet how could they work together if Bartlett refused to trust him? Quatre was seriously concerned that he might have to fire the man. "We have a busy day," Bartlett began, reading over the planner. "Meetings until noon, lunch with a few of your suppliers, a tour of the new college you helped finance, two more quick meetings, then you'll be attending a concert with Ms. Indira Hussein. Remember to be extremely apolitical. Her family hasn't forgotten the twentieth century."

Quatre hated arranged dates, but it was part and parcel of his position. Rolling out of bed, he set his feet on the floor, his toes sinking into the inch-thick plush blue carpet. Darting for the closet, he disappeared into the vast depths of the wardrobe, looking around for an outfit for the day. He settled on gray slacks, a pink silk shirt, and a matching gray vest. Slipping out of his pajamas, he wrapped a satin dressing robe around his slender body.

He picked up the ensemble he had selected, and started out of the closet to the bathroom. "Is that all, then?" he asked somewhat dryly.

Bartlett flipped a page. "There is a breaking news story you should be aware of in case someone wants you to comment on it. It seems a reporter managed to get a hold of some documents about the Gundam Pilots."

Quatre turned into a statue. "What did they say?" he asked quietly.

Bartlett misinterpreted Quatre's stillness as terror at the very mention of the word "Gundam". He scowled slightly. "The pilots were young- the oldest was sixteen when the war ended. The papers claim they are holding the names, but it's very feasible that the records will be made public under Act 60 of the World Congress."

"What will happen when the public gets a hold of the names?" Quatre wondered allowed, but Bartlett took it as a direct question.

The man levelled a gaze on his employer that spoke volumes for how much he thought of Quatre's intelligence. "Riots, public outcry, the usual. Hopefully the governments of the world have stabilized enough to maintain peace, but if not…." The older man shrugged. "We have the contingency plans prepared already, Mr. Winner. The Winner Group will weather this as it always has. We are an eternal force of nature."

Quatre nodded and headed to the bathroom to dress. He washed his face slowly, looking back at the angelic countenance that was reflected. Limpid blue eyes stared at him, and Quatre looked at the golden hair that framed his cupid-like face, the sweet mouth and pale skin. Some of his sisters liked to tease him about being a cuckoo in the nest, for who had ever heard of an Arabian who looked like he did? Quatre used to try to argue that five of his other sisters who had the same fair coloring, but Jaffa would retaliate by saying they had a Middle-Eastern cast to their bone structure, while he looked as European as possible. Still, he wished that he looked older. It wasn't fair that he had lived through the war and still didn't look like he needed to shave.

After ten minutes or so, he emerged from the bathroom, freshly washed. Bartlett had taken his leave, but one of Quatre's sisters had taken his place.

Aisha was the sister he saw the most of. She was the very epitome of Arabic, having the dark complexion and black hair and eyes that he lacked, along with the elegantly chiseled features that marked her Middle Eastern heritage. "Hello, Quatre," she said affectionately. "Bartlett is going to be handling some of your lower-powered meetings today, so I'll fill in for him," she said.

He smiled back at her. "Glad to have you," he said. "Does Kasserine have breakfast ready?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to eat in the car. I grabbed what Kasserine had finished, and packed some nutritional bars that should do," she said apologetically. "There's a lot of work to be done, and we're bracing for the crisis."

He looked at his slender sister, who graceful leaned forward and straightened his vest. Stepping back, she gave him a once over before pronouncing him suitable. Together they hurried downstairs, Aisha falling automatically behind him, modestly keeping her eyes down. Quatre wondered why she was being so quiet… usually she would at least twit him about being so informally dressed.

"Aisha, is something going on?" he wanted to know. 

"There's always something going on," she replied primly.

His eyes narrowed. "Sheherezade?" he asked suspiciously. Sheherezade was Aisha's twin sister, and delighted in playing pranks. Sometimes she would pretend to be her sister, much to everyone's consternation.

His sister laughed. "I assure you, I'm Aisha. The thing is, we have a guest."

Quatre's eyes narrowed. "Who is it?"

"Jaffa," Aisha answered quietly.

"Jaffa? Here?" he squeaked. As if he didn't have enough to worry about, now his surrogate mother and head of the Winner family had appeared.

Jaffa was the fourth daughter, yet she mothered even those who were older then her. A cheerful, bright personality, she was the tie that bound the Winner Family together. She knew everyone, serving as the family mediator, mother, confidante and social coordinator. Quatre hadn't seen her in three months- the last he knew, she was moderating yet another of the quarrels between his older sisters. One of them was a parasite who fed off of the family fortune, and often ended up fighting with the others about her lifestyle. Jaffa was constantly soothing the ruffled feathers.

"Yes, here," Aisha replied, a wicked glint in her eye. "She's going to ride with us to work so she can talk to you. She says its about something important."

"I can imagine," Quatre said, his mind flickering to the news Bartlett had just told him about. 

"Well, we had better get going. Your first meeting is in half an hour."

_Great_, Quatre thought. _Just great_.

The two siblings walked out to the elegant blank limo. Quatre had toyed with the idea of getting a pink one in mockery of a certain Queen, but decided he didn't like pink that much. Sliding inside, Quatre sat opposite both his sisters.

Jaffa was another member of the Winner family who had inherited the Arabic features of their ancesters. Her sherry brown eyes lacked their usual glint of good humor as she clicked the privacy button on. "You've heard the news, I assume?" she asked, her usually cheerful soprano muted with a serious concern he had never heard before.

"Yes," Quatre confessed, darting a glance at Aisha. As far as he knew, Aisha had no idea what her little brother had done during the war.

"You're going to have to tell her anyway," Jaffa said. "The entire family is going to find out, along with the rest of the galaxy."

Aisha looked more puzzled. "Find out what?" she wanted to know.

"How many know already?" he wanted to know.

"During the war, six of them found out. Since Iria died, it'd been five, but I've informed Yaminah since we're going to need her services."

"Yaminah?" Quatre asked, trying to place the name to the sister. He had an impossible time keeping them straight.

"She's the lawyer."

"Have I met her?"

"No- she works in London and rarely sees any of the family. Still, she's taking the first shuttle here."

Aisha finally couldn't take it anymore. "Could one of you please explain exactly what's going on to me?" she demanded.

Quatre blinked. "It's about what I did during the war."

Aisha went very still suddenly. "What?" she wanted to know, having a slight premonition of impending doom.

He took a deep breath. "I was a Gundam pilot," he said quietly. "Pilot of 04, Gundam Sandrock."

Aisha blinked, and her eyes grew wide. "This is a joke, right? Quatre, your sense of humor needs work! Imagine what would happen if someone actually BELIEVED that?! Do you know how long it would take for the public relationships to mend the damage that joke would cause?"

"No," Jaffa said. "He's telling the truth." She placed a supportive hand on her brother's shoulder. 

Aisha looked at both of their solemn faces. "Quatre, how could you?" she demanded. "That's against everything our family stands for!"

"It gets better," Quatre said, continuing his confession. "I was also the one who built Gundam Wing Zero. That was the Gundam that destroyed the colonies."

"You- you…" Aisha's eyes rolled up into her forehead, and she collapsed, unable to assimilate the news that her quiet, gentle brother was a mass murderer.

"Aisha!" Quatre cried, but Jaffa had been prepared for such a reaction.

"She'll get over it. Be good and eat your breakfast- you're going to need all the energy you can get."

Quatre obediently picked up a slice of his cooling toast, chewing on it somewhat resentfully. "So we have a lawyer coming, and we're going to tell the rest of the family. Great."

"I also took the liberty of contacting Rashid- he's going to be bringing his soldiers up to be your bodyguards."

"Bodyguards?"

"Quatre, you know as well as I do that people are very, very upset. There's going to be assassination attempts on your life."

Quatre blinked. "I never thought about it."

She sighed. "No, of course you wouldn't. You always think about an ideal, or in other abstract concepts. I've arranged a press conference for three days from now."

"Press conference?" Quatre parroted.

"It'll be better if we release the news ourselves, rather then have it spread. That way, we can put the proper spin control on it. I've contacted Briggs and Tenno- they're the best speech writers in the business."

Quatre felt like he had just been hit by a high-speed shuttle. "Is there anything you didn't think of?" he wanted to know.

"Most likely. But I'm your older sister, I'm suppose to boss you around."

He smiled and took a sip of orange juice. "I love you," he said.

"I know you do," she said affectionately. "You're not the only one with empathic abilities."

Glancing over at Aisha, he wondered. If his own sister had reacted this badly, what would the rest of the world do?

  
_Go to Reeshya story The Little Princess_

  


* * *

  
**Scene VI: The Price of Fame and Nobility**

  


_"Osanai koro wo omou yasashisa ni ueteta  
Amari ni mo toosugita anata no koe.  
[I remember my childhood when I hungered for gentleness  
But your voice was too far from me.]"  
--Dir en Grey, I'll_

  
"I hide nothing," she intoned calmly for the fifth time. Camera bulbs flashed in her face and she resisted the urge to spin around and bolt back into the safety of one of the many myriad hidden rooms of the palace. "I was not aware of the need to reveal the identities of the pilots to the public."

"Isn't that hiding, Queen Relena?"

"I call it protecting, rather."

"You wish to protect murderers?"

"They are not murderers," Relena flared, regretting that show of temper immediately after she had spoken. The cameras clicked and flashbulbs sparked. "They are my friends!"

"You claim to be a pacifist, yet you befriend soldiers?"

"These soldiers fought for the greater good."

"Yet they fought!"

Microphones shoved up in her face. 

"Queen Relena, what-"

"Queen Relena, please-"

"Queen Relena, why-"

She opened her mouth to tell them all to go to hell, and a shadow stepped smoothly in front of her, blocking her from public view.

"I believe Queen Relena is tired," intoned her security chief. "She needs to rest. Thank you for coming."

The clamor from the crowd of reporters rose as he backed away from the blocked off entrance-way to the Cinq palace, sweeping her along with them. When enough shrubbery and latticework hid them from sight, he stopped, turning around to look at her.

"I apologize for dragging you off, my lady, but you did look tired."

She managed a ragged smile, pushing a lock of hair back behind her ear. "No. Thank you. You did the right thing. A second longer there, and I would have…"

His smile showed he understood. From what Milliard had told her, this particular guard had served under the Peacecrafts when her father was king. He was a big man with salt-and pepper hair and beard and gentle eyes. He could be counted on.

"It's been a long day, Jarod."

"That it has, my lady. Perhaps you would like to be escorted back to your rooms to rest?"

That sounded nice. To rest. "No…I can't. There's work to be taken care of."

"You've done enough work today, my lady."

Relena rested her head against the stone pillar at the edge of the drive. "There's press reports to read…paperwork. I need to contact lawyers in case anything does happen. I need to prepare a statement to the country…Secretary Warner and I think it's a good idea if I have a public appearance to clear everything up as much it can be cleared up…"

"Relena."

She looked up at him. He had only called her by her given name a few times before, but he had known her since she was a child, and she trusted him.

"I'm sorry, Jarod. I can't sleep yet."

His eyes showed that he was worried about her, but instead he nodded. "Shall I accompany you back to your office, then?"

"That would be nice. Thank you."

The stars were bright tonight and it was almost a shame when they stepped into the side door that led directly to the offices inside the east wing of the palace. The hallways were quiet and most of the doors were locked, personnel having gone home rather than stay up late dealing with the paperwork that had piled up on their desks within a day after the news broke.

The media had no mercy.

Relena had been eating breakfast when she had heard. She had planned for a fairly relaxing day, with only two meetings: one with the Secretary of Commerce and the other with some committee chairman for the Renovation of Public Lands. When the servant appeared at the door with that familiar look on his face, the please-Relena-sama-could-you-change-your-schedule look, she'd felt slightly downcast at the hopes of her one free day in months going down the drain.

A lot more was about to go down the drain, as she found out when she saw the gathering of news vans pulled up in front of the palace gates. Her chief of security was waiting for her at the door.

_Jarod?_ She'd snapped. _What's going on?_

He had broken the news to her as gently as possible and she had felt the old resignation bubble up from where she had stored it, hoping never to have to use it again. The resignation that things were never going to go the way she wanted them to, and she should just learn to deal with it. Milliard had told her that his first night back.

_Stop trying to change the world, Relena. It won't happen. You'll just have to deal with the fact that what you want might not be the way things are going to be._

Relena had never been the type of person to "just deal" with anything. But when Jarod had uttered the words "Gundam" and "pilot," she had felt strangely blank, as if it had nothing to do with her. As if she had never been involved, had been just a spectator sitting on the sidelines watching as the bloody drama unfolded. Because she had never really been involved, after all. She'd pushed her way in, hoping to make a difference…and she'd been used. Cruelly used and then thrown aside.

_Heero…_

She'd watched from the window of her office as the reporters gathered. She pretended to do paperwork, glancing at the clock every two minutes, wondering why the second hand crawled so slowly by the silver numbers on the face. After reading and rereading the same paragraph on foreign affairs for half an hour, she stood, slammed the stack of papers down on the desk, and drew the curtain over the window.

Jarod had appeared at the door, alarmed.

_My lady? What's wrong?_

I'm going down to face them.

Now, as she sat in the same chair and stared at the even higher stack of papers on her desk, she wondered if that had been such a good idea. She had raised more questions than answers, and the results of that hurried interview were sure to be in the news tomorrow, twisted out of context and interspersed with the news anchors' snide remarks. That was how it always was. She couldn't even make a simple interview sound how she wanted it to, in the end.

She'd spoken from the heart. Always. And it hurt.

"Relena? You sure you'll be all right?"

She smiled at Jarod's worried face, waving him away. "I'm fine. I'll go lie down in a little bit, after I finished writing a preliminary speech."

"You really should hire a speech writer," he said, hand hovering around the doorknob. "It would be-"

"A lot easier?" Relena said softly, smiling at him. Her cheeks hurt. "Yes it would be. But then they wouldn't be my words. Would they?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I see."

No he didn't, but it was all right. "Goodnight, Jarod."

He bowed and the door closed behind him with a click. She sighed. After a moment, she got up, kicking off her shoes as she did so, letting her sore feet pad soundlessly on the carpet. Walking to the window, she slowly drew back the curtains, watching the stars and the moon in the sky.

Most of the vans had gone now, and the few that remained were starting their engines, crew packing away camera equipment. Ironic, that a queen couldn't even keep reporter crews out of her own front yard.

No, she wasn't a queen. More like a prime minister, a president. A queen had more power than she was wielding right now, and she knew that some of her ministers thought she was overstepping her bounds. 

_Relena Peacecraft may be the rightful heir to the throne…but she's different. An outsider. Not one of us._

She supposed she would have to just deal with it, as she had with everything else. It hurt.

Sighing, Relena pushed back the papers covering most of the desk, biting back a yelp as she sliced the skin of one finger on a corner of a document. Putting the finger in her mouth, she cleared enough space to work, then retrieved an ink pen and a spare sheet of paper.

  
_My people:_

  
No, that wouldn't work. She would be being too presumptuous. Scratching that out, she started over.

  
_My fellow citizens:_

  
That wouldn't work either. She wasn't really a citizen of the Cinq Kingdom, in their eyes. She hadn't been there when they'd needed her. Never mind that she had been a child with no recollection of her past, and that her older brother, the traitor-turned-rebel, was the true heir. Sighing, she scribbled it out.

  
_Citizens of the Cinq Kingdom:_

  
Hmm. What next? A simple explanation. She was too tired to add in the flowery greetings and pleasantries. She could do that later, if she wanted. She doubted she would.

  
_The news of the identities of the Gundam Pilots has been a matter of great concern to us and a matter of great concern to this state as well. In this address, we wish to state our position on this matter._

We-

  
We what?

What was her position on the Gundam pilots?

Relena chewed on the end of the pen, propping her head up with one hand. They were expecting her to support the decision of the world government. That was definitely what they would want: all her ministers. A strong kingdom must have a strong queen, and a strong queen follows the just rule of law. Wasn't that what she had been taught?

So exactly what was the just rule of law?

Steepling her fingers in front of her, Relena closed her eyes, sorting through memory after memory. The war had been about power, in the end. Power in the name of peace. That was all it was, and some part of her had known that even through the struggle to create a real world government in the name of peace. She had known, as with everything, that nothing she did would matter. That she would eventually be cast aside as just another pawn, and she would have to learn to deal.

_Milliard, this is all your fault._

It was his fault. If he hadn't been so selfish, hadn't decided to walk away from his responsibility without a care in the world and left her with the throne, it would all be all right. At least he could have stayed when he had decided to come back out of wherever he had been hiding himself. At least he could have offered to help her. Instead, he'd sat around offering cryptic remarks and showing no sympathy whatsoever towards her troubles.

She'd wanted a brother, and he had acted the part of stern parent. She'd wanted a brother, and he had acted the part of overbearing advisor. Never simply there for her, like a true brother would be. Milliard Peacecraft obviously didn't understand.

Some brother.

Relena clenched her fists, feeling like a five-year-old throwing a temper tantrum, but she didn't care. She was still a child, in Milliard's eyes, and would always be a child. It wasn't her fault that she had none of his charisma, his presence, his ability to plan and charm into submission. She wasn't her brother, and Milliard couldn't accept that.

Heero had the same qualities that Milliard had, except he was…different. He was…

Pure?

As absurd as that was, that was how she thought of him.

They were all pure.

She reached for her pen, began scribbling lines down on the page of paper, knowing that what she wrote was far from politically correct, even farther from the policies which she had hoped to instill in the country as queen, but that really wasn't a choice any longer. She had to be selfish sometimes. 

This matter was something which she couldn't just let slide. Even if it didn't matter in the end, she would act. She refused to sit by and deal with it any longer.

  
_We believe in peace, yet we-_

  
No.

Starting from the beginning of the document, Relena began scratching out all references to the royal "we." This was not about the kingdom, but her and her alone. There was no "we" in this.

  
_I believe in peace, yet I believe that in order to sustain that peace, one must also sometimes deviate from absolute pacifism. This matter of the Gundam pilots threatens the peace that we have so carefully built, and therefore I must stand behind the pilots. The pilots fought for our peace. They gave us the courage and the ability to build this new world in which we live. In order to preserve their dreams, what they have fought for, I also must stand up and fight. Not with weapons, but with words and with action. I believe that we should give back to the pilots what they gave to us, and that includes support in their darkest hour._

  
She read the words over, seeing them as if through a distant, dim tunnel. She was digging her own grave, yet she could not lie. 

_Milliard, we're different, you and I. _

  
_I do not plead with you to stand with me. I know that this time will be one of trial for all citizens, and I will not exempt myself from that trial. The Gundam pilots taught us strength and honor, and for that strength and honor, I will stand up for what I believe is the truth._

  
The truth.

What was the truth?

In the darkness of the room she could almost see a pair of Prussian-blue eyes gazing cold and hard into hers, a hand reaching out, the feel of cold metal against her skin.

_Omae o korosu._

They had left her. They had all left her alone, and yet she was defending them.

  
_I urge every citizen to support the side which they believe stands in the right. In every crucible and conflagration, those who emerge will emerge stronger and wiser. So I hope it is with this conflict. And in the end, I hope that none of us will hold regrets for what we have done._

  
The room suddenly felt very cold, and the twinkling stars offered no comfort.

"Milliard," she said quietly to the shadows. "You're a coward."

  
_Go to Lo! How a Rose e'er Blooming_

  


* * *

  
**Scene VII: To Begin a Battle**

  


_"Pass the word; it's a call to arms."  
--Mike and the Mechanics, A Call to Arms_

  
The Colonel was in command.

Technically that wasn't true. Lady Une was now a General; she hadn't been a Colonel since the end of the Eve Wars. Still, that was how Sally thought of Une when she was like this. Even though Une had integrated both aspects of her personality, sometime one side would become more dominant.

It was fascinating to watch. Sally, though no psychologist, recognized a classic case of a dissociation disorder when she saw one. Aside from the slight breakdown Une had first had when they surveyed her office, the Lady had managed to maintain control of the situation.

The world was going nuts. Already the Preventers had been forced to dispatch four teams as riot control, and fires had been reported in thirteen major cities and two colonies. The press was pounding on their doors, heckling any employees who tried to enter. Two secretaries had quit in tears, and one of their operatives had grabbed a photographer and destroyed his camera.

Sally knocked cautiously on the door, ready to get her head bitten off. People had been treading carefully around Une, with good reason. Une was never a calm personality, but in times of crisis, heads rolled if things weren't done as well as she could have. And as Une was a perfectionist, people were naturally frightened.

Sally wasn't afraid of her, but she understandably didn't look forward to getting chopped off at the knees. The press had fallen onto the story like rabid wolves, and they were left picking up the mess.

"Enter!" Une said.

She was sitting behind the desk, her hair still messed from the storm she had gotten caught in. She had taken the time to put on a clean uniform, and Sally saw that the old one had been thrown onto the chair that was in the right hand corner of the office. Obviously the maid hadn't found the courage to enter. All things considered, it was probably a wise thing. Sally made a mental note to give her a raise- that was assuming that the Preventers were still around in a month. This whole mess could destroy them.

"We got Banks. He was sitting at home, waiting for us. Came without a fight," Sally reported without preamble.

Une's eyes flashed in satisfaction. "The press get it?"

"The press always 'gets it.' Right now our cover is that we've taken him in for questioning about how he obtained the documents."

Une snorted. "Bury him in paperwork."

"Taken care of. I have a gag order on the World Free Press, but Lord knows how long it will be until they manage to get a court to overturn it for long enough to publish the story- I give it about ten days."

"Ten days to brace for the hurricane. How lovely," Une said sardonically.

"I know," Sally said, a grim expression on her face. "What the hell can we do?" she wanted to know.

"I have not the slightest idea. If I did, believe me we wouldn't be messing with this." Une rested her face in her hands, rubbing at her temples as though she had a headache.

The vidscreen blinked, signaling an incoming call. Une sighed and entered the passcode that would allow the call through. "Yes?" she asked temperamentally.

Sally came around the other side of Une's desk, curious in spite of herself. On the screen was a man in a stained Preventers uniform, wearing the insignia of a first lieutenant. His brown eyes had tight stress lines around them, and Sally wondered what the smoke she could see rising behind the lieutenant was coming from.

The man saluted. "Lieutenant Drake, reporting, ma'am," he announced.

Une stared him down for a second. "Dispense with the formalities, soldier. What is so god damn urgent that you have to interrupt me?" she demanded rudely.

Sally barely kept from wincing at Une's harsh tones.

"I was calling to report a riot in Moscow, ma'am," he said.

"We have a riot in Moscow now?" she demanded, wanting to know exactly where the hell the world was going to. "Great!"

"Hardly, ma'am. I have all of our peacekeepers out to quell the crowds- we've used tear gas twice already, and it just seems to be making them more angry."

"Spare me from imbeciles! Of course it's making them more angry. The population just found out the Preventers knew who the Gundam Pilots were, and when they protest, they get bombarded with tear gas! You stupid, stupid man! Get our people who are there to form a barricade by the government buildings, but otherwise let the people do what they want as long as they aren't hurting each other. They have a right to demonstrate."

"But they're burning cars!" the lieutenant said in protest.

"Cars are replaceable. Lives aren't," Une said shortly. "Be patient- I'll be sending a Colonel out to take care of the situation shortly. Until then, do not do anything rash. Lady Une out.

"Sally, remind me to demote that idiot as soon as possible." 

"Duly noted," Sally said dryly.

Une rubbed her temples, then reached into her desk, pulling out a pain medication. Taking two tablets, she swallowed without water. "Damn migraine," she griped.

Great, Sally thought. As if she wasn't bad enough already, now she had a headache. She's going to be worse then a lion with a thorn in its paw.

Une looked up. "I've been getting calls like that all day. So far thirty people have died. We've lost five agents, and I've had over a hundred resignations delivered to my desk. Then I have idiots like that- how the hell did he make lieutenant?" she griped. "You think there would be a requirement for a brain, wouldn't you? Apparently not."

Sally blushed slightly. She was in charge of personnel, and Une's complaint was a valid one. "Sorry," she said uselessly.

"Doesn't matter right now. That's the least of my concerns. What I need is to make sure that the riots don't spread. If I have to, I'll resign as Head of Preventers… the problem is, who would take my place? You? You're in just as deep as I am, if not more so. You were the ally of the pilots during the war."

Sally shrugged. "I make no apology for that fact."

"Nor should you. Then there's Noin and Zechs- Noin may be dead right now for all we know, and Zechs- Milliard- well, he doesn't want it. Too bad, really, because he'd probably handle this better then anyone else could."

Une sank back into her seat. "I just had papers filed against me," she said. "The families of some of the soldiers who were killed at Lake Victoria have banded together and are pressing suit. I expect there will be many, many more. I might have to hire additional lawyers."

"In war, people die. Ignore that for now," Sally advise quietly. "What we need to concentrate on is Banks. He caused this, and we have to react. Part of the mission statement for the Preventers is to promote peace. Banks is hardly doing that. He broke his oath as a Preventer, so we can have a military trial. A court martial, at the very least."

Une snorted. "His loyalties were never with us to start with."

"No, but it's the excuse we can use to make sure we can keep him in our custody."

Une nodded. "Would you do me a tremendous favor?" she asked in a sweet voice.

Sally slanted her a wary look. Une rarely asked for anything; usually she outright demanded. If she was asking, it meant trouble. "What is it?" she wanted to know.

"Someone needs to question Banks; someone high in the organization. I don't trust myself to do it- if I had my way, I'd shoot the bastard. You're a little more patient then I ever am."

Sally nodded, conceding the point. "You're not the only one who'd prefer to see a rotting corpse," she muttered under her breath.

Une looked at her. "I want to know if he had any accomplices. I want to know how he did it. And most of all, I want to know why he did it."

"Don't we all," Sally agreed. "Sure. I'll go interview Banks."

  


* * *

  
**Scene VIII: Name, Rank, Serial Number, and Date of Birth**

  


_"When questioned, should I become a prisoner of war, I am required to give name, rank, serial number, and date of birth. I will avoid answering further questions to the utmost of my ability. I will make no oral or written statements disloyal to my country or its allies, or harmful to their cause."  
--Article 5, United States Military Code of Conduct_

  
She glared silently, defiantly, at the man who stood before her. Her arms tingled and she could feel the sensation leaving them as the handcuffs chafed at her wrists. Not that it mattered.

Noin wondered how long it would take until he figured out she wouldn't talk.

The room was a large one, almost throne-room like, with enormous glass windows placed at strategic intervals through which sunlight streamed. The room was bare of furniture. She guessed that in peacetime, it had been used as a ballroom of some sort, but the feel of it now was far from the festive atmosphere of a ballroom. Though that had much to do with the officer who was standing amid the shafts of sun, mocking her predicament.

"You're a stubborn one," he said at last, looking at her thoughtfully as he paced around her in a circle. Circle after circle. It was enough to drive a woman crazy. And the thoughtfulness in his eyes was not friendly. "What will it take to make you tell me what I want to know?"

"My name is Major Lucrezia Noin. Serial number 15822147. Date of birth January 25, 176."

"You know, that name sounds familiar." The look of thoughtfulness in his eyes was real now, as he cocked his head to the side to ponder. "Oh…I know who you are. The OZ Lieutenant Noin, am I right? Thought I recognized your face. You were always in the news, before the war. Merquise's sidekick, am I correct?"

She said nothing, but he smiled and continued to circle, like a vulture descending on its prey from spirals in the sky. He had on lieutenant colonel ranks and wore his saber with all the condescending air of an officer who was more than sure of his abilities, one of those officers who could break all the rules and get away with it and still be worshipped. She resisted the urge to spit in the smirking face under the styled golden hair. He was tall and handsome and confident, and he knew it.

That was the problem, wasn't it? He was confident in his ability to break her, and she was not so confident she would not be broken.

She wouldn't have, once. But that was a long time ago…when…

He reminded her of…

"You'll talk, Lieutenant Noin. You'll talk soon enough. Why don't you just save me the trouble of…less healthy methods and just tell me what your government wants?"

"My name is Major Lucrezia Noin," she said through gritted teeth. "Serial number 15822147. Date of birth January 25, 176."

There was a silence as he frowned at her, and then he began to laugh. The peals of laughter rolled through the high-ceilinged room, and for a moment, she blinked, confused. He smiled at her, still laughing.

"They trained you better than I thought," he said at last. "I suppose I underestimated those OZ bastards. You won't say anything else to me unless I do decide to apply the rules, so I should stop trying, is that right?"

It was all she could do to stop herself from hurling obscenities at him. And from the look on his face, he knew it.

"You may break easier than I thought," he said. Stopping his pacing for a minute, he scratched the side of his nose, fingering the hilt of his dress saber with the other hand. "I'm sorry. I never introduced myself, did I? My name is Lieutenant Colonel Davi Morgan, and I am the commander of the 5th infantry battalion for the liberation of the colony." He stopped, and she stared stonily at him. There was sunshine coming through the skylight above his head.

"A grand title, isn't it? A grand ideal."

"My name is Major Lucrezia Noin. Serial number-"

He waved irritably at her. "I know, I know. Serial number 15822147, etcetera. What every good soldier learns as soon as they enter the forces. Save me the trouble, major."

"You won't get away with this," she said, holding her chin up high. The handcuffs squeezed her wrists.

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? The captive does speak after all."

"I'm not helpless," she spat. "I can defend myself, and you will regret this."

"I'm sure," he said lazily, drawing his saber with a silvery metallic ring and tracing invisible circles in the air with it. His polished black boots clicked on the floor as he began to circle once more, and she stiffened as he twirled the saber around with one hand and pointed it at her throat. Circling. Around and around.

"You're not bad looking at all," he murmured softly. "In fact, you'd actually be quite pretty if you weren't so sour looking. What's a lovely girl like you doing in the military?"

Her hands trembled.

Abruptly, he sheathed the saber with a flourish. "Enough idle talk. I suppose I've grown tired of your company, charming though it is, so I'll let you retire to your chambers now. Let us continue this conversation later, shall we?"

"Major Lucrezia Noin. Serial number 15822147. Date of birth January 25, 176."

"As I said," he said, raising one eyebrow. "A very pleasant conversation." He snapped his fingers, and another man appeared through the door on the far side, with staff sergeant chevrons on his sleeves, striding across the floor to where Morgan stood. She recognized him. He was the one who had brought her here, the one who guarded her door on the afternoon shift and occasionally came in to check that she was not entertaining any ideas of suicide.

"Take her away," Morgan said dismissively. "I'm through with her for today."

"Yes, sir."

"And Noin?"

She couldn't help but look up at him, towards that deceptively casual tone of voice. His face was hard, and all trace of humor had vanished.

"This is your last chance to talk," he said coldly. "If you do not give me the information my commander seeks, I will be forced to use other methods to gain that information. This colony is no longer under the control of the Terran government, and we may do whatever we want with you. Do you understand?"

She didn't answer.

In a split second the mask was back. Smiling slightly, he bowed to her, a perfect gentleman's bow.

"Good day, Major."

And then the click of his boots in the hallway outside was the only evidence that he had been standing before her at all.

"Come on," the sergeant grunted, taking her roughly by her bound hands and tugging her. "Let's go."

She didn't argue, simply letting him lead her back to the room that was actually a cell, no matter what they called it. Her lunch was waiting in the food tray, and as the lock clicked behind her, she could smell the aroma wafting towards her nose.

The skin on her hands hurt where the handcuffs had bound her, and she rubbed them absently, closing her eyes for a moment and letting the sunshine soak through her skin. It was only them she realized she was shaking.

_Zechs…I can't do this. I can't do this._

She had never been a prisoner of war. Fearless commander, ace mobile suit pilot, that was her. But she had never imagined that she would actually ever become a prisoner. The war was over. It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair at all.

When she was a cadet she had been trained with all the survival skills she would need to survive on her own in the forest, in the jungle, in the desert, adrift in the ocean or in the depths of space. But how did one survive in a prison with all the comforts of home?

Her troops needed her…and she wasn't there for them.

_Noin, how could you be so stupid?_

Her legs were stiff and jelly all at once and she fell to her knees on the hard floor.

She'd thought she was strong enough, but perhaps she wasn't. There'd been the books, the personal testimonies of the men and women on holovid in the Academy library, men and women who had been prisoners of war and who had testified the horrible truth that they hadn't been as strong as they thought they were when it came down to the bottom line.

What would happen, if she broke?

"Zechs," she whispered, the sound barely a breath of air over the mechanical whir of the air conditioning through the vent. "Zechs…why did you have to die?"

_Why did you have to die?_


	10. The Moving Time that Shatters Peace

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT II, PART III

_ Kotoba ni dasanai omoi  
Kieteyuku hoshi dake ni hanasou ka  
Jibun no shinjita michi o  
Tada hitori arukou_

Kaze no uta ga kokoro o nagusameru  
Itsuka hohoemi o  
Omoidasereba ii  
Kurai sora ni kagayaku hoshizuku wa  
Itsuka kiete itta  
Densetsu no senshi

Memories that words cannot speak  
Do I tell only the fading stars?  
My unknown beliefs  
Each will walk away alone

The melody of the wind consoles my soul  
Someday I shall be able  
To remember how to smile  
The light of the stars in the dark sky  
Are soldiers of legend  
Who fell long ago

--Gundam Wing, _Hoshikuzu no Senshitachi_  
[_Soldiers of the Stars_, Treize Khushrenada image song] 

  
  
**Scene IX: The End of the Show**

  


_"And just as my eyes start seeing after all the pain,  
The twist in my life starts healing just to twist again."  
~-Ultravox, Lament_

  
Trowa looked at the four poles that stood in the center ring. Catherine stole a peek at him, winking as the ringmaster announced them for their new act.

"You've seen them dance the dagger's edge; now watch in awe as they dazzle us with their death-defying acrobatic skills. May I present to you Catherine Bloom and Trowa Barton!"

The light hit the siblings, shining off their green-on-green costumes. They each wore a domino mask studded with sequins, and green feathers had been woven into their hair, giving them a wild, untamed look. Bowing together to acknowledge the eager applause, they sprang into action, doing a short tumbling run before hurriedly climbing up the opposite poles.

Mirroring each other with uncanny skill, they quickly scaled the poles. Halfway up, they locked their knees and leaned back, holding their bodies at ninety degree angles from the poles. It was an incredible display of lower body strength, and they waited for the applause the audience would want to give them. After that they finish by grabbing the bar with their hands, arcing their backs.

Over and over they kicked out, performing seemingly impossible displays of strength, agility, and just plain insanity. At one point in the routine, they climbed to the apex, then let go, free-falling for over thirty feet before catching onto the bar again. Then they locked hands and used the other to help them climb, climbing over each other in a twisted game of leap frog.

Finally the act came to a close with a dizzying display of moves as they swung back and forth, arching and diving and making it look like gravity had been forgotten. Together the siblings took a ten feet drop, smiling as they nailed their landings perfectly. 

The crowd gave them a standing ovation. They bowed, and Trowa produced some explosive pellets he had kept secreted on his person. With a deft flick of his wrist, he threw them at the ground, causing a flash of smoke. The light technicians, having been expecting this, released a burst of red and orange light, which the two performers used to escape. Showmanship was something that they definitely had down pat.

They collapsed in Catherine's trailer, waiting together for the finale. Trowa pulled his mask off and rubbed at the sweat on his face. "Think it went well?"

She laughed, pushing her mask up so she could see him. "If you're in the act, it always goes well," she said. "I swear, isn't there anything you can't do?"

"If there is, I haven't found it yet," Trowa said, humbly keeping his eyes on the ground. He spoke nothing but the truth; Heero Yuy may have been known as "the perfect soldier", but Trowa Barton ran a close second.

"Oh, you!" Catherine said, punching him affectionately in the arm.

"What do you want to do after we're done?" she asked.

"Don't you have a date?" he asked. "I thought Kirin was going to take you out and show you the lovely city of Hong Kong."

She laughed and waved a hand, dismissing the notice. "Kirin is always trying to show me something," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Do you want me to get rid of him for you?" Trowa asked in a calm and calculating voice, in the same tone he might have used to ask her what the weather would be like tomorrow. 

"Trowa!" Catherine exclaimed in horror. "No, I do NOT want you to 'get rid of him!' He's a friend who just happens to be interested in me- not all problems should be solved through violence." Sometimes her little brother gave her a headache- for every three steps he took towards being normal, he would take two back. His instincts were always to deal with a problem with violence, something she was working hard to get out of his system.

Trowa stared at her with his fathomless green eyes for a second before nodding. "If that's how you want it," he said, making no apology for his first suggestion.

She barely refrained from belting him in the face. He was just so aggravating, and the worst thing was that he didn't mean to be aggravating. "Trowa, you are walking a VERY thin line here," she warned him in her 'I'm the big sister, do NOT mess with me' voice.

He blinked, then smiled. "Yes, Catherine," he agreed easily.

She glared for a second more, then burst out into giggles. "So what should we do this evening?" she wanted to know. "I'm in the mood for exploring."

"I'll go with you," Trowa offered.

"Of course you will, silly. I wish I spoke Chinese well enough to go to a movie," she sighed wistfully. "I'm in the mood for a film."

"I can translate for you," Trowa said helpfully.

She blinked. "You speak Chinese?" she said in amazement.

"Some Cantonese and enough Mandarin to get by. I understand it fairly well- it was especially helpfully when dealing with Wufei."

She smiled. It was rare Trowa made reference to the people who had been his comrades during the war. "We should be getting back to the ring- the finale is about to begin."

Trowa pulled his mask down and nodded, obediently following his sister out the door towards their adoring audience.

That evening they browsed happily through town, eating Chinese and seeing an English movie that had been subtitled into Chinese. They had laughed and kidded each other, and Catherine's eyes were glowing when they returned to the circus. "Time to go to bed, _mon che_r," she said, standing up on her tiptoes so she could plant a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Sleep well."

He hugged her. "Pleasant dreams, _ma soeur_," he said quietly, heading off for the trailer which he had been using.

He prepared for bed quickly, taking his second shower of the day, and setting out his costume so it could air. After grabbing a quick snack, he buried himself beneath his blankets, prepared for a dreamless sleep. He never dreamed when he slept, which he considered a blessing.

It was dark when he felt a hand on his shoulder rudely shake him awake. His first instinct was to reach for the gun he kept beneath his pillow, but he refrained from doing so, reminding himself that he was in safe territory.

"What is it?" he asked quietly. The ringmaster stood over him, his face tense. Trowa hadn't seen him look so worried since the war- obviously something was wrong. "Is Catherine ok?" he demanded concern for his sister his first concern.

"She's fine, Trowa," the ringmaster rushed to reassured him. "However, I have some very bad news."

He handed over a newspaper and clicked on the light. After letting his eyes adjust, Trowa scanned the article. "This is bad," he said mildly.

"It's only a matter of time until everyone's identities become public domain. When it does… well, you should be careful. The question is what we're going to do about this."

"We?" Trowa asked with surprised.

"Most definitely we. The circus is family- I would have thought you'd learned that by now. We're here for you, Trowa."

Trowa's mind began to run through the possibilities. If he stayed here, he would be traced easily, as he had hid in the very same circus during the war. Surely that information was part of the files that had somehow fallen into a reporter's hands. And if he was traced, everyone in his vicinity would be in danger. He had powerful enemies, and those enemies wouldn't care about civilians who got in the way.

Catherine.

If he stayed here, Catherine would be in danger.

Trowa rolled out of bed and started to get together a few of the bare essentials he would need. 

The ringmaster watched him. "What are you doing?"

"Packing," Trowa answered, throwing together a few outfits.

"Why?" the ringmaster demanded, rising to his feet in agitation.

"If I'm here when the names are released, everyone will be in danger. It's best if I leave now, and get a head start." His mind was racing through possibilities.

Where could he go?

Was there any place that was safe?

And how soon until he could eliminate the source of the problem?

"What will Catherine say?" the ringmaster demanded.

"She'll be upset," Trowa said, sighing slightly. "But I have to leave."

The ringmaster looked saddened. "I understand, I just don't like it. At least say goodbye to her before you go."

Trowa grabbed his supply of ready cash, shoving it into his pocket. With a sigh, he secured two knives to his wrists, packed up two of his guns, and slid another gun into the inner pocket of his jacket. He had enjoyed being able to go around without watching his back every second; it saddened him that he had to return to his wartime habits. "I'm not saying goodbye to Cat. She'll manage to convince me to stay, or try to go with me. And right now, she's nothing but a liability."

The ringmaster had watched wordlessly as Trowa secreted a small arsenal on his person, but he couldn't keep quiet when Trowa stated his intention to leave without saying farewell to his sister. "She deserves to hear from your own lips why you're leaving."

"She'll figure it out. She's a smart cookie."

"She deserves better."

"Of course she does," Trowa agreed readily enough. "However, she's not going to get it."

"Where are you going?" the ringmaster asked.

"I don't know, and even if I did, I wouldn't tell you. Cat would get it out of you."

The ringmaster chuckled. "That she would." He stepped forward and enveloped the teenager in a hug, surprising Trowa. "You're always welcome here. We're family, and don't you ever forget that."

"Thank you," Trowa said. "Someday I hope to come back," he said, for once admitting a desire he had for himself. "But right now, it's just not possible."

"Are you going to the Preventers? Perhaps they would be able to help you?"

He shook his head, one of his brilliant green eyes obscured by his hair. "They will be having enough problems without one of the pilots showing up asking for asylum. Besides, Lady Une and I don't get along that well." Trowa reached out and embraced the ringmaster briefly. "Take care of Catherine for me, would you? She's the most precious thing I have."

He left his trailer without looking back. It was just a place- home was Catherine, her laugh and affectionate smile. He had to walk by the trailer where Catherine was sleeping on his way out. Pausing briefly, he stared at it, wishing he could go inside and watch her sleep. Just be close to her for a little while longer. However, time was of the essence, and anyway, Cat was a light sleeper. She would awaken.

He blew a kiss towards where he knew she was sleeping. "_Au revoir, ma soeur. Je t'aime_," he murmured.

That day the teenager known as Trowa Barton disappeared off the face of the Earth. When he resurfaced again, violence would result.

_Au revoir, ma soeur. Je t'aime : French, "Goodbye, my sister. I love you."_

  


* * *

  
**Scene X: Drawn Back Through Distant Memories**

  


_"I don't think you unworthy  
I need a moment to deliberate."  
--Alanis Morrisette, Uninvited_

  
"You're awfully quiet," Milliard remarked, watching Dorothy eat her dinner in silence, staring out the window of the restaurant. He had purposely picked one of the most expensive restaurants in the city, one situated at the top of a tower and which rotated to show a panoramic view of the surrounding cityscape. The city itself was breathtaking even during daylight; at sunset, as a myriad of lights stained the horizon, it was stunningly gorgeous.

The White Dove was already known as one of the best restaurants in the city. He'd eaten there once before when he had come with Treize on a business trip, and the taste of the roast lamb he'd had still lingered in his mouth. It was also one of the most expensive restaurants in the country. Tomorrow, he was sure that he was sorely going to regret coming today, but his paycheck was due any day now, and he had promised to treat Dorothy to the best food in this vicinity. Not that she couldn't pay for herself. She was one of the richest women in the world, heiress to a massive fortune, and she could pay for the meal a thousand times over.

No, it was just something he had to do. Because he hadn't seen her in a long time, because he was going to ask a favor of her that no woman in her right mind would even consider, and…

And, well, just because.

"I'm thinking," she said, looking up at him with pale blue eyes. Milliard couldn't read her. Aboard the Libra, there wasn't much to read. She'd been a crafty woman that he had been sure never to underestimate, no matter how much she insisted that she would follow him to the ends of the earth.

"You've thought enough." A wry smile twisted his lips as she blinked at him, and he took the opportunity to reach his fork out and snag a piece of her delicately cut squares of filet mignon, popping it into his mouth as she finally registered what he had done.

"Milliard!"

"Shh, not so loud," he warned playfully, bringing one finger to his lips. "People are watching."

"Oh please," she said, a little bit of the old scorn coming into her voice, the way he remembered her. "It's not like your face isn't plastered all over the front page of the tabloids anyway."

Milliard rolled his eyes, then allowed himself a small smile as she looked taken aback. She'd been goggling at him in one fashion or another ever since he had calmly walked into her sitting room and asked her to dinner. He remembered her face when she had seen him, as if she had seen a ghost.

She'd know he was alive, he knew. Ever since he had decided to go back to the Cinq Kingdom, he'd had no peace from the press. But he'd never imagined Dorothy - cool, calm, scheming Dorothy Catalonia, to look at him like he was a spectre out of some waking nightmare.

The Lightning Baron, come back from the dead.

As it became apparent that he was in fact breathing flesh and blood, to his surprise, she didn't relax. He'd tried to draw her out, laughing and joking and making it quite obvious that he wasn't the stern and haunted White Fang leader anymore. It was awkward between both of them. When they'd last seen each other he had been commander and she subordinate. When they'd last seen each other, he had never smiled.

He wanted to show her that he had changed.

He didn't understand why she would glance at him when she thought he wasn't watching and then automatically shift her gaze when he looked at her. Why she seemed uncomfortable just making idle conversation with him. None of it made sense. He'd remembered Dorothy as a very independent and confident woman, which was why he had made the journey here in the first place.

Had he been wrong? Had Dorothy changed too much? They'd all changed since the war ended…some of them more than others.

Or maybe she was still afraid of Zechs Merquise.

She was staring out the window again, and he resisted the urge to sigh. The lobster currently on his plate was delicious as always, but he'd barely finished half of it, wondering what he was going to say to her. And her silences weren't making this any easier.

"Dorothy, lighten up," he said.

Her confused gaze swung back to him. "Huh?"

Now he was worried. Never in his life had he ever heard Dorothy Catalonia utter the word "huh?"

"Is something wrong?"

"N-no," she murmured, her gaze going automatically back to her plate, as if she were afraid to meet his eyes.

This time, he did sigh. "You can talk to me, you know," he said, reaching out with his eyes, grasping her gaze and holding it. She looked slightly paralyzed.

"M-Milliard?"

"You can talk to me," he said gently, smiling a little to lighten the intense stare he was fixing her with. "Something's bothering you, isn't it? You aren't the same as I remember. What is it?"

"I think we've all changed," she said stiffly, twirling her fork through the food on her plate.

"That's not what I mean."

There was a silence in which she didn't seem to breathe, and then with an inarticulate sound in her throat, she wrenched her gaze away.

"It's-it's you!" she whispered to the window. "You don't get it, do you? I thought you were dead…and then I heard you were alive after all…I never thought you'd remember me." Her eyes that twisted back to him were haunted. "What do you want with me?"

He blinked. "Dorothy?"

"It's not fair," she said softly. "Not fair at all…"

Without thinking, he reached across the table and grabbed the hand that was holding the fork in a loose grip. The utensil clattered to the tabletop. Her hand was small and warm and trembling just a little bit.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said. "I came to ask you a favor, and if you hadn't been expending all your energy and effort trying not to talk to me, I would have asked you earlier!" Despite himself, some frustration seeped into his voice. "Do you not want to talk to me? I can go away…if you want. I can leave."

"No! No…please, stay."

There was a plea in her words, and as he looked at her, she colored slightly. He resisted the urge to stare at her open-mouthed.

Dorothy Catalonia was many things, but she was never embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," Milliard said quietly, releasing her hand. She snatched it back and hid it under the table, as if nursing a wound. "I-"

What had possessed him to do that, anyway?

"What did you come here for, Milliard?"

The long platinum colored hair fell over her eyes, and the simple white dress she wore made her look very young. He suddenly felt the urge to reach over and brush the hair out of her eyes and tell her that everything would be all right.

She reminded him of Relena.

He had hardly known Dorothy when they were aboard the Libra, even having met her once before. A private party given by the Romefeller Foundation, when he had been a young officer, a few years out of the Academy, and Treize had insisted he attend. Milliard had heard about Dorothy Catalonia through hearsay only, and he was surprised at how young she actually looked in person. 

Because according to the Academy rumors, the some of the things she had done were not the doings of a child.

He had decided to be brave that night, had gone up to her and introduced himself, very formally, hoping to impress her. It didn't go as he had planned. She had raised one platinum eyebrow and gazed impassively at him for a moment, and then she'd swept away, not even bothering to answer him. For the rest of the night, he'd avoided her.

When he had seen her on the Libra, she had hardly looked older than she had that night, though it had been more than four years. He had grown past the awkward young lieutenant whom she had embarrassed that night, yet he had still been beleaguered with the feeling that she was laughing at him. Laughing at her commander.

He had deserved to be laughed at. He couldn't remember exactly why he had been there in the first place. 

Dorothy's skill with the mobile dolls was amazing. That was how he had always thought of her. Even now, sitting with her and looking at her across the table, she was still in his mind the scheming strategist. Maybe that was why she had confused him so much tonight. Because he was seeing Dorothy Catalonia the woman and not Dorothy Catalonia the soldier, and he had been trained to think of the soldier first, all his life.

It was too confusing.

"Milliard?"

Her voice shook him out of the fog he had immersed himself in, and he looked at her. "Yes?"

"Didn't you hear what I said?"

"No…?"

"I asked what you wanted." Her voice hardened. Things weren't going well at all.

"I-" He stopped. This wasn't working. This was not the environment he had imagined.

"Can we talk somewhere else?"

Dorothy looked suspicious.

"You're stringing me along. I don't like this."

"I promise. I just can't talk here. Not about what I want to talk to you about."

She looked suspicious for a second more, then shrugged. "As you like."

Milliard could feel the alternating emotions from her as he paid the bill, as they departed the restaurant and got into the car, and he recognized some of them. She didn't trust him. She thought he was making a fool of her. He smiled to himself as he turned out of the lot and onto the road. He could identify with that, remembering a young officer alone at a party, snubbed by a girl with long platinum hair and a mocking smile.

"What are you smiling at?"

"Nothing," he said, still smiling.

"Milliard-"

"Don't worry about it." Turning onto an unpaved road sheltered from the setting sun by graceful branches of overhead trees. "Just remembering the past, that's all."

She looked thoughtful, then began to laugh. "You know what I was thinking about all the way to the restaurant?"

"What?"

"That party we met at a few years back…when you introduced yourself and I ignored you. Remember that?"

Milliard started to laugh.

"It's not that funny."

"No…" He shifted the gear into park and turned off the engine. "I was just thinking about that too."

They sat in silence for a minute as the fading sunlight dappled in through the windshield and drew patterns on the dashboard.

"You've changed, Milliard."

"So have you," he replied, unbuckling his seatbelt and stretching. The seat was made for shorter human beings than he, and his legs were cramped.

"You never used to smile like that."

He looked at her and this time she didn't look away but met his gaze squarely, blue meeting blue. "You never used to laugh."

"I do now," he said softly. "I'm trying…to be a better man than I was."

"It's funny," she said. "I didn't know you at all when the war ended…and now we're talking like old friends. Is that strange or what?"

He looked away, ran a hand down the frame of the window. "War bonds people, Dorothy."

"You heard the news about the Gundam pilots," she said. "Haven't you?"

It had been on the news this morning when he had turned on the radio, but he hadn't been surprised. He had seen this coming, sooner or later, in one form or another. Secrets like that could never be kept secret for long. He'd even seen that particular man around, the reporter who had broken into secure files, when he'd been a "security guard" for the Preventers headquarters. That reporter was in prison awaiting trial now, but the secrets were out.

"Yes. A shame."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You think so?"

"They were not children. Far from it. I did not care for them, but I respected them as soldiers and pilots, and now they will be punished for being noble."

"You want to go outside?" she said suddenly, opening the car door. "It's stuffy in here, and it's such a nice sunset."

She disappeared into the trees as he was still getting out of the car, and when he caught up with her she was sitting on an overturned tree trunk on the top of the hill. The countryside stretched out below and the sun was just disappearing over the horizon. A flock of migrating birds flew across royal purple-tinged clouds. Her long hair stirred slightly in the breeze and she did not speak until he had taken a seat beside her.

"What do you want, Milliard?"

He took a deep breath, looking over the darkening landscape. 

"Dorothy…have you ever considered going back to being a soldier?"

Her head whipped around, and he held up a hand quickly before she could open her mouth. "You've definitely got the talent and intelligence for it, and you're one of the best strategists I've ever worked with. We could use you."

He couldn't read her expression in the dark. "We as in…?"

"The Preventers."

"I knew you would say that," she said. "The answer is no."

"Dorothy-"

"NO," she repeated firmly, "That part of my life is over, Milliard, and I'm not going back to what I was. I've changed now. I can't go back."

"Can't or won't?"

She paused. "What do you mean?"

"Look…I know you're the heiress to a massive fortune and title. You belong in the upper echelons of society, and your family must be pressuring you to act the part, right? Am I correct? They want you to become a lady and attend social functions and marry a nice young man. Right?"

She suddenly looked very fragile. "Not they," she mumbled. "She."

"She?"

"My mother."

The Duchess Emily Khushrenada Noventa. He had heard about her before, but only through hearsay. He'd known she was Dorothy's mother, but for some reason had never connected the two, had never really believed that they were related in any way.

"I don't understand," Dorothy said. Her hands clenched in her lap. "She wants me to be some social climber…she wants me to be like her. Maybe she even thinks she can use me in her quest for power or money or whatever she wants. I don't know what she wants."

Tentatively, Milliard reached out a hand to touch her shoulder, and she didn't flinch away, simply sat there.

"I'm sorry, Dorothy," he said. "I didn't mean-"

"It's nothing." She looked up at him. "I…you know I'd go with you, Milliard. I'd go anywhere with you…if I could. If I was allowed."

"Why not?"

"My mother-"

"What can she do?" he interrupted, reaching over and grasping one of her hands, shaking it. "Tell me, what can she do to you?"

"She has more political power than I'll ever have. With the right contacts, she can take away my title, my property-"

"That's it!" he exclaimed, "That's just it. That's all she can do. Do you seriously care about the title and the property? Dorothy?"

"I-" she began uncertainly. "I don't know …"

"Dorothy, I gave up my title and my lands long ago, and I don't regret it at all. It's a different world out there, and unlike most of them, you've experienced it. That's why you're different. Why you can never re-assimilate back into their world. Because there's so much more out there for you. You understand that, right?"

"You're asking me to go with you." It was not a question.

"There's a situation on one of the frontier colonies. And I need your help."

If he hadn't been watching carefully, he would have missed the look in her eyes, the brief flash of hunger and longing that he had known was still there, if he dug deeply enough.

_Dorothy Catalonia, you haven't changed as much as you want to think…_

"Right now."

"Yes. I leave in two days with Preventers troops, and I thought I'd stop by and ask if you wanted to come along."

When she spoke next, her voice was subdued. "Why me? Why not…someone else? Noin?"

Noin.

The name was a flash of pain inside his heart.

"Noin isn't here anymore," he said, more harshly than he intended. He felt her hand stiffen in his grasp, and he tightened his grip.

"I'm sorry, Dorothy. I didn't mean-"

"I know," she murmured, looking away. The last light of day was fading. He could see the crescent moon emerge from behind wisps of cloud. "I'm sorry. I'm always opening my mouth at the wrong time, aren't I?'

"No."

"I..I need to think about this, Milliard. If you could give me details, perhaps…"

He pulled her to her feet. "I have briefing reports and things in the car. I'll go over them with you when we get back. I just wanted to…ask…before…"

"I understand," she said, with a hint of laughter around her lips. "I told you, if I could, I'd go anywhere with you."

He looked at her quizzically and she glanced away, seemingly embarrassed again.

"Why do you say that?"

She didn't answer. He frowned, confused.

"Dorothy?"

"Look, Milliard," she said softly, grasping his hand and pointing to the blackened sky. "Stars."

He held her hand tightly, looking into the sky and trying to pinpoint with his eyes a planet too far away to see, where someone with bright eyes and a warm smile and the heart of a soldier waited for him. He was coming for her, and he would find her, no matter what the data and the reports said, because his heart told him so.

He had to believe that.

_I'd go anywhere with you…_

  
_Go to Dorothy story Love_

  


* * *

  
**Scene XI: Privacy and the Right to Know**

  


_"And to right a wrong  
And to meek the strong."  
--Live, Selling the Drama_

  
"'If they're shooting at you, you know you're doing something right,'" Banks murmured to himself. He couldn't remember who had told him that, but he fervently hoped it was true. He sure felt like he was being shot at.

He had known he would get in trouble- hell, he would have been disappointed if that wasn't the case. Still, he hadn't been prepared for the harsh realities of isolation. Every now and then one of the Preventers would give him a plate of food, casting disparaging and scornful eyes over him. Aside from that, he was left alone to his thoughts.

He understood their derision. He had been one of them, if only on the surface, and he had betrayed them. He wanted to force them to open their eyes to that their leaders were really like, yet he didn't have the heart. They were deluded, these Preventers, and nothing he did would change them- with one possible exception. Tell the truth. Sometimes the truth was the most powerful weapon of all. He was a reporter; ignorance was his enemy.

The oppressive silence of the cell weighed heavily on him- he had room to takes four steps in either direction, and that was all. There was nothing in the cell aside from a cot, a pillow, and the smooth wooden bowl his last meat had arrived in. The depressingly gray walls seemed to want to close in on him. To keep from going positively crazy, he mentally replayed the data he had taken over and over in his head, clinging to it like a child to a prize.

He still couldn't believe it. The pilots were children. Their faces were so young, and he remembered staring at them, wondering what it would be like to have killed so many so young; to have the certain knowledge that you would spend the rest of your life with the burden of the deaths of thousands on your conscience.

He was remembering the faces, particularly that of the pilot of 04, Quatre Raberba Winner. That had simply astounded him. It had been common knowledge the boy had gone missing during the war, but he has assumed that Winner Senior had secreted the boy in some stronghold with a platoon of servants and tutors, carefully guarding the treasure of the Winner empire. After all, the Winners were staunch pacifists, with only one exception- an older daughter who had joined the Federation army and severed all ties with her family.

The door to the cell opened with a mechanical hiss, and he looked up, wondering at the disruption in the pattern which had established itself. According to his time sense, he wasn't due for another meal for three more hours. When he saw the woman who entered the cell, his breath caught.

He recognized her by the twin braids she wore. Brigadier General Sally Po, a surgeon of notable skill, and one of the leading officers of the Preventers; second in command after Lady Une herself. Banks had seen her at a distance, but this was the first time he had ever been so close. He was surprised at the vitally she seemed to exude, and how pretty she was. Her features were an exotic blend of Asian and European herritage, and he wondered why no one ever said anything about her beauty. The woman in front of him had it all; brains, beauty, power. And right now, she was looking at him like he was a particularly disgusting bug she couldn't decide how to crush.

"Muhammed Ali Banks," she said. She looked him over, stepping further into the cell. Behind her the door whirled shut, and she took a long look at him, dissecting him to his very soul.

"General Po," he said. "I would rise to greet you, but I have the feeling that anything I do might be considered enough provacation to get me shot."

"If I had my way, we'd hang you," Po said quietly, walking closer and looking down at him.

He confronted her gaze fearlessly. "Really? That surprises me. You have a reputation for fairness."

"A bullet is too good for you." She walked back and stood as far away as possible, which wasn't easy, considering the size of the cell. "Why?"

"Huh?" he asked. He had been expecting an interrogation, not just a simple question.

General Po stared at him. "I thought it a simple enough question," she said, mirroring his thought almost uncannily. "Why did you do it? The war was over- was there really any need to go raking up the old hurts?"

"The public has a right to know," Banks said.

"Even if it hurts it? We, as a world, were recovering, damn it. Now you've gone and released a cat among pigeons. You may have single-handedly destroyed a very delicate peace."

"If it can be destroyed that easily, perhaps it's not worth keeping," Banks said.

The General looked at him, contempt in her eyes. "Peace is always worth keeping. Do you know how many people died for this world we now live in? DO you?" she demanded, her fists clenched at her sides.

Banks shook his head. Po had a reputation for being calm, and watching her explode like a firecracker was…interesting, to say the least. 

"I don't either. No one does. Millions, at the very least. Federation, OZ, White Fang, civilians- it doesn't matter. They all died, and lie together, dead and buried in the ground, or their remains are scattered beyond recovery. They died for peace- died to see a world worth living in. They may not have agreed on what that world was to be, but surely they would not thank you for stirring up ashes of a fire that should have been allowed to die out."

"What about the survivors?" Banks demanded. "What about those innocents who were left behind to mourn how cruel fate had been to them? What about those whose lives the Gundams shattered? Don't they have the right to know the truth?"

"Sometimes the truth is better left hidden. What about the pilots? Do you realize you've just destroyed the lives of five young men? What about their right to privacy?" Po retaliated viciously.

"They gave up that right the first time they stepped into a cockpit of a Gundam," Banks said, convinced that he had been in the right. "Besides, they are just genetically engineered mutants who were merely pawns in the game."

Suddenly Banks was aware of a sharp, stinging sensation in his left cheek. The General had just slapped him, and slapped him like she meant it. Her eyes were shooting sparks as she spoke at him with intense fervor. "How dare sit there, preaching like you know what's best, speaking as though you know everything! Did you ever meet any of the pilots? Do you know what they are?

"True, the pilot of 01 may have experienced some genetic tampering, and the Winners are renown for genetically altering their offspring. Still, the other three were as normal as anyone else, save the fact that they were exceptional individuals. The pilots are extraordinary people. I count myself lucky to be able to call myself their friend. They stood for something that is obviously far beyond your capability to comprehend- justice, right, and freedom. They stood up and fought for the Colonies since no one else would. Do you know how hard it is to say, 'This is what I believe' and then act on it, no matter what anyone else tells you? So how dare you! How DARE you?"

Banks was amazed. This was not the cool, collected warrior who was becoming a legend among her peers. This was an angry woman who looked more then ready to strangle him with her own hands. "I did what I thought was right."

"Sometimes we have to practice discretion. Since you broke this 'story', there has been at least thirty deaths in various riots across the world. You also may have single-handedly toppled the Preventers- quite an accomplishment. Topple the only global peace-keeping force- how brilliant you are. I'm sure you'll get a Pulitzer for it."

"I didn't do it for fame or awards! I did it because it needed to be done! Tyrants deserve to be toppled! You had no right to keep the identities of the pilots secret!"

"We had every right! Since history began, every government has kept secrets from their people, secrets which help the government continue to function. Yes, the pilots are young, but you just destroyed their lives. We were well on the path to forgiveness- many were the wrongs that were committed, and not all were the fault of the Gundams. In fact, they did what they could- they were rebels. Yes, they may have resorted to terrorist tactics, but there's little you can do when you're five people against an entire world."

"Shouldn't we learn from the lessons history teaches us? Shouldn't we have learned by now that a peace that is easily shattered is no true peace?" Banks argued.

"It is in human nature to fight. It is our intention to suppress it. However, the difference between the current government and the one which the Romefeller Foundation tried to impose on us is that we do not rule through fear- we rule by finding the common threads that bind humanity together. You, however, have merely forced people to look back at when they had so many differences that it seemed impossible to reconcile them. No one knows what will happen; retrospect is the easiest thing in the world."

She knocked on the door twice, paused, then knocked again. It hissed open, and two guards looked in. One, a petite female with Latino features, immediately noticed the redness of Banks' cheek. Her eyes darted back and forth, yet she said nothing, wisely keeping her silence. "The next time you hear an explosion," Po said with deadly finality, "think that you may be the one responsible. The next time you hear people cry after a bomb rips their lives apart, know that your actions may have led to it. The next time someone dies, consider that you may be the one to blame."

With that, Sally Po stalked out of the cell. Behind her the door shut, locking with a resounding clang. 

  
**END SAINAN NO KEKKA ACT II**


	11. Wings of a Boy Who Killed Adolescence

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT III, PART I

_ Tsumetaku tozasareta tooki no sora no hate de  
Setsunai kono ai o towa ni shinjiru dake  
Anata no negau risou no tame ni nara  
Subete o kowashite mo  
In love with you Do anything for you _

Atsuku moeagaru ai koete  
Yami ni hikasakareta kokoro ni  
Ima chikau inochi kagayaku sekai  
Sore ga anata e no ai no akashi

I traveled to the far end of the sky  
I only believe in this painful love for eternity  
If for your ideal wish  
I am destroying everything  
In love with you Do anything for you

Love surpasses the hot flames  
In the dark it shone in my heart  
Now swear life will light the world  
This is the revelation of your love

--Gundam Wing, _Brightness and Darkness_  
[Lady Une image song] 

  
  
**Scene I: The Preventers Under Siege**

  


_"I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me.  
I must shoot him before he shoots me."  
~-Killarmy, Under Siege_

  
Sally Po looked down at her feet as Lady Une railed at her. "You hit him," Une said in a deadly voice, unable to believe that the normally unshakable Brigadier General had lost her temper in such a spectacular fashion. Sally Po wasn't like that; Sally Po was calm, collected, and… well, and reliable. 

"I just hit him," Sally said. "You should be thankful I didn't kill him- I was very, very tempted."

"You just gave the reporters exactly what they wanted- I can see the headlines now about abuse within the Preventers' prison. Why, by Gods, couldn't you keep a better hand on your temper?" Une growled, her eyes flashing dangerously.

Sally looked at her, holding herself firmly. "And you would have done better?" she asked.

Une cracked a smile, though it was extremely out of place. "No. I would have pulled a gun and shot the bastard."

Sally shared that smile, then lost it. "You have my apologies. He just… well, I was friends with all of the pilots during the war. Or something like a friend- it's hard to be a friend to Heero Yuy."

Une nodded slowly. "I need a report- did Banks say why he did that, accomplices, anything of use?"

Sally snorted. "Nothing so forward. We really didn't get a chance to interview in depth- it was more like a philosophical discussion. He apparently decided he knew what was best for the rest of humanity and took matters into his own hands."

Une swore softly. "The riots are increasing- I have over two hundred confirmed dead, and the numbers keep rising. I don't have enough staff to do anything- Sally, if things don't get better soon, I may have to ask other governments for troops, and as things stand, they won't give them to me. Sally, the World Nation is collapsing."

"Collapsing? Surely it isn't that bad," she said soothingly, though both women recognized the emptiness of her words. 

They were quiet again. "I keep getting reports, and I don't know where to go next. There's too much going on. I have a press conference in twenty minutes, Sally," Une said. "What am I going to tell those people? Sorry, I kept a secret for your own good? They'll see that as patronizing, even though it may be the truth. They're dredging up my record; people are bring reminded of the time when I served as a Colonel. Some of my former soldiers are coming forth with stories about what I did then, and the newsies are eating eat it up like birdseed."

Une walked over to her desk and jerked angrily at a drawer- the drawer above the one that had been burglarized. Sally winced as the Lady made several loud, and unsuccessful, attempts to open it before the drawer finally gave. Reaching in, she pulled out a bottle, and popped some tablets.

The physician in Sally Po reached out and grabbed the bottle before Une could put it back. "Painkillers?" she stared hard at the label. "How many of these have you been taking?" she asked in concern. "These are strong."

"I don't know- six a day since this thing began?" Une said tiredly. She cradled her forehead in her right hand. "I've been getting the worst migraines of my career."

Sally pocketed the bottle of pills. "Une, go see one of our physicians before you leave work today. You won't help if you drive yourself into collapse- and taking that much medication just isn't healthy."

"I don't have time- it's been three days since I went home."

Sally stepped up to Une, and caught her chin, forcing the European woman to meet her eyes. "Une. After this press conference, you are to go to bed. I'll contact an aide to make sure one of our beds is prepared for you, and that someone makes sure you have something to eat. After that, I'll examine you personally and see what we can do. If something happens to you… well, even more chaos may result. The Preventers are keeping the riots under control, and coordinating relief efforts. The last thing the World Nation needs is for the chaos of the Preventers lacking a leader."

"You're my second in command, Sally. If something happens, it's all you," Une said. "Perhaps that's why you're so concerned about my health?" She rolled her neck to relieve it of the tension that had amassed.

Sally's chuckle was strained and husky. "I admit that is part of my concern- there's no way I'm qualified to lead the Preventers in normal operations, let alone a crisis situation. You're it, Une. The buck stops here, and all that."

Une sighed, nodding her agreement, then her eyes hardened, her posture turning into that of a military born and bred woman. "Fine. We have Banks- I want you to compile a list of the Preventers you trust most- the ones you can count on for independent thinking, and to make the tough calls. I don't want followers- I want leaders. I'm going to take a gamble here."

"And what would that be?" Sally asked, intrigued.

"I'm going to be forming some smaller peace-keeping squads. Most of our best went with Noin, but there's enough left to put in charge of smaller, less experienced soldiers. We're getting our trial by fire, Sally, and it's up to us to weather it. We can't rely on anyone else."

Sally pursed her lips as she thought. "How many people do you want?" she asked thoughtfully.

"I want to create twenty-one teams. Twenty of them are to be mobile, and I want the final one here, and under your lead."

"Me?" Sally asked.

"Damn right, you. Twenty teams of twenty, plus one team of forty which will be placed under your control. I want these teams trained to go in, take charge, and basically handle whatever the hell is thrown at them. A Lieutenant Colonel should be in charge of each of the other teams."

Sally blinked. "And what good are these teams going to be?"

"They're going to be our elite who lead when the going gets tough."

Sally sighed and picked up a pad of paper off Une's desk, and began to scribble random thoughts that crossed her mind. "How soon should the teams be assembled?"

"Yesterday."

"Anything else?" Sally wanted to know.

"The very thought of this damn press conference is giving me hives," Une muttered. "No matter what I say, the press will twist it to make me look like a villain."

"To them, you ARE the villain. I just hope they don't find out about…"

"Don't even say it, Sally. Please, don't say it. I still don't feel safe here."

"I've been sweeping this room thrice daily for bugs," Sally said defensively. "It won't happen again."

"If it happened once, it can happen again," Une said.

A knock sounded on the door, and Une jumped slightly, her hand dropping to her waist where she had worn a gun during part of the war, falling back into old instincts. Sudden, sharp loud sounds were not a good thing. It sounded too much like the blasts of lasers, or the cracks of bullets. "Come in," Sally said, having maintained her signature poise, the very poise she had used when walking into a barrage of fire from mobile suits to prove her point to a disillusioned Gundam pilot.

An aide walked in with the insignia that indicated she had achieved the rank of major. "General, the press is waiting."

Une sighed, straightened her uniform and turned to Sally. "Do I look presentable?"

"Yes," Sally said. "Just remember you're right, and everything will be okay," she said.

Une gave her a crooked grin. "But of course. I want that bed when the interview -or should I say inquisition- is over."

Sally nodded, and watched as Une left the room, the major falling in step behind her. "There but for the grace of God go I," she murmured in an amused tone.

Une looked at the major. "Is the briefing room ready?" she asked.

"Ready. The reporters are frothing at the mouth- it's a vicious crowd, and they won't be happy unless they have your blood," the major said.

Une looked over at the soldier, trying to place the name to the face. "Major… Tsukiono?" she hazarded, taking a guess from the woman's Asian features.

"Li," the major corrected. "I'm Chinese, not Japanese- Major Tsukiono is currently on L3."

Une shrugged. "My apologies. Anyway, I need you to monitor the press conference." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small receiver that would fit unseen in the ear. "Someone is in the multimedia room, watching the live feeds, seeing what is being said. They'll feed you any important information… like when to get me out of there. I usually do that myself, but I'll need to devote my complete attention to keeping from being torn up too badly. Since I sent Lieutenant Colonel Ponjit to clean up the mess in Moscow, you're going to be my aide."

"Why go at all?" Major Li asked curiously. "Why not send a PR rep?"

"I've held them off as long as I could. It's time to pay the piper."

Major Li nodded and concealed the listen device in her ear. Then she opened the doors to the press room, stepping aside so the general could proceed her.

Une stepped confidently into the room, staring resolutely ahead as she was blinded by the bright lights of the cameras. She had experienced this enough to know that if she blinked too long, a horrendous photograph would appear on the front pages of newspapers worldwide.

The cacophony of noises that assaulted her hearing grated on her ears, and the throbbing in her head increased. She kept a serene expression plastered on her face, counting backward from ten as she sailed gracefully to the podium. She could almost hear Treize's voice in her ear, advising her to be elegant.

Thinking of him made her smile, and she shared it with the press. "Could you please be quiet, and we can handle this civilly?" she asked in a quiet voice. Her sweet tones were picked up by the microphones and carried to the press, who were howling question upon question at her. They quieted down somewhat as she raised a refined hand. "I'll answer what questions I can, but please remember that there is currently a crisis going on, and I will do nothing that jeopardizes the safety of my operatives." 

She looked at a well dressed woman in the first row who had her short blonde hair in her eyes, in the style that was still fashionable. It was odd to think that Noin had been such a trend setter- thank God that the cowboy shirts hadn't caught on as well. "Yes, Miss Beaton?" she asked.

"Can you tell us who the pilots are?" she demanded. "Their names?"

"No, I cannot. That information will be available to the press soon enough- for now it's still confidential." She stared the woman down.

"Next question," she said, pointing randomly at a man wearing a blue serge suit.

"Um, ah…" The reporter was caught by surprised, which was what she had intended. "How do you respond to reports that you deliberately withheld evidence?"

"Evidence? Evidence of what? If by saying that you mean that I deliberately withheld the identities of the Gundam Pilots, then the answer is yes. However, the pilots were minors, and are protected under Article 17 of the World Constitution. The information wasn't mine to share, and was locked in closed files."

Another reporter stood up. Another man, this one with his hair slicked back and eyes that were darting nervously around. Just looking at him made Une nervous. "Where is Mr. Banks?" he asked.

"He's currently being held for questioning about the break in to my office. Charges will be pressed, as he violated his oath as a Preventer."

That opened her up to another barrage of questions, questions which she answered as simply and directly as possible. When she couldn't answer a question, she would say so, but always gave a reason where she could. After a while one question seemed much like another.

Finally Major Li stepped forward and took the podium from her. "That's all for today, ladies and gentlemen."

Une smiled and left the room moving with the same fluid grace she had entered with, then turned Major Li. "How did it go?" she wanted to know.

"About as well as can be expected. The press is reading into everything you said. I think you were a little too direct… they're determined to believe that you must be hiding SOMETHING."

Une gave an unladylike snort. "They would be." Then a yawn escaped her, one which she had been swallowing back since about halfway through the briefing. 

Major Li coughed to hide her chuckle. "The infirmary has a bed ready for you," she offered. "Someone was sent to your place to get you the necessary toiletries, and we'll have something for you to eat shortly."

Une nodded, and worked her way to the infirmary. She smiled at the on-duty nurse, taking the bed that was made up. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

It was far too soon when she felt a hand shaking her shoulder insistently. "What time is it?" she murmured, still groggy from sleep.

She looked into the concerned face of Major Li. "You slept four almost four hours. I'm sorry to have to wake you, but we have a situation that requires your attention."

Une shook the last vestiges of sleep from her weary mind. "What is it?" she wanted to know.

"General Po said she would tell you in your office- but…" she trailed off. The major's eyes were worried. She knew what was happening.

"Tell me. That's a direct order."

The major flinched and saluted. Her voice was pained as she spoke. "The incident I spoke of… it was a shooting. During a protest at a school campus against the Preventers, some of our less experienced agents panicked when they thought they heard gunfire. They opened up on a crowd of students. Ma'am, I'm sorry, but four students were killed at Cliffside Heights."

  


* * *

  
**Scene II: The Catastrophe at Cliffside Heights**

  


_"Soldiers are gunning us down."  
--Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, Ohio_

  
It had been a week, and Duo was almost ready. He had started to move money from his bank account into six different ones, creating multiple other identities. One of them was closely tied to a former OZ colonel, in the hope that the reporters would discover it and zero in on the possibility that Une was hiding him. Personally, he held no grudge against the Head of the Preventers, but when it came between choosing to save his neck or hers, the choice was obvious. The scandal was going to bring Une down; there was no way around it. Duo saw no harm in adding a little more fuel to the fire.

Had it still been during the war, he would have packed a bag, hopped a ship and gotten the hell out of Dodge. Still, he had used his real name when setting up at the school (an act of stupidity for which he would never forgive himself), and when the names were traced, he could -and would- be found easily. Laying multiple false leads would hopefully help him vanish. If he had to, he could always go into the ghettos of a Colony. No one would find him, but he wanted to avoid that. He still had nightmares about his life on L2.

He wasn't looking forward to leaving Cliffside Heights. Duo Maxwell had had a good life here, the best he'd ever known. He had some wonderful friends, and he would miss Helena, Ilene, Shinobu and Chris sorely. He wanted to be able to freeze these moments in time, and treasure them close to his heart.

A knock sounded on his door, and he was startled out of his reverie. "Duo?" a voice called. "Are you ready for class?"

He swore mentally. "Come in, Ilene, while I pack my books." He grabbed his briefcase and started to put in his science, math, and French books.

Ilene walked in, holding her book bag in front of herself protectively. Even though he had apologized, the girl had become wary around him, something he honestly couldn't blame her for. Getting attacked by a person you considered a friend wasn't something a girl expected. _I wish I didn't have to leave while things are so strained between us,_ he thought. 

The girl played with one of her ponytails, twisting the long lavender hair between her fingers. "Duo, are you ready to tell me about it yet?" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow at her, pretending confusion. "Tell you what?"

She hesitated only for a second before speaking again. "About why the news of the Gundam pilots set you off so badly," Ilene pressed. "I want to know why."

Duo never lied, but he couldn't tell her the truth. Still, Ilene deserved something, especially after what he had done. "It's really not something I like to talk about… but I fought in the war. To me, the Gundams symbolize everything the war was. They're something I don't like to think of, and aren't a comfortable topic of conversation." _ That's closer to the truth then she'll believe right now._

Ilene nodded sympathetically. "I understand. We all have things we don't like to talk about." She let none of her inner happiness show; for the first time, Duo had actually came out an admitted that he'd done something during the war. It was only a matter of time now before he would be able to tell her what he had done. Time healed all wounds. She was anticipating the moment when he finally let down the last barriers between them- when that happened, perhaps they would finally be able to pursue the relationship she'd dreamed of.

Duo clicked his briefcase closed, and stood up, smiling at her crookedly. "C'mon. We have Physics to worry about."

She pulled a face. "I hate it. I think Sir Isaac Newton should have been dragged into the street and shot."

"You would," Duo agreed readily, escorting her out, then locking the door behind him. Pocketing his keys, he stepped aside and headed down the stairwell. The bad thing about living on the fifth floor was all the stairs he climbed regularly; true, there was an elevator, but usually the line to use it was so long that it just wasn't worth it.

Ilene bounced down the stairs, chattering cheerfully about the new vid screen her parents had sent her, inviting Duo to come over to her room and maybe watch one of the shows they were both fans of. He agreed readily enough, saying that he would come if he was around. Little did she know that he wouldn't be. Duo Maxwell was a master of twisting words.

The two were half way to the Science building when they became aware of a crowd that had formed in front of the administrative and math buildings. The crowd was composed of around half the student population, and Duo was surprised before he remembered what had been going on.

Since the news had been released, tension on campus had been steadily mounting. Four days ago, a small crowd of former Federation soldiers had joined together and caused a minor riot, breaking all the windows in the humanities building. Thankfully, it had been after class, but the resulting violence had caused the school administration to call upon the Preventers to provide a small task force to act as peacekeepers. The Preventers had agreed readily enough, sending a small squad of fifty, but their presence had only added fuel to the fire.

The crowd had taken time to organize a formal protest, and Duo was not pleased to see the picketers waving signs proclaiming, "The Preventers Cannot Be Trusted", and "Down With the Pilots!". His eyes widened as he watched the young students harass the armed soldiers, all of whom looked painfully young themselves. Before the war had ended, many of them had been comrades on the same side. Now, things were different.

Duo watched the mob as they screamed, howling helplessly about their loss of innocence, their loss of trust in society, and the unfairness of it all. _Why should an elite few make decisions that ruled the lives of many?_ they yelled, wanting honest answers. Sadly, no answers were forthcoming.

He stood at the edge of the crowd, watching. Behind him Ilene hid, watching with wide eyes. "What's going on?" she wanted to know, clinging to his school blazer.

"They're protesting," he said. "We'd better get to class, and get there quick. We need to avoid this mess," he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the Science building.

"What good will it do?" she asked, clutching her book bag in her free hand.

"They're angry and they want to let people know that. We have over four hundred former soldiers here; we're sitting on a proverbial pressure cooker." He started to tug at her even more insistently, yet she grounded her feet, watching the angry throng.

"They're right," she said. "We have to stand up for ourselves- the Preventers are corrupt. We have to demand the truth, since they aren't going to give it to us."

"Isn't it best to let the past die?" Duo asked softly.

"No!" she said fiercely. "James died, and I have no idea why! I have a right to know that!"

Duo looked into her chocolate eyes, amazed at the passion he saw there. When Ilene discovered he had been -was- Shinigami, she would feel betrayed, and he worried about that moment. Still, in the scheme of things, one girl's feelings really didn't matter that much.

He laughed mentally almost as soon as he had that thought. When Relena had fallen in love with Heero, she had changed the world for the tight-lipped Wing Pilot. Sometimes it was amazing what one person could do with the right motivation- and connections, which Ilene had. She could make his life a living hell.

"Ilene, these protests are useless. They're just wasting time. And the Preventers have done a lot of good work- aid, peace-keeping. You're good at history. You tell me ONE political organization that didn't keep secrets, and I'll show you a society that toppled in weeks. It's just the way it is- secrets are what make the world go around."

She glared at him fervently. "Things should be different! Wasn't the war suppose to end all of that, bring honesty back?"

He laughed at her. Duo couldn't help himself. "Ilene, it is human nature. You can't change it. No one really knows why the last war was fought- there were a lot of reasons. With war, there always is, and no one is ever completely happy with the outcome. While we managed to come to some agreement, there's still a lot of hostility out there that's just waiting to brim over- how many riots have there been since the story broke? We haven't reached real peace yet; that's why an organization like the Preventers is needed."

Ilene looked at him. "I disagree with you. I want to see what's on those pamphlets they're handing out. I'm getting one."

Duo noticed that the distributors of the pamphlets were some of the loudest agitators of all. Still, Ilene would not be dissuaded. "Fine. You wait here and I'll get you one," he told her.

"No! I can do it myself!" she said, asserting her independence at a horrible time.

Duo followed as she started to weave through the crowd towards one of their classmates. Duo vaguely recalled that the underclassman had been a Federation soldier. His bitterness towards the Gundams was natural.

"Can I have one?" Ilene asked.

Their classmate shoved a brightly colored brochure into her hands, then proffered one to Duo, who took it reluctantly. It was best to know what was being said, he told himself, yet the words of hate emblazoned across the front caused his heart to drop into his stomach.

Ilene opened the brochure and began to read right there. Her eyes flickered over the words, drinking them in. "Hmm…" she murmured, turning a page.

"Ilene, we're going to be late for class!" he said, catching her elbow. His intuition told him to get out of there… he didn't like the palpable tension in the air. Something was going to happen. His instincts had kept him in piece more then once, and he was inclined to trust them.

Ilene stared at him. "I think I want to stay for the protest," she said. "These people are right." 

"They're merely deluded," Duo argued, then flushed as a dozen angry glares were cast his way. "Ilene, you can't afford to skip class. This whole mess will settle down, but Professor Kaplan will still be there, and he thinks the world of his class."

She opened her mouth to utter another counter, but never had the chance to speak it.

It happened in an instant. Duo's instincts warned him that something was happening, and now he spun around in time to see the Preventer agents kneel and take aim on the unarmed student protesters. He almost threw up as the rain of bullets started. _Why, why, why?_ his mind cried. _Not again! Please! No more war!_

Behind him, the students began to scream, breaking what little order they had and running away. Chaos reigned.

Duo saw that Ilene was watching like an innocent deer caught in the headlights. He couldn't let this happen, not to her. Not to someone whose innocence was still untainted by the dark images of the war. He would keep her safe.

Duo Maxwell tackled Ilene Keets, driving her to the ground. She screamed as he covered her with his body, yet he ignored her cries. "STAY DOWN!" he commanded over the gunfire. He would protect her, he swore to himself.

She clung to his shoulders, burying her small face in his hair, trying to deny the reality of the situation. She had always said that she would give anything to be in his arms, but this wasn't what she had in mind. Overhead she heard the sound of bullets, and unwanted tears sprang to her eyes as she went rigid.

After an eternal moment, the shooting stopped, and the screams of the injured began- a horrible, keening sound of panic as students started to flee the scene, or crouch over those who had been wounded. Duo waited for a minute, then scooped Ilene up in his arms, running for the math building, which was closest. He ignored the cries of the victims- now was not the time for empathy, not if they wanted to survive. There was no telling if the soldiers would open fire again.

_What caused them to shoot?_ he wondered. _Why, why, why? They were protesting peacefully- none of them were armed!_

"My books!" Ilene cried, having lost her tenuous grip on her book bag.

"You can buy new ones, but you can't buy a new life!" he argued, one of her pigtails getting caught in his mouth as he spoke. Spitting it out, he boosted her through the nearest open window, then vaulted in himself. "Stay down," he warned her in a deadly voice.

There was no disobeying that tone, and she sank to the floor, watching him with wide, frightened brown eyes.

The room was empty, but Duo gave it a brief once-over. He pulled out the gun he had been carrying ever since the news story had broken from his holster. Her eyes went even wider, but he held a finger to his lips, indicated that she should keep quiet and listen. "Hush, darling. We'll stay here till things settle down."

She looked at him, at the way he was crouched by the window with a gun in his hand. Her eyes widened as she had an epiphany, all the pieces falling together for her. "You… you…."

Duo saw the dawning awareness in her eyes, and braced for impact.

"You're seventeen… you would have been fifteen during the war…and you fought during it… you act like a soldier, but you aren't, you have no discipline…" she began to ramble, reasoning out loud. "You freaked when you heard the ages of the pilots had been released… my God," she whispered. "You bastard!"

She launched herself at him with outstretched hands, he who was a trained terrorist holding a gun, with nothing more then her fingernails, intent on gouging his eyes out. Her face was twisted with fury, and it pained him to see the gentle girl who had never hurt a fly ready to kill him.

Ilene was a friend, and Duo trusted his friends. If she judged that he should be punished, he would not argue with her. He lowered his gun, shut his eyes, and prepared for her to do her worst. _Penance comes in many forms_, he thought.

She never landed a blow. Rather, there were the sounds of flesh striking flesh, Ilene crying out in pain, and an achingly familiar voice speaking:

"Don't you dare lay a finger on him, you bitch," Hilde Schbeiker said, her eyes and gun trained on the girl she had just hit.

  
_Link to information on the riots at Kent State University on May 4, 1970_

  


* * *

  
**Scene III: Princess of Sand and Air**

  


_"I've seen what I was and I know what I'll be-  
I've seen it all; there is no more to see."  
--Bjork, I've Seen It All_

  
It was always the men, Atsuki thought as she felt the familiar weight beside her rise and pad soundlessly to the door. Always the men. She couldn't seem to stay away from them. They would be her downfall…they already were.

Wing closed the door softly behind him as he always did, believing her to be asleep. He always left at dawn, before any sane human being would be awake, the amounts of alcohol and the needles and tablets he had taken the night before seemingly having no effect on his system. She didn't know why he didn't wake her up to say goodbye, but she never slept until dawn. She was always long awake before the sunrise, staring up at the cracked ceiling or out the tiny window, hearing Wing's steady breathing beside her, tangled in his sheets, tracing with her eyes the bare tanned skin scarred in too many places.

He always awoke at dawn, and she would close her eyes, pretending to sleep. Sometimes she actually fell back asleep before he left, but most of the time she would watch through almost closed lids as he climbed out of bed, dressed quickly, and departed.

He never said goodbye.

When his footsteps had faded down the hallway, she sighed, rolled over, threw the covers off and stood on the cold floor. She hadn't drunk much last night but the ground felt unsteady and she reached out with one hand, balancing herself against the wall. To think of it, she hadn't gotten drunk in a while. Her alcohol tolerance must be dropping.

The bathroom was a filthy little room across the hall, dark and dank, rodent-infested, smelling of human excrement. She took a cold shower and hurried back across to her room, to wait out the day. To wait until the night, when she would move soundless through the streets and take the men, one by one.

Or they would take her.

For a moment she wished Wing were still here, sleeping next to her and she could watch him, not touching him, just stroking him with her eyes. But that was ridiculous. Wing had his own life, his own obligations, and if it included destroying lives, it was none of her business.

Her family had raised her pacifist, but she was no longer tied to her family, so it didn't matter. Being a prostitute took care of severing ties by itself. She was not ashamed to call it that…shame was part of that old moral code. Obsolete.

Wrapping the towel around herself, Atsuki absentmindedly picked the strands of hair out of her hairbrush before running it through her hair. It was long and golden, and an anomaly, she had believed. No one in her family had had golden hair, except one.

She didn't like to think about her family.

Atsuki brushed her hair hurriedly, throwing on an old sweatshirt and a pair of dirty jeans, staring at the wall and concentrating on nothing. Not even a pair of blue eyes that was like and so unlike…

It was always the men.

They were her downfall.

It was a man at the beginning, who had convinced her to leave it all behind. Come with me, he'd said. She could still feel his arms around her and the feel of his lips when he had kissed her. She had been so young, so naïve, and she had believed him.

He was a beautiful specimen, tall, dark-haired, with a square jaw and athletic physique. But his eyes were what intrigued her the most. Dark, dark blue, almost black, but when the light hit them they would shine with all the brilliance of sapphires. They'd met at a party, another one of those boring social functions in which her duty was to stand and look enchanting, with the older couples patting on her head, commenting on how enchanting she looked.

He was different. He'd asked to dance with her and she had accepted. She'd felt a curious burning in her heart whenever he looked at her, a hunger she had not known, and when the guests departed that night, she had asked her father who he was.

Her father had not known, but instead told her to stay away from him. Had threatened that he would punish her if she did not. And she, who had listened to her father for all of her thirteen years like a dutiful daughter, decided that she had had enough. Her father was always telling her what to do. He was always telling her siblings what to do, also, but they were not like her. They were submissive while she was wild, willful. They followed blindly while she thought for herself. Or so she had thought at the time.

She saw him again soon afterwards, and she had let him take her home, back to the small but well-furnished house where he lived. It was her first kiss, her first love encounter, and it was not so much for the emotion or the sensation, but for the sheer plunge headlong into the cliff of total independence. It was her own rebellion.

He had taken her virginity. She had let him, and in the hot days and forbidden nights that followed, she had confessed her unhappiness, her frustration with the system that had her bogged down in the mire of social status.

One night, he'd suggested it. That she run away with him. He was leaving for Earth, and he wanted her to come with him.

She'd balked at the idea. It was too rebellious, even for her. She did not particularly care for her father, but there were sisters and particularly a little brother whom she was attached to. They didn't know what she was doing, though she knew some of her sisters suspected. She was provided for, cared for. She didn't want to leave.

But at the same time she didn't want to leave him.

She promised him she'd think it over, and when she returned home that night, had climbed into her own bed, determined not to think about it until morning. But she couldn't sleep.

Her brother's room was in the far wing of the house, but it was not that far a walk, and she knew back corridors. The light was shining from the crack under his door. He was always so studious; it amazed her. She could never keep her concentration on the books for more than a few minutes at a time.

She pushed open the door. He was seated at his desk, bent over some paper or other, but he turned around when he heard the door open. He smiled at her.

"I thought you were Reeshya."

"Why would you think that?" she wondered absently as she wandered over and seated herself on his bed.

"Reeshya always has problems sleeping, so she comes over sometimes." Angelic face smiling. She suddenly wondered if she should be here after all.

"I…I want to ask you something," she said softly.

He must have sensed her hesitation, because he suddenly got up from his chair, climbing up on the bed next to her. "What?"

"If I," she began, then stopped. "If I were to-"

"Run away?"

She darted a startled glance at him, the careful, planned words lost. "W-what?"

"If you were to run away," he stated solemnly. He was not smiling now. "Neechan…what are you going to do?"

"How did you know?" she managed, through the thin veil of shock that her little brother, her ten year old brother, knew about her plans before she had even made a decision for herself. Because it wasn't a guess. He wasn't the type to guess. He knew.

"Neechan…" he whispered, and when she looked at him, he was crying, one hand pressed over his heart. "It hurts inside, neechan…"

"Shh," she murmured, wrapping her arms around him tightly and rocking him. "Shh. Neechan's not going anywhere. She's staying right here with you. She's not going anywhere…"

He didn't speak for a while, sniffling and wiping the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand. "If you did go away…" he said at last, looking up at her. "You'd come back, right?"

"I'm not going anywhere," she said stonily.

"I love you, neechan."

Two weeks later she found herself crowding into a third class cabin aboard an old dilapidated passenger freighter, bound for Earth. It was frightening, but it was all right, because he was there. He had promised to take good care of her. She left a note in her room, warning them not to search for her. She didn't think they would. Her father had better things to spend his money on than a wayward daughter.

They never made it to Earth. There were engine problems and they had to stop on L1, and he had told her they were getting off here.

"L1 is just as well," he had reassured her when she wondered at the sudden change of plans. "It's all the same. We can start a new life."

Money was scarce, and the part of town where they lived was dirty and dark, filled with criminals that wandered the streets at night. She was frightened. She wanted to go home. There was never enough to eat, and though she tried to tell herself differently, his kisses were not the same as they used to be. He was colder, more aloof, disappearing for days at a time and leaving her alone in the run-down apartment. When he would return, smelling like alcohol and other things, she would not question him, just wait in silence until he motioned her into his bed and he touched her with a touch that was almost violent. It was not the same. She wanted to go home.

But she dared not suggest it to him for fear of his anger, so she cried in her bed at night when she thought he was asleep and dreamed of a better life. Dreamed of running away, back to the family who now when she thought back had not been that suffocating after all. Wondered how she had been so naively stupid to think that a man could solve all her problems.

_If you did go away…you'd come back, right?_

It hurts, neechan.

She couldn't go back. Her family had probably cut her off from the inheritance, from the family circle. Had probably declared her dead. They had done it to one of her older sisters who had run away years ago. Her name was erased from all the annals. Gone. Forgotten.

If she went back, she would have no place to go.

So she stayed.

She tried to get a job, but there was simply no employer willing to hire a girl as young as she was for honest work, even for minimal wages. She needed a job, or she would starve. So again, he was the one to suggest it to her. The occupation, if it could be called that, was not foreign to her. There were whores on all the street corners as soon as afternoon began to fade into evening, and sometimes even during the daytime. They frightened her, but if that was what he wanted, she would do it. Anything for him.

She still thought she loved him, even if he didn't love her.

She was small and thin and considered good looking enough that she got a good deal from most of the rings she inquired into. She didn't care which one she joined. A job was a job, no matter what she did, and if it required stripping off one's clothes and climbing into bed with a stranger, then so be it.

And the days blurred into nights and then back into days and sometimes they were gentle and sometimes they beat her until she screamed, but they always paid. That was the most important part, because if they paid, she could stay alive. Though she really did not know what she was living for, because he didn't even come home anymore, and she didn't care.

Then they came, knocking on the door of the dilapidated apartment, and when she opened it she found an eviction notice waved in her face, because the rent had not been paid in three months. She told them he had been paying. They shoved a different notice in her face.

He had been killed three weeks ago by a bullet to the head, and if she would not pay the three month's previous rent, she would have to leave.

She left.

It was only when she was walking down the stairs, with all her wordly belongings in one backpack over her shoulder, that she realized he had never told her who he was.

She dreamed of her family sometimes still, but they were drug-enhanced dreams where the colors were twice as vivid and the people moved in terrible slow motion across the viewscreen of her mind. Their mouths would open and they would speak, but she couldn't hear them.

And there were the gang members and the drug dealers and the drunkards and the gamblers and the theives and the occasional assassin, and she would give them what they wanted if they had the money. Days became months which became years, and it was her life. He was gone, but she remained, and she could not escape.

She didn't know if she really wanted to. It was all she knew, now.

The war came and went, but nothing really changed, except there were suddenly more customers. She'd noticed the boy with the long black hair and the scar down his face before, but he had always been sitting alone, slumped over a drink or maybe shooting a needle into his arm with the lethargy of one who had no desire for any physical enjoyment. Like the drinking and shooting was simply part of an everyday routine. He intrigued her.

He had a partner, a dark-skinned, tall boy who would come around once in a while to check on him and then disappear into the crowd with various different women. She heard their names whispered over the lips of the crowd. Wing. Darkflight. Who they were no one knew; only that they were assassins of the highest caliber and that the leaders of the Black Diamond and Shionji cartels, among other high names, had asked them for their services at one time or another. There was even a rumor that they had refused the Tanaka cartel a job. She couldn't believe that. No one in his right mind could refuse the Tanaka cartel a job and still live to tell the story. 

She resolved to ask him about that, if just to approach him and start up a conversation. He didn't look like the conversing type, but she had to try anyway. There was something different about him…something that reminded her of herself.

"Hello," she ventured, sliding onto the barstool next to him and making sure the neck of her dress fell further down than was proper.

He didn't answer, simply took another drink out of his half-full mug.

"Your name is Wing? I've heard of you."

Silence. She sighed inwardly. He was wearing a black tank top and his dark, greasy hair was bound back by a ragged strip of black cloth. Flipping her hair back from her shoulder and letting one of the straps of her dress fall down her arm, she reached out to caress one of his bare biceps. They were strong, muscular, just as she had expected, and still touching him, she conjured up her most seductive voice, like they had taught her.

"What are you doing tonight, Wing?"

"Take your hands off me."

She blinked, then renewed his stroking of his arm. "I don't think you know what you're saying."

"Take your hands off me," he said again, removing his arm from her touch. Just like that. There was no emotion in his words.

So that wouldn't work. "I hear you're an assassin. One of the best. They say you refused Tanaka a job. Is that true?"

"I don't want your services," he said again, and his gaze swung from the mug to look her square in the face.

Her mouth dropped open and it was all she could do to keep her balance on the stool.

His eyes were his eyes, dark, dark blue, almost black. But she knew that in the light, they would blaze like sapphires.

He watched her shock without comment, though she thought she could see something flicker in the depths of those eyes, and she swallowed. Those eyes held her, drew her into their spell, and when she finally looked away, she was shaking.

"I-I'm sorry," she murmured, catching her breath. "I should go…"

She slid off the stool, intending to make her way into the crowd, but there was a grip on her upper arm and she couldn't step forward.

"What-" she said, turning, and felt his lips fall on hers. They tasted of alcohol.

Afterwards, they lay in each other's arms on the dirty bed and he made no move to leave, and she made no sign that he had to go. She had to, she knew. He was only one customer, one conquest in a night of conquests, and she had a schedule to keep. But she didn't want him to go.

He was different.

"What's your name?" she said.

"Wing." The eyes flicked to hers, briefly. "You?"

"Atsuki."

"Ah." She knew he was going over the golden hair, the dark skin. She was not Japanese, but neither was "Wing" the name of a regular boy. It was all right.

"Why did you pick me, Atsuki?"

She blinked. "What?"

"You heard me," the monotone voice said. "Why did you pick me? There are plenty more lively men out there tonight."

She considered making a sexually slanted joke, wondering if he was up for another round, then realized he was serious. This was new. A man in her bed, serious. She'd thought they were all liars.

"Why do you think?" she said, turning onto her back. She suddenly felt like crying. Ridiculous. She hadn't cried since he had died, all those years ago.

"I don't know," he said. Emotionless.

"I-" she choked, then turned away from him. "I think you should leave now."

He didn't question her, simply sat up, dressed, and disappeared out the door. It slammed behind him.

There was no love, no emotion, no sharing of joys and fears. It was sex, plain and simple, and the next time she tapped him on the shoulder, just intending to say hello, he had stood and looked expectantly at her.

He never paid.

They talked sometimes, after all was done, about various topics that had nothing to do with who they were or where they wanted to go, but as time wore on that became harder and harder to do. She had never been with a man this long before, if it could be called that. Wing was the constant in her life, the one who would be there every night even if there was no one for her, and his was the first head she looked for when she entered that particular bar to look for customers. It should have been hard to see, being black on black, but it shone out to her like a beacon.

"What do you think of this?" he had asked her one night, rubbing the thick scar on his face. It twisted his upper lip and made a horrible line across his nose and the corner of his eye. She had often wondered what he would look like without it. 

"The scar?" she said, touching it with gentle fingers. "I think it's beautiful."

Wing was beautiful, to her. Everything about him, soaked in blood but incredibly beautiful. He was lonely, she knew, lonely and haunted, just like her. She wanted to help him, but he would never tell her why he sometimes cried out in his sleep or would suddenly sometimes stop talking in the middle of a sentence and stare off into the air at nothing, trembling with his fists clenched.

She never said she loved him. She would not make that mistake again.

Then the news over the Gundam pilots broke, and the man she had thought she knew had disappeared, giving way to a confused, bewildered boy. It frightened her, but there was no explanation for it if he wouldn't give one. And he would never give one, because even if he had had memories of the war, he would tell no one. And he didn't have memories. He had erased them.

The day afterwards, she couldn't find him in the bar. She saw Darkflight there, asked him where his partner was, and the other boy had shrugged. Wing was home asleep, he said. Did she want him to take a message? Like he was an answering machine service. She had shook her head and left.

If Wing wanted his privacy, she would give it to him. He had no obligation to her, after all. He didn't love her, just like she didn't love him. He said she reminded him of someone. She had never asked him who, because he wouldn't tell her even if he could remember.

Or maybe he would lie.

But it didn't matter who Wing was: assassin, liar, cheat, betrayer, because those things had never mattered to her. As long as he was there, as long as he was able to whisper secret words in the dark and to touch her with the callused hands that were so gentle and to look at her with those deep blue eyes, it didn't matter.

Because she told herself she didn't love him, but she did.

  
_Go to Heero story Rain_

  


* * *

  
**Scene IV: At the Gate of Heavenly Peace**

  


_"Excitate vos e somno, liberi fatali Somnus est non.  
[Wake from your sleep, fated children The peace is gone]  
Ardente veritate Incedite tenebras mundi.  
[Fiery truth Light the dark world.]  
Valete liberi Diebus fatalibus."  
[Goodbye, children The day has died.]  
--Final Fantasy VIII, Liberi Fatali_

  
He didn't know what had awakened him, but he couldn't seem to fall back asleep. So he lay there quietly, listening to the gurgle of the brook in its bed and the twitter of the birds in the pre-dawn chill. It was still cool in the morning, in the early summer. That was good.

He could run some errands today, he supposed.

He really disliked running errands…disliked the city in general. But there were books to return and groceries to buy. He could grow vegetables, but he had yet to find the resources to start his own backyard rice paddy. So that required a trip to the capital.

He lay there until the sky lightened and pinked at the edges, then flung aside the covers and sat up. The sleeping mat had shifted during the night and he was somehow lying at a slight angle to the doorway, staring directly at the window. The sun was coming up through the tops of the trees.

It took him less than ten minutes to get dressed and head out the front door. There were books in the sack slung over his shoulder, and he had enough money in his pocket to buy two weeks worth of rice and other necessities. If the prices hadn't gone up. Prices had a nasty inclination to do that nowadays.

The nearest bus station was a ways off, in the village down the road, and by the time he reached it, the sun was high in the sky and there was a thin trail of sweat trickling down his back. There were a few other people at the makeshift stop, waiting in silence. He stood off to the side, one hand resting idly on his straw hat to make sure it didn't blow away in the wind, which was picking up a little. Clouds drifted idly across the sky. He could feel their shadows on his skin.

There was a Chinese poem about clouds which he had read once. He couldn't remember the words, only that they had something to do with death.

A rumble and the blunt head of the bus appeared over the brow of the hill. As it hissed to a stop, he grasped his sack and patiently waited to crowd onto the bus with the others. If he was lucky, he would get a seat…if the bus wasn't too crowded.

The bus was empty.

Frowning, he surveyed the interior. The only people aboard were the short old woman and the two teenage girls that had been at the bus stop with him. He could feel the driver's eyes on him and he glanced over his shoulder. The eyes looked away.

The atmosphere was one of…fear?

His muscles tensed and he grasped onto one of the handrails, not heeding the rows of empty seats. There was something wrong, and he didn't like it.

It felt like war. But that didn't make sense. The war was over.

The rumbling of the bus' engine was the only conversation all the way to Beijing, and as the vehicle rattled through the outer limits of the city, he noticed that the usually bustling streets were deserted.

He smelled smoke.

_hurtling through the depths of space and he saw the remnants of his colony burning and he screamed_

The highways were deserted. The vehicle crossed lane after lane, exit after exit without a single car in sight. The bus finally screeched to a halt just short of downtown, and he got off, slinging his sack over his shoulder. Still no cars, but there was the noise of crowds in the background, and the thudding of drums. A crack.

Gunshots?

He began to hurry towards the sound. The bus had disappeared behind him and he ran through the twisting maze of streets. The roof of the Imperial Palace rose in the far distance. He had seen pictures of the Imperial Palace once, a long time before the…war…and he hadn't been too impressed with it. Another vainglorious ornament to man's ephemeral life. A waste of money that could have gone towards teaching the people to read or buying more books.

Meilan had laughed, when he told her that.

Always the scholar.

He passed an old man huddled in the corner of a building, tapping his staff against the stones.

"_A yé!_" he called out. "What's going on?" His voice was hoarse from disuse, and the words came out in a half-croak.

The man looked up at him from under his hat. "It's a riot up there…" he rasped. "I wouldn't go up there if I were you."

"Up where?" he demanded.

"The square…"

The square. Tiananmen Square.

He started running again, running over in his mind the history he had been taught when he had been the student, when he was a child. About the riots at Tiananmen in the mid 1900's AD. About how the government had sent out soldiers. About the bright young minds that had died there.

They had been students and scholars, just like him.

There were more gunshots, and he could hear wild screaming. The sack was slowing him down, and in a fit of abandonment he shrugged the sack from his shoulder and threw it with a thump into the dark ways of a passing sidestreet.

The shouting was clearer now as he approached the Forbidden City, and he began to see people in the broad streets, some clutching bags of what he assumed were personal belongings, holding crying children. 

"Down with the military! Give us justice!"

He stopped running, listening, unable to move. The chanting continued, interspersed with screams and the occasional gunshot. Blanks. They were firing blanks. They had to be.

"Down with the military! Give us justice! Down with the pilots!"

Pilots? What pilots?

Sprinting across the street, he stopped before a middle-aged woman pushing a cart filled with what looked like everything she owned. "What's going on?"

She tried to go around him, but he stepped in front of her agilely. "_A yì!_ Give me an answer!"

For answer, she reached into the cart with shaking hands, throwing a bundle of papers his way. Her eyes were frightened.

With a sigh he stepped out of her way and she hurried down the street as he bent to pick up the paper. His hands never made it. The bold Chinese characters on the page front leapt out at him with frightening clarity.

CHILD MURDERERS: THE GUNDAM PILOTS OF THE WAR REVEALED!

"No," he whispered under his breath, as he knelt shakily down, grasping the incriminating article in one hand. The characters did not lie. "No. NO!"

"Down with the military! Give us justice!"

He was reaching for a sword that wasn't there. His mouth was dry, and he backed away from the paper. It wasn't true…it wasn't true. The war was over.

"The war is over!" he shouted raggedly. His throat hurt. He could see the beginning of the masses of protesters packed into Tiananmen, some waving banners and posters, pushing and shoving.

Helicopters whirred overhead, and loudspeakers blared over the noise of the crowd. A man leaned out of the door, firing a gun into the air. The hysteria doubled in force, and he could feel the tension snapping back. 

There was a name printed in bright colors on the side of the helicopter. It was in English.

PREVENTERS PEACE FORCE

Leaving the paper, he staggered towards the crowds on unsteady legs, seeing in his mind horrible scenarios of what could come to pass. He saw people dying, falling in their own blood. He saw people running but not able to run fast enough. He saw the sky black with mobile suits and combat aircraft. Explosions.

"NO!" He shouted, but the roar of the crowd swallowed him up. He shoved, trying to move forward, trying to move towards the tomb, the central focus of the square, but it was useless. The masses were packed tight. He smelled sweat and fear.

Those were the two smells he most hated. Sweat and fear.

"Down with the military!" The crowd chanted around him, chanting it like a mantra of protection. Wild chanting. "Down with the pilots! Give us justice!"

"This is not justice!" he screamed, fighting for a voice. "The war is over!"

An arm came whipping across his face, and he staggered. When he looked, the offender was gone, swallowed up in a sea of anonymous arms and legs and faces streaked with sweat, wild eyes and angry voices. He was suffocating, drowning.

"DISPERSE," came the voice from the loudspeaker. "OR WE WILL BE FORCED TO SHOOT. DISPERSE."

"Military bastards!"

"You destroyed our country!"

"Give us back our children!"

"Give us back our people!"

He fought to breathe, fought to keep his head free and upright. He was not afraid. There was no fear, just a terrible anger, and for a minute he wished for the controls of his metal machine once more. The crowd was out for his blood, and he was caught along in the terrible tide.

They had no idea who he was.

"Stop!" he shouted. "Stop! You're fighting the wrong people!"

_I'm the Gundam pilot. I'm the one you want!_

when he had swooped down low and pulled the terrible trigger and a hundred of the brightest minds in the Federation had died in their beds that night

There were gunshots, and he felt something warm splatter onto his face. 

Screaming. A heavy weight.

He stumbled, fought to keep his balance, and he felt the crowds move apart, felt the fear increase to near panic as the screaming continued and rang in his ears. The cries for peace and justice faded in the face of raw chaos.

It was a young girl, head thrown back, bullet hole in the middle of her forehead gushing blood over his face and clothes, and he gave a wordless shout, throwing her from him and trying in vain to wipe the thick crimson from his skin. He could feel it crawling, like a live thing.

The crowd roiled around him and he fought to keep his balance as it buckled this way and that in panic. There was more firing, flashing in the sunlight like bright sparkling diamonds. Spatters of blood. He could hear sobbing over the screams, now.

"I'm the Gundam pilot!" He screamed. "I'm the one you want! Not them!"

It was the same. The war was over, but it was the same. People were dying, and it was because of him. Because he was a coward.

"I'm the one," he whispered, as the crowd surged around him and bodies fell. "I'm the one you want. Not them. Never them."

The clouds rolled across the sky, above the whirring blades of the helicopter, from the door of which they were taking lives in the name of justice.

_They're innocent…_

_A yé : Chinese, literally "grandpa." Form of address towards elderly men  
A yì : Chinese, literally "aunt" or "auntie." Form of address towards middle-aged woman_

Link to information on the massacre at Tiananmen Square on June 3-4, 1989 


	12. Wings of a Boy Who Killed Adolescence

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT III, PART II

_ Hizuka ni nagare-dasu namida kakushi-nagara  
Kono ai dakishimete inori-tsuzukeru toki  
Kokoro ni ukabu sugata wa anata dake  
Donna ni tsurakute mo  
In love with you Do anything for you_

Sakebe! Mune ni himeta omoi o  
Yami o kirisaku hodo hageshiku  
Ima todoke Yume ni nemuru anata e  
Towa ni kawaranai ai no akashi

In the calmness tears fall although I hide them  
This love embraces time connected by prayer  
The only face floating in my heart is you  
Through any heartbreak  
In love with you Do anything for you

Shout! I hid memories in my heart  
Fiercely I press on through the darkness  
Now I reach out to you in a dream  
The revelation of your love will never change --Gundam Wing, _Brightness and Darkness  
[Lady Une image song] _

  
  
**Scene V: Voices Which Speak Out of the Unknown**

  


_"I said it's just a boy's game; girls play too."  
--Top Gun, Playing with the Boys_

  
A007 was a planet-side colony, which meant it was built on the actual planet itself - in this case, a moon - instead of orbiting around it. Which was both a curse and a blessing for the strike force that was trying to set up camp.

The moon itself was not exactly the breadbasket of the universe, having very little in the way of vegetation. For a mining colony, that was to be expected, but the sun's glare reflecting off various sandy-colored shades of rock quickly made Dorothy's head ache. Dust storms were also common on the surface, as the reports had stated, and as they had found out soon enough the first night after they made planetfall. She could taste the dirt and grit in the food every time she took a bite.

They had landed according to the coordinates prescribed on the briefing report, and had spent the last day or so trying to figure out exactly where they were. Milliard had explained everything to her on the way, about the first strike team and the sudden cut in communication. It was almost certain that something had happened to Noin. Milliard was of the opinion that the choices were that she was either being held a prisoner of war or been killed in battle. He held to the first theory, while Dorothy had a strong inclination towards the second. But then again, she could be wrong. He was the more experienced, after all.

Then again, she wasn't the one in love with Noin.

He'd never admitted it, but the open concern in his eyes and the urgency in his voice when he spoke her name revealed it all to her. She hadn't been able to fall asleep that first night on the surface, staring at the night sky and listening to the wind echo through the rock canyons and wondering exactly what it was she was doing wrong. Why it was Noin instead of her.

She knew Milliard hadn't slept that night, because in between fits of light dozing and uncertain wakefulness she could see that the light in the weather shelter was still on. Towards dawn she saw him finally emerge from the shelter with a stack of printouts in his hand, looking haggard and tired.

All for Noin.

Right now he noticed her because he needed her, but if they found Noin - when they found Noin - she would be no more than another soldier. Maybe a praised one, for having been his second-in-command, but nothing more than that. There was nothing there between him and her.

She stared at the datapad in her hand, noting with idle distance the radar blips on the screen. There was no sign of the enemy, and Milliard's reports didn't tell them much about their foe. It was a colonial rebellion, and any colonist could be for them or against them. It was impossible to tell.

She wondered why such a remote colony would bother making such a big show out of a rebellion. Then again, the World Nation made a big deal out of everything, so it could just be blown out of proportion. She hoped it was.

But if it was, then why was Noin missing?

Dorothy slammed the datapad down on the ground in frustration and got to her feet, intent on finding Milliard and tell him that they should get moving. They would get nothing accomplished sitting around in camp all day. They had been here for four days now, Milliard's explanation being that they were "information gathering." She was of the opinion that they were about to become the information and the rebels the one who were gathering it.

He was where she expected him to be: in the makeshift briefing area, sketching images of the landscape. Situational awareness was a good thing to have, but not when the situation had all the danger sounds of a sleepy afternoon.

"Milliard?"

He didn't turn his head, kept on sketching. "Hello, Dorothy."

"When are we moving out?"

He didn't answer. The pencil moved back and forth on the paper.

"It's been four days," she said. "We've stayed in the same spot for four days. Don't you think that's a little conspicuous if we are fighting a dangerous enemy?"

"I'm trying to get the lay of the land," he said.

"Damn it, Milliard! We haven't got all the time in the world, you know!"

He sighed. "Dorothy."

She folded her arms over her chest and glared at his back. "What? What are you going to say? You're afraid of going anywhere? You're afraid we won't find Noin?"

He was silent for a long while, and for a moment she was afraid he would turn on her in one of his famous rages, tell her to get back on the ship and find her own way back home. But he didn't.

"Yes," he said. "I am."

She blinked.

"You're right…we need to move. But this is an excellent spot for reconnaissance and observation, and we need to wait for the recon teams to return before we move." He smiled wanly at her. "Don't worry…we're safe here. The rebels don't venture this far out into the scrub country where we are…they usually stick to the outlying villages around the capital and the mining facilities. There's not much else on A007."

"Recon teams?"

There was a confused pause. "Oh, that's right…you weren't there. I sent out recon teams when we first arrived here, in all different directions. Most of them returned yesterday but we're still waiting for one group."

"Oh," she said.

"I should have told you this earlier…I'm sorry. It slipped my mind." He picked up his pencil again and began sketching. Scratch. Scratch.

"Don't worry about it," she said, and left the tent, not knowing whether to be relieved or angry. Relieved because Milliard wasn't angry at her. Angry because everyone else in this camp knew what was going on except for her, and she was vice commander of this operation. Angry because she hadn't been perceptive enough to pick up on the current operation when it had begun.

There had been a staff meeting, she remembered dimly. The night they arrived on planetside…but she had gone to bed. She hadn't thought it was important. She had never gone to staff meetings when she had been Mobile Doll Controller aboard the Libra, and she had done just fine.

Maybe that was a sign that she should start attending.

There were voices and footsteps to her right and she looked around, trying to see what the fuss was about. Low, intense exchanges. The jangling of equipment and weapons. She jogged over to the tents where soldiers were gathering, wondering what the commotion was about.

"Make way for Lady Dorothy!"

She nodded absently at them as they parted for her. There was a team of soldiers there, dressed in the green and blue uniform of the Preventers. She recognized the silver badge on the left pocket. Reconnaissance.

So this was the team they had been waiting for. She glanced around for Milliard, but he was nowhere in sight. Still back in the trees sketching, probably.

Well, as second-in-command, she would handle this.

"You made it back safely," she said to the leader, a sweaty first lieutenant carrying a large rucksack on his back. He saluted her, and she saluted back. "Good work. What did you find?"

The soldier glanced warily at the troops crowding around, and she turned, waved a hand, made her voice sharp.

"Don't you all have things to do?"

The crowd dispersed with alternating grumbling and excited chatter, and she turned back to the lieutenant.

"Report, Lieutenant."

He dug in his pocket for a moment, pulling out a datapad. The other members of the team stayed standing respectfully back, and she could see from their faces they were exhausted. Taking the datapad from the lieutenant, she stepped to the right so the team could see her.

"You are dismissed," she said. "Go clean up."

The team filed past her and she turned back to the lieutenant, snapping on the datapad and trying to make sense of the bright green screen. "Give me your report."

"Yes, ma'am. As we expected, there were no enemy troops or civilians this far out from the mining centers. We did pick up one group of what might have been a batallion of troops moving east, but they disappeared from our radar two days ago. We ventured far enough to pick up radar signals from what we believe are either tank or mobile suit yards. Most likely they are mobile suit yards, as Major Noin mentioned enemy use of mobile suits in her last report."

"I see," Dorothy said, scrolling through the screens. Radar blips. More radar blips. "All these are mobile suit yards?"

"No, ma'am. Ones with the weaker signals are weather stations and mining runways and airstrips. Colonel Peacecraft says those are our secondary objectives…we need not worry about them for now."

"I see," she said again. It looked like she would need to have a word with Colonel Peacecraft about some of the military objectives they were hoping to accomplish here. "No enemy soldiers, you said."

"No, ma'am."

"Excellent. Thank you. The colonel might want to speak to you later, but until you receive notice, you are free to rest and pack. We will be moving out soon."

"Yes ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."

He saluted her and moved off, and she began retracing her steps through the trees, holding the datapad firmly. He was still sketching as she came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder gently.

"They returned," he said. "What did they find?"

She described to him the details, about the mobile suit yards and the weather stations and the lack of troops, and he nodded.

"That's what I thought." He turned his head and smiled at her. "Well, looks like you get your wish sooner than I thought. Tell the troops we'll be moving out in an hour."

"It'll be hot," she said. "It's almost noon."

"We can't afford to wait any longer," Milliard said. He put down his sketchpad. "You were right, Dorothy…we've stayed in one place too long already."

She sighed. "I told you-"

"I'm sorry. I should-"

"It's all right," she said softly. "You're worried about Noin. I understand."

"I-" he began, then swallowed the rest of what he was going to say. "Go get ready to move out."

She didn't even bother to salute, just turned and walked back to the camp, feeling very tired. Why did he bring her along, if he wasn't even interested in her opinion? It made no sense….

A sudden rustle of leaves was all the warning she had before the gunfire exploded between the rocks, echoing off the cliffs, and she dove to the ground, fumbling for her pistol. Soldiers all around her had taken cover as well, loading rifles and charging laser pistols. The gunfire spattered around them, and somewhere to her left, someone screamed.

She took aim and her finger closed on the trigger when suddenly the gunfire ceased.

Dorothy eased herself out from behind the low outcropping where she had taken cover and glanced around warily. Through the rising dust she could hear cries of those who had been wounded, but no sign of an enemy.

"Dorothy."

"Milliard," she gasped, keeping her pistol raised, scanning the horizon as he dropped down tensely beside her. "What's happening?"

He shook his head, was about to reply, when there was a shout. They turned their heads sharply at the same time towards it, and for a moment she could see nothing through the dust.

"Look," Milliard hissed, pointing towards the nearest low cliff. "What's that?"

There was a figure of a man standing on the rock, arm pointing upward. She squinted, trying to see through the haze. He looked very familiar…like she had seen him or someone like him before…

"Milliard!" she gasped. "He's wearing a White Fang uniform."

She felt him freeze beside her. "You're right," he said, a harsh undercurrent in his voice. 

Before she could say anything else, he was leaping out from behind the rock, pistol raised, pointing at the lone figure on the rock, and his voice echoed off the cliffs.

"Show yourself!"

"Who are you?" the man returned, keeping his own weapon raised. She watched with bated breath. One shot, and it would be over.

"My name is Colonel Milliard Peacecraft. I am the commander of this operation."

A stunned silence, then the other's pistol clattered to the rocks. She saw the small skidding of pebbles where it skittered down the cliff.

"Zechs Merquise!"

"Milliard Peacecraft," Milliard repeated harshly. "Who are you?"

"Forgive me…I had no idea…"

Milliard sighed, but Dorothy could see the tension leave his shoulders, and she sagged down behind the rock.

"Why don't you come down, and we can talk properly?"

She peered over the rock again, watching the man make his way down, watching the soldiers one by one emerge from their shelters, holding weapons warily. She supposed she should be a good vice commander and go join the commander in the center of the camp.

The man was of medium height and build, with a shock of red hair and bright green eyes. He had the haggard look of a man who had been fighting a losing battle, and for a moment, she pitied him. He saluted Milliard, and Milliard saluted back, though she could tell he was still wary.

"I am sorry for the attack…we thought you were troops from the capital that we had tracked in this direction a few days ago…I ceased fire as soon as I realized you were not the troops we'd been looking for."

Milliard waved a hand. "Apologies later. First tell me who you are."

"I am Commander Evon Gustavson," the man began. "I was a member of White Fang during the war, under your command, sir…I now lead the western colonial militia of A007. We-"

"Western colonial militia?" Milliard interrupted.

"Yes, sir." Gustavson smiled slightly. "I suppose you could say we are the 'rebels' from the rebels."

Milliard shook his head. "You mean to say you're resisting the government here, on the colony."

"Yes, sir."

"Are there many these groups?"

"About three groups, sir. We are the third group, patrolling the western perimeter. We were looking for mobile suits, since they have quite a few yards out here."

"I see." Milliard pursed his lips. "About how many of you are there?"

"I have about two hundred under my command, sir. All milita, all mining colonists."

Dorothy looked at him and caught the glint in his eye. This operation suddenly had acquired the potential to become much easier than expected. Then he looked back at her, and she could tell they were both thinking the same thing.

"I'm interested in hearing what you have to say," Milliard said at last. "If you wouldn't mind staying for a while and answering my questions..."

Gustavson looked wary. "You are…"

"We are the Preventers troops sent here to put down the rebel government."

"Ah." The weathered face brightened. "Preventers. There was another, smaller, strike force here a few months ago…we lent them some weapons and supplies…" There was a question in his voice.

Milliard's face hardened. "That is another matter."

Gustavson remained wisely silent.

"Dorothy?"

She nodded. "I'm as interested in hearing this as you are."

"Let me return to my men and tell them what to do," Gustavson said. "I will meet you back here in half an hour, if that's all right with you."

"Fine." Milliard made a dismissive gesture, and the man saluted again, then did a smart about face and disappeared behind the rocks.

"You trust him?" she said.

"I don't know."

She noticed he still had his pistol cocked and ready to fire at any sign of enemy gunfire, as did the soldiers all around them. "It's no good just standing here. If he's going to attack, he'll attack."

Milliard nodded. "You're right. Post double guards, just in case. We'll continue with our normal duties until something happens."

"Yes, sir."

He lowered his pistol. "Though if my instincts prove me right, we're about to acquire a new ally."

"Have your instincts ever been wrong?"

He looked thoughtful, then smiled at her. The smile was not pleasant. "Yes. When I predicted that OZ would win the war…"

  


* * *

  
**Scene VI: Tied By the Red Thread of Fate**

  


_"Just close your eyes,  
And I'll find you once again.  
Just know I'm on your side and remember."  
--All-4-One, I Will Be Right Here_

  
When Hilde heard the news about the Gundam pilots, she was out to dinner with Howard, taking him up on the invitation he had extended six weeks ago. She had chosen a restaurant that was mid-range for price, but served five-star quality food. She was happily eating a wonderful prime rib, amused by the fact that Howard had ordered a cheeseburger.

She inadvertently overheard someone seated directly behind her talking as Howard munch away silently on his food. "...Gundam pilots... scandalous... society is becoming dysfunctional..." It caught her attention, and she turned her head to see who was speaking.

Two old women that looked like they were part of the upper middle class were chatting together, their faces pinched with disapproval, and Hilde felt her curiosity peak. She turned around in her chair and smiled charmingly, tilting her head so she looked like a young urchin. "Excuse me," she said sweetly, doing her best attempt at "cute", "but I couldn't help overhearing. What's the news?" she asked.

The ladies looked surprised. Didn't you hear?" the first asked, clenching and unclenching her hands.

Hilde shook her head. "What's going on?"

The ladies' eyes lit up, eager to spread the gossip. "Well, the second one said in a nasal voice, "they released some news on who the Gundam pilots were- such a tragedy. It seems they were only children- can you imagine? In my day, we'd never DREAM of doing such a cruel thing. I mean, who in their right mind would give a child a weapon like a Gundam? They probably had no idea what they were doing!" The women tittered nervously, then started to criticize the very idea of mecha itself.

Howard dropped his hamburger, and Hilde set her fork down. "I suddenly lost my appetite, Howard," she said. "Can we leave?" she begged.

He nodded. "I don't feel like eating anymore myself." They exchanged glances. It was in neither of their natures to remain passive; they would have to do something.

They walked out onto the sidewalk in silence together, and Howard looked at her thoughtfully "What are you going to do?" he asked her.

"I-I'm not sure yet," she confessed, "but I have to do something." Her mind was racing a mile a minute. 

"You still love him, don't you," Howard said, rather then asked.

A weak smile found its way onto her lips. "It's impossible to fall out of love with Duo Maxwell." Suddenly what she had to do hit her. An epiphany. "Howard, I'm going to sell you my scrap yard."

The engineer blinked in confusion. "What?"

She caught onto his arms, pleading with her eyes. "Howard, I have to go to Duo. I need to be by him. I can help him, I know I can, but I can't be tied down to a business. Please, I'll take whatever you can give me, because I don't have much in the way of savings."

"Shh, girl. We'll talk about this aboard the Peacemillion." They walked hurriedly to a shuttle, Hilde chewing on her lip. Where is Duo? she wondered. He probably is still in the States, but where?

The half an hour it took for the shuttle to arrive at the massive space ship had Hilde sweating profusely. By the time Howard escorted her off the small craft, she was almost ready to strangle him for making her wait.

She popped the seal on her helmet, taking a deep breath of Peacemillion's canned air, then turned impatient eyes on her friend. "Alright, we're here. What's on your mind," she demanded.

"Now, you can't go running after Duo helter-skelter. You won't be doing Duo any favors if you get yourself of him in trouble," Howard told her.

She gave him a look that could have seared metal. "Don't you dare try to keep me from him. If you lured me here to get me out of the way, you're sadly mistaken. I may not be a Gundam Pilot, but I can raise some serious hell if I decide to."

"Calm down, girl. I'm going to help you, but you have to think things through. I can give you a fair price for the yard, but that isn't the important thing. Come with me." He took her elbow and led her to his office.

She coughed as she entered the room, the sickly sweet scent of pipe tobacco catching in her lungs. Howard ignored it, pulling out the pipe. "First things first- we have to find Duo," he said.

"We?" she said.

He nodded. "I lost track of him after you kicked him out."

"I didn't kick him out!" she declared, feeling horribly guilty.

Howard stared at her, and she squirmed inside. "If it makes you happy to think that way, go ahead. Anyway, you have to locate Duo, and I'm prepared to offer you the Sweeper's resources to do so."

Her eyes went wide. That would speed things up considerably. "Thank you," she whispered, wrapping the older man into a hug. "Thank you so much."

Howard patted her awkwardly on the back. "He's the closest thing to a son I'll ever have," the man said candidly, "and I would do anything to help him. Now, you just have to promise to wait till I'm able to find something definite."

In the next three days, Hilde signed the papers that would transfer over ownership of the shipyard to him. He gave her a fair price, settling on what the price would have been before the news had been released. The economy was booming, and if another war happened, the scrap yard's value could triple.

Hilde had too much time to muse over possible consequences of her rash decision. Duo was worth it, she swore, but what would she do if he didn't want her there? What if he had found someone else? She hadn't seen him in a year; she had no idea what his life was like now. Still, her nail biting was rewarded when Howard produced Duo's latest whereabouts within five days.

Howard handed her a file, several phony identification cards made for both herself and Duo, and a checkbook inside a wallet filled with bills of all denominations. "I've found him. He used his real name; he was probably planning on keeping this identity."

She nodded. "I'm leaving. Do you have a shuttle I can use?"

"I'll take you down myself."

She nodded gratefully, and went to gather the bag she hadn't even bothered unpacking.

When they arrived at the spaceport, she gave Howard another brief hug. "See you later!" she said cheerfully, even though both knew that they might never meet again.

She immediately rented a car to start the long drive to Vermont. If she pressed the speed limits, she could make it in ten hours. The newsies still hadn't gotten the names, and she was racing against time. Duo might have already left, and if he had, she doubted she'd be able to find him. He would be so far undercover that God himself couldn't find him. A God Duo didn't believe in, and Hilde herself was starting to doubt in as well. Hadn't Duo been through enough in his short life?

The drive was long, but she didn't bother to stop. Time was of the utmost importance- if she hesitated, she might never see Duo again.

As she drove, she realized that she had always been counting on him coming back to her. Isn't that odd? she wondered. Howard isn't far wrong when he says that I kicked Duo out- I practically shoved him out the door, after all. Why would he ever come back to me?

She squashed down those petty thoughts, remembering the dire strait they were in. Their world was erupting, and Duo was about to be caught right in the middle of it.

When she finally pulled onto campus, she sensed that something was wrong.

Putting the car onto park, she stepped out, and the aura on the campus caused shivers to dance around her spine. Wrong, wrong, wrong.... she thought, wondering what had happened. She had been a soldier, and she knew when to get the hell out of a place. 

Hilde ignored her desire to backtrack, focusing on Duo. Maybe they had already found him... from what she knew of this school, that would not be a good thing. Too many former soldiers had gone here; too many people who had watched friends die because of the Gundams. If... if... if...

Where the hell was he? she wondered. Asking for him wouldn't be a good idea, especially if they discovered him.

Shutting her eyes, she almost wept out of frustration. The campus was large, and by the time she finished searching it, he could be long gone.

Hilde shut her eyes, praying for luck. Six buildings. Duo was most likely in there, if he was still around. If he wasn't perhaps she could overhear what the hell made the atmosphere of the campus feel like a funeral. Oppressive. That was the word.

She walked into the first building, racing through the hallways as quickly as she dared. Students were strangely absent, and she was even more concerned- wasn't this school inhabited?

From a distance, she heard a voice that started out low, but grew louder and louder as it continued. "...been fifteen during the war..."

Hilde felt her heart leap as the feminine voice continued.

"...and you fought during it..."

She took off towards it, her very being knowing who was being yelled at.

"...you act like a soldier, but you aren't, you have no discipline..."

_Yes, that's my Duo!_ she thought, not convinced. _Still getting yelled at!_

"You freaked when you heard the ages of the pilots had been released... my God. You bastard!"

Hilde threw the door open just in time to watched Duo relax, preparing to accept whatever punishment the girl was going to deal out.

The girl was a petite thing who weighed maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. Long purple hair was twisted into pigtails (a current fashion that was extremely popular since Relena Darlian Peacecraft had worn them for an orphanage opening), but the girl's face was twisted with an incredible amount of hatred. She meant to hurt Duo severely.

Moving a speed she hadn't realized she was capable of, Hilde raced forward and slapped the girl in the face. The girl cried out and went reeling backwards, landing on the floor in an ungainly heap.

Duo opened his beautiful eyes, surprise etched on his face.

"Don't you dare lay a finger on him, you bitch," she said, her eyes and gun trained on the girl she had just hit.

The girl looked up at her in shock. She sat on the floor staring at the unfamiliar person who had just attacked her. "He's a Gundam pilot! Kill him!" she begged.

She watched Duo flinch, and wondered who the purple-haired stranger was to him. A girlfriend? She wondered, then chided herself for such petty thoughts. She had already made her decision; she would be whatever Duo would let her, whether it was lover, friend, or comrade. 

"I know that, you idiot," she replied quite calmly. "I owe him a lot for that."

She would have liked to see his reaction to that, but she didn't dare remove her attention from the third person in the room. "WHAT?!" the girl said, her voice rising into a shriek.

"Hilde, be kind," Duo said, and then he was there, pushing her gun down to her side. "She's distraught; there was just a shooting on campus."

So that was what the chaos had been about, she reasoned. "Still, Duo, she has no right to attack you!"

She heard him sigh. "She's a friend. If she decides that there's reason, I'm not going to disbelieve her."

"Duo," she sighed, relieved. He hadn't changed- still so overwhelmingly devoted to those who cared about. He let few people inside but when he did, he gave them his life.

It was too bad he had made a mistake this time. 

"What are we going to do with her?"

"Do?" he asked. He still looked shell-shocked.

"You're getting out of here," she told him. "Your cover has been blown, and this little chit is determined to see you dead- hate to tell you, but there's enough people here with military training that not even Shinigami can survive if he's caught in the mess."

The girl blinked, and Hilde realized she had made a mistake speaking in front of her- she had as good as given her the idea. The purple haired girl took off running for the door, screaming at the top of her lungs. Hilde reacted by tackling her, and pinning her to the ground. She placed the gun against the girl's temple. "Shut up, or I'll shoot."

The girl glared at her defiantly. "Go ahead," she spat. "You're going to kill me anyway."

"Hilde, Ilene- please," Duo begged, but both girls turned iron-like glowers on him.

There was no telling what would have happened if at that moment if three frightened teens hadn't walked into the room. "Duo! Ilene!" a girl with a golden haired ponytail said, "we heard you had gone here from the riot and-" she stopped, startled to see her friend with a gun to her head.

The two boys who had followed her into the room, and took in the scene; Ilene with a gun to her head, Duo with a weapon he had gotten God knew where, and a strange female with whom Duo was pleading.

"Don't worry about me!" Ilene insisted. "Whatever you do, don't let him get away!"

"Him?" one of the boys said, taking a cautious step towards the two girls.

"Duo's a Gundam pilot! He's going to escape! He's going to kill again! He's going to-" but her words were lost to the sobs that were escaping from her lips.

"Shit," Hilde murmured. "NOW what do we do? I don't want to kill them," she said softly.

Everyone in the room froze, but that seemed to awaken Duo. "No one is killing anyone!" he said. "Hilde, put the gun down- everyone else, come on in, and lock the fucking door!" His eyes were flashing and everyone meekly did as he said, though Hilde hissed a warning at Ilene before complying. "Now, we're going to talk about this logically, and now you're all going to listen to each other."

For some reason, Hilde doubted him. From the look in Ilene's eyes, she would never forgive this betrayal.

  


* * *

  
**Scene VII: Somehow Here Again**

  


_"Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed,  
Somehow you would be here."  
--The Phantom of the Opera, Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again_

  
The air conditioning broke during the night, and Noin woke in a sweat.

She had heard the beeping signalling that something was wrong with the system as through a haze, in the middle of the night. At first she thought she had been dreaming, but the unnatural temperature in the room alerted her to the fact that something was wrong. The sun was glittering through the windows, and the temperature was rising rapidly.

That was the problem with mining colonies. They were fine as long as all systems were functional, but lose one system and the operation would begin experiencing failure.

To think of it, that was the way the military worked, too.

She sighed and got out of bed, pulling her sticky shirt away from her body. It was hot…it was very hot. And it was only early morning. There were clouds on the horizon, moving this way, but they did not look like they were moving very fast.

She had it in mind to take a shower, but quickly discarded that idea when it became clear that the cooling system for the water was not working either. She didn't want a hot shower in this heat, so she went back into the bedroom and turned on the ceiling fan, trying to get the air moving in the room.

The landscape outside was the same as always…bright, barren, blinding. There was the occasional tree, but those were mostly dried up by the heat.

She'd had an assignment like this once, as a test pilot way out in the middle of nowhere on a test colony. The sun's radiation was intense and there was no atmospheric cover to block out the blinding light and heat of the day side of the colony, and then the icy cold of the night side. It was usual for temperatures there to climb into the 30's Celcius and then drop below freezing, and the first few weeks there were hell.

It wasn't so bad, once she had gotten used to it.

Zechs had joined her a few weeks afterwards, sent on a patrol assignment as commander, by none other than Treize Khushrenada himself. She had once been jealous of Treize's attention towards Zechs, while she, the better pilot and the better cadet, had been delegated to the background. Then again, she wasn't the lost prince of the Cinq Kingdom.

"How do you live here?" Zechs had complained after a night of long mobile suit exercises.

"You get used to it," she said quietly.

He had looked at her a long time in the darkness while she sat quietly, breathing in the relative cool of the dark side of the colony, waiting for the temperatures to drop.

"Do you enjoy this, Zechs?"

He didn't ask her what she meant. "Sometimes."

"You're here, in OZ, for a purpose…I don't have a purpose. I'm just here."

"You must enjoy it," he said. "You're good enough."

"That doesn't mean anything. I'm good at a lot of things." Not boasting, simply stating the fact. He knew it as well as she did.

"I know."

She waited for him to say something else, but he didn't. Finally she rose. "I'm going to get some sleep before we have to wake up for patrol. I'll see you in the hangar."

"Good night," he said quietly.

The days were days of blinking lights and weapons controls and the whine of engines around her, and the nights were quiet and still. Zechs did not talk much, though he never had, but he was the only friend she had on the station, and she was lonely. The other test pilots were years older than her, having served in Federation forces for years, battle-hardened and distant. She felt like an intruder in their presence, though every so often they would grace her with a war story or two.

There was one day that had started out like any other, with the routine machine checks and the test exercises. They were testing the new Taurus suit, just out of development and in the beta phase. It was a curiously shaped suit, and she eyed it dubiously as Zechs came up beside her, fitting on his gloves.

"It looks funny," she said.

He laughed. It was rare when he laughed, and she had never heard him laugh when anyone else was present besides her. She supposed it should make her feel proud, but she wished he would be more sociable. He was the type of man who could have had all the friends in the world if he chose to, but Zechs didn't care for companionship.

"Since when did you start judging the caliber of mobile suits by their appearance, Noin?"

"I don't!" she said defensively. "I was just saying."

The comm clicked on. "Beta testing beginning in 10.5 minutes. All pilots to craft."

He nodded at her. "I'll see you up there."

"Up there" was a curious mixture of flaming sun and cold pricklings of stars, and from the time she adjusted the throttle to match speeds with Zech's craft, she could feel the difference in the handling. The Taurus was much smoother than the Leo or even the Aries, and it felt like she was floating, barely adjusting the controls.

Zechs' voice crackled into her ears. "This is Beta Leader. All systems normal."

"This is Beta Two. All systems normal," she reported through the comm, her voice sounding tinny in her ears. "Speed 90 klicks and climbing."

"Roger."

Zechs banked off to his right and she followed. The voice of the controller came through the open channel.

"Commence combat procedure testing. Maneuver and zero-g performance beginning now."

"Follow me," Zechs said. "Shields forward and aft, power adjustments norm."

"Roger."

Where the Leo required stomach wrenching-turns and the Aries something slightly less, she barely felt the Taurus as it rolled effortlessly through space, following Zechs' lead.

"Zero-g normal. All systems normal."

"Maneuver testing complete. Weapons testing commencing."

Her heads-up-display blinked and she zoomed in on the console, watching the minefield as it appeared on her screen as a mass of green dots and then gradually separated into individual lethal spheres, waiting.

"Speed 120 klicks and climbing."

"Increase throttle to 200 klicks."

She blinked, then grinned. Technically, the Taurus could reach speeds of up to 250, but 200 was cutting it close. "Taking it daringly, aren't we?"

"Follow your orders, Beta Two," Zechs said, but there was a wry note in his voice. She held her laughter in and increased the throttle, listening to the whine of the engines around her change pitch. 130. 140. The Leo would have started feeling the strain, but there was no sign of that on the Taurus. Excellent.

150. 160. Some of the closer mines had sensed the engine heat and fired seemingly random shots towards them, missing them by far. She knew better. Tracking shots. 

"Shields at fifty percent and recharging. Engines at ninety percent and recharging."

170.180. The Taurus shuddered slightly, then resumed normal control. She was impressed. 

"Engage!" Zechs commanded over the comm and veered off to starboard. She banked off to port, dodging a blast as she plunged head-on into the minefield.

It was like a dance. Mines, if engaged in the right manner, were a combat of sheer beauty and elegance, the explosions highlighting space with flares of color. She liked mines. Mines were not alive. They felt nothing as they died, and that was the best way.

It was over all too quickly, with the only damage sustained being a laser scar on the right leg of Zechs' Taurus and a sharp cut on the upper left arm of hers. The comm crackled again.

"Excellent work, Beta Team. That is all for today's beta testing. Return to hangar."

"That's all?" she wondered.

"They are taking it in stages," he said, as they reduced speed to a comfortable pace and headed towards the floating chunk of metal that was the colony. "Tomorrow's pilots are going to test systems…we were only needed for the combat part."

They were halfway to the station when she heard something clank to her right, and she glanced over her system dials quickly. Nothing. She narrowed her eyes.

"Zechs…wait."

"What is it?"

"There's something wrong with my Taurus," she said. "Do you see anything? Anything out of place?"

A silence as he changed positions from one wing to another, checking her mobile suit. "No. It seems fine."

The clanking noise came again, and her Taurus shook. 

"Noin! Are you all right?"

"I-" she managed. The controls seemed have gone haywire and she couldn't steer straight. "The suit isn't responding!"

"Hold on," he said tersely. The dials had gone blank and she fought to keep manual control as the craft veered erratically to one side and then another.

"Beta Two!" The colonyside control. "This is Control. Come in, Beta Two!"

"This is Beta Two."

"Beta Two, you are not showing up on our target screens."

"Beta Two to Control. Malfunction in navigation and radar systems."

"Noin!" Zechs again. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes." The heat was intense, coming from the sun, and one wrong move would send the craft plummeting towards the fiery core of the star. "Zechs! What are you doing?"

"Control to Beta Leader."

"This is Beta Leader," Zechs said, his voice strained.

"You are in danger of being pulled in by the sun's magnetic field. Pull up!"

"I am going after Beta Two," he said. "Emergency override."

She could feel her craft shuddering both from the system failure and the increasing pull of the star's graviational field. She flipped the dial from automatic to manual control, but the system was dead. It was useless.

"Zechs!"

"Pull up, Beta Leader!"

"Noin, I'm going to grab your craft. Release your slave line."

"Slave line?"

"All Tauruses come equipped with slave and master lines. Release your slave. I'm going to try and capture it with my master and pull you up. Do you understand me?"

She remembered now. Top left control, two dials to the left, push the button.

"It's not working!"

"Push the emergency release!"

She jammed the red button in, and there was a whir of gears. Zechs' Taurus passed close to her with a shuddering of engines and gravitational pull, and then there was a clank. The green light next to the slave line indicator flickered on.

"Slave to master, connect!"

"Beta Leader, this is Control. Pull up NOW! Repeat, pull up NOW!"

"Roger that. Gravitational control off. Throttle increasing to 250 maximum. All power to engines."

"ZECHS!"

"I've got you! Hold on!" The bone-rattling jarring doubled and she could see Zechs' Taurus shaking, glowing red-hot. The sun's flames leapt large outside the cockpit, and she held onto the stick, hoping somehow, someway, the emergency nav systems would turn on.

The dials were climbing too rapidly. Eight g's. Nine. Ten.

The environmental systems overload light blinked on and a beeping noise filled the cockpit. Her vision was going black around the edges, and she could hear Zechs' harsh breathing in her ears.

Then the world exploded in a bright flash of light and she remembered nothing else.

She woke groggily in an unfamiliar bed, the white walls and the smell of cleaning solution fuzzing her brain. She tried to sit up, but fell back on the bed. Her head was spinning.

"She's awake," came a distant voice, and a kindly face peered into hers. "Sit back. There you go."

Something cool was applied to her forehead, and then the slightly wrinkled face was back. "Do you remember your name?"

She swallowed. Why were they asking her? What had happened?

"Lucrezia Noin…OZ Special Forces second lieutenant. Serial number 15822. Date of birth January 25, 176."

"Good." The voice sounded relieved.

She blinked, and then suddenly it all came rushing back to her. She sat up again, not caring how dizzy it made her, looking out the window. It was dark.

"I-we made it?"

"It was a genius of piloting," the doctor said, standing. "You have been unconscious for four days."

"Zechs-"

"How are you feeling, Noin?"

He was in the doorway, helmet under his arm, blond hair falling over the shoulder of his pilot suit. He had a bandage on his forehead, but other than that looked fine. The doctor politely excused himself as Zechs entered, coming to stand beside the bed.

"I've been better," she breathed. "You-what happened? Why did my-"

"There was a bolt loose in your mobile suit," he said. "It damaged the nav and radar systems entirely, and partially affected your shield system…good thing it was a beta suit."

She laughed shakily. "Wonderful. No more Tauruses for me."

"Well, you wouldn't want such a funny-looking mobile suit anyway, right?"

She stared at him for a moment, and then began to laugh out loud. 

"Why Zechs…I never knew you had a sense of humor!"

He didn't answer her, simply stared out the window. "It's night," he said.

She followed his gaze, then snapped her eyes back to him. Dressed in a flight suit, helmet in hand…

"You're leaving, aren't you?"

He didn't look at her. "Treize has called me back to Earth. I'm sorry. You were still unconscious when the call came in."

"It's all right," she murmured, though it wasn't all right. She wasn't sure why, but the thought of him leaving was suddenly almost unbearable. But she didn't say that.

"I didn't-" he began, then stopped.

"It's all right, Zechs. I'm sure I'll see you soon."

"Yes," he murmured, then looked thoughtful. "Actually, Treize did say something to me about an instructor position for you…at the Academy. If you want it. I can put in a word for you if you want."

The Academy.

"That would be nice," she said.

"Well." He shifted the helmet under his arm. "I have to go."

"Take care," she said softly, then started as gloved fingers tilted her chin up to meet his eyes, his face so close to hers…

Then he released her abruptly, bowing formally. "Goodbye, Lieutenant Noin."

And then he was gone.

It wasn't the memory that bothered her as much as what had been left unsaid all those years ago, what had still never been said when Zechs had met Heero Yuy in combat over the earth, and it had ended. She didn't regret Zechs' decision, or Heero's, but the ghosts were still there.

It was always Zechs saving her, but she didn't mind.

With a start, she realized it had grown cooler, but it wasn't the cool of air conditioning. Glancing out the window, she saw the clouds rolling over the horizon, watched the sky darken and the rumble of thunder fill the air, but it did not rain.

If it had rained, it would have been like a release, but as with everything, there was no release.

Not for her.

She stood by the window and watched the clouds build, thunderheads in the sky with the bright white lighting leaping out between the dark, and wondered if they had forgotten about her. Perhaps this would be the one time where there was no rescue, where they would not come for her, and she would be left to die alone.

Because Zechs had always been there for her, but Zechs was dead, and there was no one else.

  



	13. Wings of a Boy Who Killed Adolescence

Sainan no Kekka 3.3

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT III, PART III

** Kanarazu yume wa kanau to shinjiteru  
Inochi ga hateru made  
In love with you Do anything for you **

Atsuku moeagaru ai koete  
Yami ni hikasakareta kokoro ni  
Ima chikau inochi kagayaku sekai  
Sore ga anata e no ai no akashi  


** I believe that my dream will surely come true  
Until my life ends  
In love with you Do anything for you**

Love surpasses the hot flames  
In the dark it shone in my heart  
Now swear life will light the world  
This is the revelation of your love 

**--Gundam Wing, _Brightness and Darkness_  
[Lady Une image song]**  


  
  
**Scene XIII: Stripping Away the Lies**

  


_"Sometimes I hear my voice  
And it's been silent all these years."  
--Tori Amos, Silent All These Years_

  
Quatre stretched slowly, feeling the tension in his neck. He'd been working twenty hours days ever since the entire mess with the press had began.He'd given a brief, meaningless conference as he waited for his sister Yaminah to arrive. Yaminah, a lawyer who specialized in international law.

Jaffa had summoned his entire family, and he was overwhelmed. He hadn't seen them all in the same place before (hell, he couldn't even remember meeting a few of them before!), and he was amazed. One by one the Winner Women had learned the truth about what their seemingly innocent younger brother had been up to during the war, and he had been surprised at how supportive each of them was. Even his youngest sister, whom he had been at odds with, had returned when he needed her.

_Think of the devil_, he thought with weary amusement as the door swung inwards. He felt, more then saw, Reeshya's presence. Her emotions danced along his kokoro no uchuu pleasantly. She set down a tray on his desk, pushing the laptop he'd been pounding on aside. "You need to sleep," she said, her voice light and sweet.

Quatre looked up at her, staring into her eyes. She had a definite Arabic cast to her features, and he wished that he looked more like her. Iria and Lilah had been the only other blondes, and both were now beyond his reach. Sometimes it would be nice to look at someone and see himself reflected back in their face- wasn't that what family was for, at least partially? "I can't sleep, Ree. I've got to prepare the Group for my inevitable absence."

Reeshya sighed and forced a glass of juice into his hands. "Drink," she ordered.

Barely able to keep from laughing, he took a few sips to appease her, then tried to hand the glass back. Her glare had him draining it with a slightly resentful look on his angelic features. "I don't even want to know what you put in there."

She tsked. "Just a few sedatives. Yaminah is coming tomorrow, and- well, Jaffa thinks it'll be time to go public." She paused for a second. "You'll have to tell Bartlett soon."

The mild headache which he'd become so much a part of his life increased exponentially. "I don't want to," he whined, sounding like a petulant child.

Reeshya came around the desk and wrapped him in a warm embrace. His eyelashes fluttered closed as he reveled temporarily in her warmth, feeling her love for him. "I understand," she said. "You want Bartlett to respect you."

He went rigid. "I what?!" he exclaimed. "I can't stand him anymore then he can stand me!"

"Then why haven't you fired him?" she asked quite reasonably.

Quatre blinked owlishly. "I..." he started, then stopped, unable to think of any justification. Bartlett had been making his job more difficult, not easier. The man should have been fired and replaced by a different aide a long time ago.

Reeshya san a fine-boned hand through his hair the way she might have used to soothe a startled cat. "Bartlett and father were close. You never earned father's respect, so I think you're trying to get Bartlett's as a form of redemption.

"But you see, that won't work. Father is dead, Quatre. You can never change what he thinks, because he's not around anymore to do so. I love him, and to be honest, I don't think he ever would have forgiven you for piloting a Gundam. He was a stubborn man. Once he made up his mind, he never changed it. 

"Quatre, you knew that when stepped into the cockpit. You knew that father likely would never forgive you. You coped with that for a while, but I don't you ever accepted it. You'll have to if you're going to be able to function. Bartlett is not father. Fire him. Accept that. Let Aisha take his place- you need someone you can trust without reservation."

"Ree-" Quatre started to argue, but was cut off by a yawn.

His eyes closed as the sedatives hit his system. Magnified by his exhaustion, he really had no chance of fighting it. Damn meddling sisters, was his last thought as he heard Reeshya ask Rashid to put him in bed.

Quatre woke feeling refreshed and resentful. He hated it when one of his sisters decided she knew what was best. From the way the light was falling across the bed, he had slept well into the morning. Rolling to his feet, he muttered something inappropriate about what he was going to do when he caught up with Reeshya.

A cheerful knock sounded on the door and it swung open. Jaffa sailed in with Kasserine on her heels, carrying two trays of food. "Good morning, sleepyhead! You're awake!" she declared in a voice so full of alert happiness that he wanted to strangle her. Morning people should be shot, he thought grumpily.

"No thanks to Reeshya," he said resentfully.

Jaffa laughed and ruffled his hair. "I put her up to it, so get mad at me. Yaminah will be arriving in about ten minutes, so you'd better get dressed. Then we'll do breakfast as we discuss the situation."

Quatre's eyebrows flew to his hairline. "WHAT!?" he exclaimed. "We should have met her at the spaceport! Why did you let me sleep in?" He yanked the clothes Kasserine offered him away from the manservant, making a mad dash for the bathroom.

"You needed sleep! Allah knows that you're not going to be able to get any in the near future, so enjoy it while you can!" Jaffa called to his retreating back.

He emerged a few minutes later, his hair still damp from the shower. Kasserine had selected one of his oldest, most comfortable, outfits, and Quatre was grateful when he saw the woman who had arrived while he had been preparing.

Not all of the Winners had the same mothers, and no one would have picked Yaminah as one of his sisters because of that. Her mother had been African, and her dark skin showed that heritage. She had the same bone-structure and tar-black hair as Jaffa, though, and her eyes were the beautiful blue he saw whenever he looked into a mirror. She looked at him, and he bowed. He had never met her before. "Good morning," he said softly.

She gave him a solemn smile that reminded him of Trowa. She had a watchfulness about her that would help her fade into the background, but he knew that if she was one of his sisters, she would be brilliant. All the Winner offspring were genetically engineered to be, after all. "Hello, Quatre," she said, her voice a husky alto. "Why don't we have breakfast, and discuss things?"

He nodded. She was one of his older sisters, so she was probably in her thirties- too old for him to really know. The age difference between them was just too much to cope with. It was odd meeting a sister for the first time when you were seventeen.

Jaffa picked up her knife and neatly cut an egg. "Quat, I told Yaminah the situation. I think it'd be best if she acts as your chief counsel. We'll hire a team of lawyers, of course, but I want someone we can trust in charge."

He smiled at her shyly. "Thank you, Yaminah, for agreeing to help, especially considering you don't know me."

The coffee-skinned woman nodded. "We're family, Quatre."

"Jaffa, so you know, I signed legal control of the Winner Group over to Naadira She's run it in the past- it's better she does so now."

"Agreed."

They ate slowly. "I arranged a press conference for six tonight. Our public relations-" Jaffa was interrupted by the door slamming and Bartlett rudely barging in, Aisha trying to pull him out.

"Please, Mr. Bartlett-" she said, looking slightly flustered.

The older man was having none of it. He stalked over to Quatre. "For the past week, I've been cut out of the loop. I've never seen such a gathering of your familty before. Then I hear that you've scheduled a press conference without informing me. SOMETHING is going on, and I demand to know what it is!"

Quatre felt a lump swell in his throat. He looked at Jaffa for support, and she nodded. "Yes, Bartlett, there is something going on." He took a deep breath, trying to find the words. "It's about the war. I fought in it- I fought in a Gundam- I mean, I was a Gundam pilot," he rambled nervously.

Bartlett started to breath heavily, his breath coming more quickly. "You're not funny, Quatre!" he snapped at him. 

"It's not a joke," Quatre said.

Bartlett pulled out a hankerchief and dried his suddenly soaking face. _The little BRAT_, he thought angrily. "You- you-" he began, unable to find the right words to express his rage. "What would your father have said?" he demanded angrily.

"He wasn't happy," Quatre admited. "It's one of the reasons father and I fought so much- I just couldn't agree with his philosophies on pacifism. You can't always turn the other cheek. Sometimes you have to fight for what you believe in, to keep those you love from having to fight, to keep them safe," he said. "I don't regret my decision. But you see, when the news comes out, there's going to be trouble- we'll be sued, assassination attempts..." he paused as Bartlett went to his knees.

Bartlett looked at the golden boy in front of him, not able to believe his ears. Quatre was lying... he wasn't old enough to do anything. Why, Bartlett could remember the boy trailing his father at work with hero-worship in his eyes. "Your father won't think this joke is funny," he murmured, wondering why he suddenly felt so tired. It felt strange- his chest, that was. Someone was pressing down on hard, and wouldn't let go. His eyes started to flutter, and he fell back, deciding that a nap wouldn't be amiss.

"Quick, he's having a heart attack!" one of the women in the room said. "Get Tikia- she's a doctor!"

He felt sharp stings on his cheeks. "Don't you DARE go to sleep!" the same woman ordered.

Quatre sat on the couch, stunned, as Yaminah slapped Bartlett regularly while Jaffa raced to find Tikia, who was a neurosurgeon. 

"I gave Bartlett a heart attack..." he whispered, then did something he'd never done before. He fainted as Tikia raced into the room. 

She loosened his shirt and began to check his vitals. "Call an ambulance!" she commanded.

When Quatre woke up, Reeshya and Jaffa were sitting at his bedside. Memory came flooding back. "I killed Bartlett."

Reeshya hurried to reassure him. "No, Quatre, you didn't. It was a mild heart attack- you know how he lives. He had it coming for years."

"But I shocked him into it," the blonde whispered sadly.

Neither woman could argue that. "Quatre-" Reeshya said, then stopped. "He'll be fine. Tikia took care of him, and Aisha is staying with him until his family arrives. The doctor says with some bed rest, he'll be fine. He had high blood pressure- it was just waiting to happen."

"It wasn't your fault, love," Jaffa said.

"You can't afford to dwell on it right now, Quatre. You can figure out what to do about Bartlett later- Aisha and myself can take over his job. I acted as father's hostess, so I do have some skills, and Aisha often substituted for Bartlett. You need to concentrate on the current problem- your public announcement."

"You have to start preparing," Jaffa agreed. "You leave for your conference in 45 minutes," Jaffa said, handing him a glass. 

"More sedatives?" he asked hopefully.

"No. You need to be alert. Keep it short, simple, and do NOT answer any questions. Rashid has the men ready to get you in and out as quickly as possible- after that, you're going to go to one of our holdings, and we're going to barricade it. You're going to lie low until charges are pressed, and Yaminah is going to try to get into contact with Lady Une. We're looking into a lawsuit against the paper- you're still legally a minor. That may work to our advantage."

Quatre nodded. "I really hate juice."

"That's irrelevant," Jaffa said, cuffing him. "Would you pay attention?"

"I am... but if I pay too much attention, I'm going to have a nervous breakdown."

"You're awful."

"Thanks."

The time until the conference went too quickly for him. He found himself hustled into a limousine, and finally he was outside the auditorium his family had reserved.

The flash of cameras and artificial lights blinded him, and he walked forward, calmly making his way through the crowd. He felt a serenity he hadn't known he possessed, and suddenly it was as though he was outside his body, no more then a somewhat interested observer.

He mounted the dais and walked through, raising a hand to still the questions that were being thrown at him like a powerful baseball pitch. The crowd quieted, seeming to sense that something important was about to happen.

Quatre looked out over the audience, saw his sisters scattered throughout the crowd to show their support, and saw Rashid's men as well. Suddenly he was confident, and it was with the maturity of the Head of the Winner Group, Tactician of the Gundam Pilots, and heir of his father's legacy of power that he spoke. His words were simple, but they changed the course of his life:

"My name is Quatre Raberba Winner, and I am a Gundam pilot."

  


  
**Scene IX: Missing Clowns and Catherine's Anger**

  


_"Dis-moi simplement si tu veux de moi  
Quand tu partiras là-bas."  
[Only tell me that you still want me here  
When you wander off out there]  
--Anggun, La Neige au Sahara_

  
"You're lying," Catherine said, staring the ringmaster in the face. "You're bloody lying, and I want you to tell the truth right now. Where did you hide my brother?"

"You know I would never lie to you, Catherine."

"Dammit," she said, feeling her hands ball into fists, crushing the newspaper she held. She never cursed. "Dammit. Damn you to hell!"

The ringmaster said nothing. Her face was hot and through the haze of tears in her eyes she could see him looking at her with sad eyes. "You're hiding him, right. You're hiding him until the riots are over and then he can come out again. Right? RIGHT?"

"Catherine, I-"

"DAMN YOU! DON'T LIE TO ME!"

She couldn't stop the tears from coming, but she could turn away so he couldn't see her tear-stained face. She hated it when people saw her cry. She hated crying. She did it all too often for her own liking, and lately it had been all for the one person in the world that she loved more than anything.

Trowa.

She'd known when she woke that morning in the dark that something was not right, that the familiar presence was gone. His bed was neatly made, blankets folded, like it had never been slept in. The circus props were stacked neatly to the side. His clothes, his shoes, his personal belongings, were gone.

She'd rushed to the ringmaster's office, where he had shown her the newspaper. It was bad. Very bad. At least the identities of the pilots hadn't been publicly released, but that was only a matter of time before everything was out in the open and there was no place for Trowa to run.

She'd known he would leave. Sooner or later. She had been hoping that it would be later, and that he would tell her before he went, at least wake her up and say his solemn goodbyes, that it was not the end and that he would come back. But that wasn't Trowa. To spare her pain, she knew, he would leave without telling a soul, and it would be like he had never existed.

But he had existed. To her, he had been her universe.

"Catherine, are you all right?"

"What does it look like?" she spat in the ringmaster's general direction. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to stop crying, trying to shove away that yawning emptiness that had once been her heart.

She heard him sigh, rest a hand on the corner of his desk. "I would have told you, but your brother wouldn't allow it."

Catherine too a few shuddering breaths, staring fiercely at the wall. "I know. He would want to protect me, right? He wouldn't want me coming after him. It would endanger both of us. Right?"

She couldn't see him nod, but she knew she was right.

"I'm sorry," he said again, as if it was any consolation.

"So am I," she retorted, feeling the tears at the corners of her eyes again. Better to leave before she embarrassed herself any further.

The grounds were wet from the early morning dew, and a few hands and performers were milling about, drinking coffee and making idle chatter. She pushed by them, ignoring the queries and concerned shouts when she didn't respond. Catherine, not wanting to talk to them? Catherine was the friendly one, the one who would always go out of her way to make sure that everyone was included.

Her brother, on the other hand, was an odd one. He was so quiet. But he was nice enough, they supposed, and some of the girls thought he was cute. She knew what they thought.

She reached her tent, panting, and threw herself onto the mattress, sobbing into her pillow. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair in any sense of the word, even though life was not supposed to be fair and everyone always got the short end of the stick. Why did it always have to be her? Why couldn't she protect her brother like she had vowed? How had she let him get away from her?

She understood Trowa and yet she didn't. As soon as she thought she had him figured out, he would show her another side of himself that she had never seen, confuse and dazzle her with his many secrets, and leave her floundering for a foothold in his world once again. It was his world that she had tried to penetrate, not he into hers, and it was proving to be much more difficult than she had ever thought it would be.

Trowa had been a Gundam pilot, and all the Gundam pilots held secrets. Yet it was Trowa's secrets that she feared the most. Not Quatre's, not Wufei's, not Duo's, not even Heero's. Because she loved Trowa. Because he was her brother, her own flesh and blood, and it was her duty as a sister to care for him.

But she couldn't do that if he wouldn't let her.

_I'm here for you, Trowa…I'm always here. Why won't you let me be here for you?_

She turned over, staring at the tent ceiling, wiping her eyes and sitting up. There was work that needed to be done and practice at noon. She should cancel practice. She didn't trust her coordination as of now, and Trowa was…gone.

Gone.

The word was so final. So relentless in its stabbing of the human spirit. Like a death knell.

She wouldn't cry. Standing, Catherine dragged herself out of bed and into the corner where her closet stood, changing into a pair of comfortable cotton pants and a loose green top. It was a normal day. Just another normal day, like before Trowa had come to the circus. She could get by, right?

She wondered what he was doing. Where he had gone. Why he hadn't taken her with him.

The answer to that last question was obvious. He was a Gundam pilot, and she was a circus performer. Whatever physical strength and agility she had was nowhere near his, as she had seen time and time again at something as simple as circus practice. He learned new tricks without even batting an eye or overexerting a muscle, memorized complex routines in no time at all. He never missed, never faltered, performed everything that was required of him with calm and precision.

That was what irked her. Trowa was always calm. Always precise. Too precise. He wouldn't bend the rules, even a little bit. She'd beg, she'd plead, she'd wheedle, she'd promise him all sorts of things if he would just try something her way for once, and he would silently shake his head no. Always a shake of the head. Final.

_The circus is about creativity_, she'd say._ Come on, Trowa. I think this would work a lot better._

And he'd smile slightly and shake his head. _We're breaking the rules._

She could never figure out if he was taking everything too seriously or nothing serious enough. If that made sense.

She was starting to cry again.

Striding to the washbasin, she scrubbed her face until it felt raw, trying to remove the traces of tears, though it was obvious that she had been crying. Did her hair up in two bows, put on her most confident smile, and marched out of the tent.

He could have told her. Could have asked her if she wanted to go with him. She would have been good. She had some physical training…she could keep up with him, wherever he was going. She was certain of it. Selfish brat. That's what he was. Selfish. A brat. Selfish brat.

"Catherine! What's up?"

She ducked behind a tent, hoping the owner of the voice would pass her by, but the blond boy peered into her hiding place, face puzzled.

"Cat? You all right?"

"Just go away," she growled. "Go away!"

She could sense his puzzlement, but he didn't argue, the edge in her voice making him think twice about asking her anything else. She heard him trot away, the water pail swinging against his leg with a banging noise.

Sinking to the ground, she buried her head against her knees and cried.

"Catherine?"

She didn't look up, just cried harder. She heard someone kneel beside her, felt a hand stroke her back, her hair, and she couldn't stop crying.

"Catherine…I'm so sorry…"

"He didn't say a word," she bit out between the sobs. "Not a word! I thought he loved me. I thought…I'm his sister, dammit. He just left…"

"The ringmaster told me," the voice said. "I would offer my condolences, but it wouldn't help much now, would it?"

She shook her head wordlessly, choking on a sob and taking a deep breath. "Please…leave."

"You know me better than that." The voice sounded reproachful, and there was a soft thunk as a bag or a bale of hay dropped to the ground in front of her. "Come on. Look at me."

She raised her eyes, glaring at the face in front of her. "It's not fair."

"Of course it's not," the kindly voice of the circus' acrobatics trainer said. "I would tell you life is not fair, but you probably already know that."

That almost made her smile. "Thank you, Karen."

"Any time." Karen folded her legs underneath her, putting an arm around Catherine's shoulders. "I guess practice is canceled for you two today. And you'll have to find a new partner…oh dear."

"No!" She shook her head vehemently. "I'm not finding a new partner. I'm not finding any partner. Trowa'll be…Trowa'll be home…any day now, and…and it will be all right. I won't perform with anyone but him. Nobody!"

"Shhh. Of course you won't."

"You're patronizing me," Catherine said fiercely. "I won't be patronized. I don't need sympathy."

"Have it your way."

:"He never said a word…" she twisted her fingers hard against each other. "Not a damn word. Up and left…in the middle of the night. He didn't even…he didn't even say goodbye."

"Does that bother you more?"

Catherine gave her a confused look.

"Does the fact that he left bother you, or is it the fact that he never said goodbye?"

The question was too hard. She couldn't handle hard questions right now. Too hard. Too much to think about. "I don't know."

"So if I were you," Karen continued in a matter-of-fact tone, as if she had answered, "I'd make sure he said goodbye."

"What?"

"It's a small world," Karen said. "A small world and four colonies that he could have gone to. No big deal, right? For a resourceful girl like you."

There was something important that she was supposed to grasp out of those words…but she couldn't think. "I don't understand."

"Never mind me." Karen gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder. "I'm just babbling as usual. I'm not going to ask you why he left, because the ringmaster didn't offer that information which means I'm not supposed to know. Just…take care of yourself, Catherine."

"You don't babble," Catherine said out loud, staring at the acrobatics trainer.

"Don't I?" Karen murmured, getting up and brushing the dirt from her pants. "I'll be off now. Practice is canceled for you today. Do whatever you like. Au revoir."

She was gone before Catherine could say another word, and it wasn't so much her strange behavior that was disturbing as the fact that Karen had told her goodbye. Not so long, not see you later, but goodbye. Goodbye, until we meet again.

_It's a small world._

Trowa could be anywhere. He probably wasn't even in Europe anymore, if he had been traveling since late last night. She wondered if he had gone to look for his Gundam. If he had…where would his Gundam be? There weren't many places he could have hidden it. He had never told her, perhaps for the better. On L3? Not likely. Not with any of the pilots, that was for sure. She knew Trowa well enough to know that he didn't trust his fellow pilots with his precious possessions.

With the Preventers?

Lady Une. Sally Po. Zechs Merquise.

It could be.

Could it?

It was farfetched….but for some reason, whenever Trowa had spoken of the Preventers, it had been with a certain warmth that was all the more apparent because he never spoke of anything with the slightest hint of emotion, like or dislike. Words were just words to Trowa Barton. But when he talked of Une, of the Preventers, she could tell that his thoughts were far away somewhere beyond the confining walls of the circus tent, among the stars.

The Preventers symbolized the freedom of space, something that she, Catherine Bloom, could never give him.

_So if I were you, I'd make sure he said goodbye._

Karen had told her goodbye.

The Preventers…were based on Earth.

The significance of Karen's words hit her with a certainty that made her heart pound, and she jumped to her feet, feeling dizzy, feeling the blood rush to her head. Her temples pounded and her vision swam.

It was so simple. She was free to go…she didn't have to stay here. There was nothing to stay for now that Trowa was gone, and every reason to leave.

_Do whatever you like._

The ringmaster's tent was less than five minutes walk, and she burst in through the doors with a suddenness that made him jump as he turned to look at her from his desk.

"I'm leaving," she said. The seriousness in her tone startled even herself, but to her surprise, he just nodded.

"I wondered how long it would take you."

"What do you mean?" she asked suspiciously, but he just shrugged and smiled, reaching into a drawer and pulling out an envelope.

"Karen and I thought it would be good for you to have some money. Here's three months' extra pay, for your trip. We'll give you one of the cars, too. That way you don't have to travel on foot. The nearest airport is about four hours drive from here to the northeast."

"I-" she stuttered, unable to find words. "How-how did you know?"

She blinked at him a few times before the full meaning of the words sunk in, then felt her cheeks heating. "I…I didn't even think about that."

He shook his head at her mock-disapprovingly. "Well…aren't you glad you came by? Is there anything else you need?"

"I don't think so," she said, dazed. The world was moving too quickly under her feet and she wasn't sure she could stand up.

"Catherine!"

She felt arms catching her and she took several deep breaths, struggling to keep her feet steady. Closed her eyes and felt the room slowly spin to a halt. "I'm…all right."

"You sure? Maybe you shouldn't leave-"

"I'm GOING," she said, glaring and clutching the envelope. "And nothing you say can stop me."

The ringmaster held up his hands. "Peace, peace. I never said you weren't going."

They stared at each other for a long minute, and then she leaned over the desk and threw her arms around him.

"I'll miss you…thank you. For everything."

He returned her embrace hesitantly. "Don't say that. I expect to see you both again. We've only just begun."

"Thank you," Catherine said again, smiling at him, scrubbing the tears that were leaking from the corners of her eyes again, though for different reasons than before. "I won't forget you."

She left the tent before he could prolong their goodbyes, hurried to her tent and began throwing clothes into her bag. There wasn't much. Most of her clothes were circus clothes, and not even she would wear circus clothes out of the circus, in public. A pair of comfortable shoes for her feet. A coat. Food she could buy on the road. She stuffed the envelope of money into the pocket of her pants, and snagged an old, ragged map that she kept under her pillow.

Preventers Headquarters. She would head there. Lady Une would know what was going on. She knew everything. She was supposed to know everything, after all.

There wasn't much time. She didn't know how much the newspapers had uncovered, though she had no doubt that Lady Une would know…but once a story of this magnitude was released, there would be no peace until everything was laid bare. There were people, former OZ and Federation soldiers, colonists, civilians, who already knew the pilots' identities, had found out during the war for one reason or another. Trowa had assured her that most of them had been killed in the war, but she had caught the word most. Most, not all. Even if the papers hadn't managed to uncover everything, there would always be some money or fame-hungry traitor who would tell all. Five lives for a moment of false glory.

People were such idiots. Her brother included.

She looked around the bare tent, feeling a pang of regret. The circus had been her home since before she could remember, and it would never be the same, even if she and Trowa decided to come back after it was all over.

But as much as she loved the circus, she loved Trowa more. He needed her. And even if he didn't, she needed him.

Shouldering her bag, she stepped out into the sunshine, heading towards the car that would take her away from this place and into the freedom of the world and the future that awaited her and the brother she had worked so hard to find.

If he was not willing to stay for her, then she would look for him.

And when she found him, she would make sure that he would at least give her the goodbye she deserved.

  


  
**Scene X: The Meeting Amidst a Crisis**

  


_"Here they talked of revolution; here it was they lit the flame.  
Here they sang about tomorrow, and tomorrow never came."  
--Les Misérables, Empty Chairs at Empty Tables_

  
She stared out the window, waiting for the shuttle to arrive in Burlington, Vermont.

Sally flipped through the hastily written report on the school and the incident (which the press had already labeled a massacre), unable to believe that the tranquil campus had erupted. Cities were meant for violence, not posh schools the rich sent their darling children to. Schools like Cliffside Heights were the breeding grounds of the future leaders of the world, not riots.

Had it only been a week since the news had broken? she wondered, feeling sympathy for the pilots. They had been children, playing at being adults. They didn't deserve the condemnation of the entire world, but no one gave a damn. They had made their beds, and now the world wanted to force them to lie in them.

The plane began its descent, and she handed the report over to her aide, who wore the hash marks of a Colonel on his sleeves. "How far from here?" she asked.

"Twenty minutes by car, General," he said.

"Doesn't Cliffside have a landing field?" she demanded.

"No. Deliberately designed to isolate the students. The Prince of Wales even decided to attend, and that was one of the reasons."

She nodded. "So I've heard. I assume he wasn't involved in the... incident? I didn't see anything about him in the briefing, and I assume that would be in there."

The Colonel relieved her worries. "No, ma'am. He was in class, thankfully. While you were reviewing the files, we received the information on the victims. Four confirmed dead, nine hospitalized with gunshot wounds."

Sally shut her eyes. "I knew this job wouldn't be easy when I undertook it," she murmured. "When we get into the car, I want to hear about the deceased."

He saluted to mask his confusion. He didn't see how knowing about the students would be helpful, but she was the general. "I'll get right on it."

Ten minutes later she was sliding against the smooth leather seat of the limo the school had sent to pick her up. The colonel went next to her, holding onto a datapad. "I have the information you asked for."

She took the pad and read.

Michael Delfonte. One of the organizers of the rally, former Oz soldier. 17 years old. Shot through the head.

Kristen Kersey. She had been on her way to class, no military record. 15 years old. Shot through the chest.

Bethany Hayes. Another former Oz soldier who had been attending the rally. 18 years old. Shot through the throat.

Sven Olafsson. International student who had been observing the rally. 18 years old. Shot through the chest.

Pictures were included in the file, and she memorized each face. It was her duty to. All of them were so young, just as the pilots had been, so full of potential and hope. Potential that would now never be fully recognized. Sally touched each face, now forever frozen in the unfinished bloom of youth, and sent a silent prayer heavenwards for their souls.

The car arrived at the campus more quickly then she would have believed possible. The door was open and she was practically lifted to her feet by her aide's strong hands. 

The campus was eerily quiet. No students milled on its verdant grounds, and even the birds, which should have been out, were silent. The very stillness of Cliffside Heights sent shivers up her spine.

She looked over at the well-dressed man who was scurrying towards her, and immediately pegged him as a high-level paper usher. He had the pallor of someone who hardly ever went outside. "General Po!" he said eagerly, clasping her hands in his clammy ones. The Asian part of her heritage rebelled at his familiarity, but she was used to the casual way people of European descent touched. 

"Hello... you are?" she asked politely.

The man straightened his glasses. "I'm sorry. I'm Dr. Clute, the President of the school."

"Why is it so quiet?" she demanded.

"I ordered everyone to go to their rooms and remain there. I'm sending around the staff in an hour or so with meals, and I'm having some of the top psychologists flown in to counsel the students. We're a tight-knit campus, and something like this... well, it's hard."

She nodded. "You have my sympathies. I assure you that justice will be served."

"That's what I want to hear. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I understand you have pictures being developed. I need copies as soon as they become available. Also, I would like to see the scene of the shooting."

The man winced. "Follow me, please."

She followed, her retinue a few respectful steps behind her. They soon reached a large lawn that had been trampled, and she could see the white outlines and blood on the ground. The victims had been scattered over a fairly large area, and it looked like the crowd had panicked.

"Was anybody hurt by the rush? The mob, I mean?"

"Just scrapes and bruises, one fractured wrist. It was the bullets that did the real damage."

"I'm so sorry," Sally said.

Dr. Clute tilted his head, and she suddenly saw the small receiver in his ear. "The photos are done. We can go to the photo lab if you're done here."

She sighed. "There's nothing I can do here. I'm not a forensic expert, unfortunately. I'll have to wait for the reports. I just wanted to get my own image of the situation."

They headed into one of the buildings, and she followed him as he opened the door to a darkroom. The pictures were still wet and hanging from clotheslines that had been suspending above trays of developer. The antique nature of this room was in stark contrast to the technology of the rest of the world, and Sally felt a yearning for simpler times. "What was the photographer doing at the rally?" she asked.

"Student photographer. She'll probably win a Pulitzer for this," he said with grim humor.

Sally went closer. It looked like the student had taken about 72 pictures, or three rolls. She thought privately that the student had talent, all of the images crisp and inviting the eye to look closely. The subject matter was horrifying, all captured dramatically in black and white. Sally had seen destruction during the war, but this was frightening in a stranger way. They were all children, her mind said for the millionth time.

She looked through the first row. Students waving picket signs, taunting the soldiers. The soldiers kneeling, taking aim. The students panicking, some of them falling to the-

She stopped as one image in particular caught her eyes. It was of a student with a long braid tackling another student to bring her to the ground.

She knew him.

"My Lord," she whispered.

Quickly she scanned the rest of the pictures, and found another that contained the same two students. It was of the boy pushing the girl into a window.

It was a long shot, but she pointed at it. "What building is this?" she demanded.

Dr. Clute looked at it more closely. "It looks like our math building- why?"

"I'm going to check something out. I'll find my way there. Colonel, see about getting copies of these pictures for our forensic team."

She hurried out of the room, leaving everyone else behind. 

What were the chances? she wondered as she looked at the campus map in the main lobby. Of him being here? And what were the chances of him still being on campus, let alone the math building? He probably had taken off as soon as he could, not wanting to get to close to anyone resembling an official. 

She hurried to the building and started to walk down the hall. Her footsteps echoed on the tile floor, and again she felt alone.

Sally heard the muffled sounds of voices coming from one room, and though she couldn't make out the words, she recognized one of them. She knocked and tried the handle, but it was locked.

"Leave us ALONE!" the hostile voice said.

She wasn't about to do that. With a grin she kicked the door handle, grinning as the flimsy lock gave way. She still had it.

Opening the door, she found a gun trained on the spot between her eyes.

She stared, unable to believe her eyes, despite the fact that she had been hoping to find him.

Duo Maxwell looked up, focusing his blue-violet eyes on her. "Sally!" he exclaimed. He mysteriously made the gun disappear and picked her up, spinning her around like she was no more then a teenager herself. "I'm so glad to see you!"

The intervening months hadn't hurt him at all. Despite his shadowed eyes, the potential he had when he was a younger pilot had finally blossomed into full-fledged maturity, and his handsome smile made up for the fatigue in his features. He was a heart breaker, and she felt an involuntary flush rise to her cheeks as he set her down. "Duo Maxwell... what are you doing here?"

"Well, I WAS going to school until that story broke. I was... well, trying to forget about things. Guess you can't run from your past."

"No, Duo, you can't" another voice said, and Sally saw another familiar face. "Hilde, right?"

The girl smiled. "Glad you remember me. I never did get a chance to properly thank you for putting me back together."

"It was my pleasure. I don't know the others, though," she said.

"No reason you should. Helena Rosenburg, Chris Johnsen, Shinobu Matsuura, and Ilene Keets," he said. The last girl was unconscious, and had been the one in the photos with Duo.

"Is she ok?" Sally asked, the physician within her worried, and causing her to step forward. 

"She will be. I just gave her a little ether," Hilde said.

"ETHER?" Sally exclaimed.

"She was hysterical, and a danger to Duo," Hilde said in an unrepentant voice. "She carries a grudge."

"One of the Gundam haters," Sally said. "Duo, I can take you back to Preventer HQ and put you in protective custody. The lid on the identities of the Gundam Pilots is about to blow WIDE open. Expect assassination attempts."

"Assassination attempts?" the boy who had been introduced to her as Chris whispered.

"This is the big leagues. We're playing with the adults," Duo informed him. "Thanks for your offer, Sally, but I have something to do." He wrapped his arms around Hilde's waist, who looked at him with pleased surprise.

"And that would be?" Sally asked, feeling the swell of hope she always had felt before around any of the Gundam pilots. There was something special about those boys -young men.

Duo gave her his cocky grin of old. "Hilde and I are going to get Deathscythe Hell and Wing Zero."

  


  
**Scene XI: Worth a Thousand Words**

  


_"It's all ending; we've got to stop pretending who we are."  
--No Doubt, Don't Speak_

  
Her press secretary was running late this morning, and Relena was not in the mood for anybody to be running late. There were press reports and questions coming in from the networks asking about her address to the nation yesterday, and it was too much work for her to handle alone. The press secretary was supposed to be handling these things. The press secretary was supposed to be the one to fill out the sheets and soothe the angry reporters and make sure that they had as little contact as possible with the real Queen Peacecraft.

The press secretary was now two hours and three minutes late, and Relena was contemplating firing him.

She stared moodily out the window at the blue, blue sky, speckled with clouds at the farthest point of the horizon. No sky had the right to be that blue. Especially not when the weather ought to have been stormy with blowing wind and torrenting rain.

Quatre's confession had sent even more questions and demands for explanations her way, and it was too much to deal with at once. Whoever she had thought would be the first to confess, it was not the blond, blue-eyed cherub with idealistic visions of a peaceful world and torn innocence. She had thought it would be perhaps Duo, or Trowa. Or even Heero. Never Quatre.

Secretly, she had hoped it would be Heero. It had been a year…a year and a half, and not a word. Not a sign. He could be dead, for all she knew.

It was a possibility she did not like to think about, because it was so real. As long as she didn't think about him, as long as she remembered the Heero she used to know, he was still alive.

She would have thought that even Heero would rise up from wherever he was laying low to confess all he had done during the war before she would see Quatre do it in front of the entire world.

Relena had watched the showing of the press conference from beginning to end, clenching her fists as question after question was fired at the former Sandrock pilot about his recently released stance on the crisis, as he calmly made his way through the crowd of reporters. Cringing as she envisioned what the media would do his honest answers. Except she had not expected the answer he gave. The only answer.

_My name is Quatre Raberba Winner, and I am a Gundam pilot._

There had been a stunned silence.

At his words, she had felt something break. That was it, she knew. It was all over, and at the same time it had begun. With those words, they were at war.

It was not a war of Gundams and weapons now, but a war of words. The silence had erupted into chaos just as suddenly as it had fallen, and all of a sudden it had been a storm. Most of the questions had not even been questions, but blatant accusations, something she knew that reporters, no matter how angry, had been trained never to utter. Seasoned professionals had crowded around the blond boy in the neat gray suit, shaking their cameras and fists in his face, demanding why.

She hadn't been able to hear his responses.

The press conference had cut back to a shot of the newsroom, and she was both pleased and uneasy at the same time to see the white faces of the news anchors. For a moment, she could tell they were at a loss for words. But, like the reporters at the conference, only for a moment.

Why did the media have to be so damned opinionated?

She sighed, turning back from the window. It was their job, and she should not be one to blame people for their jobs. If every news program could contain moments of blessed silence like the one that day, there would be no need for news anchors.

It had been a good thing that it had been Quatre at the first, because at least he, like her, was used to the snapping cameras and the hordes of questions and the crowds. He had kept his poise well, from what she had seen of the rest of the conference. She had, through various channels, requested a copy of the entire conference sent to her as soon as possible from L4, and then sat down and watched the entire thing. Most of it consisted of Quatre's quiet voice being drowned under the sea of bombarding voices and Quatre's slight form swallowed by the lights and the shifting sea of frenzied movement. But on the whole, he had handled his end of it well. She supposed she had been preparing his reaction for days before the conference.

She would have.

Those of his answers which had been released to the public had already been analyzed to death on most of the holovid programs, and she was sure there were more of them to follow. It was a game, really, all a game of words to see who could talk the fastest and the loudest and the longest, and that side would win. 

That was no shock. War was a game, after all…one long, bloody game.

She supposed Dorothy Catalonia would smile and agree with her.

Riffling through the papers on her desk absently, she wondered for a moment what had happened to Duke Dermail's granddaughter. She should by all means move in the same circles as Relena, but she hadn't been at any of the formal balls or parties or political debates that she would have thought that the heiress to the Dermail duchy should have attended, and inquires about Lady Catalonia had simply invited shrugged shoulders and shaking heads.

If she had really cared that much, she could have done a search for Dorothy, as she had for Heero. And she was willing to bet that Dorothy would have been much easier to find. But she didn't care that much. She had hardly known Dorothy, and she had been the enemy.

The comm screen beeped and she glanced over with a sigh, pressed the connection switch. The face of an aide flickered onto the screen. She couldn't remember his name.

"My Lady, Mr. Gorniak is requesting to see you."

"Send him in," she said, resisting the urge to punch through the screen. It was about time. He was - she glanced at the clock - two hours and thirty-five minutes late.

The door swung open and Gorniak entered, a swarthy, elegantly dressed man breathing hard and sweating. Obviously, he had been running. She did not bother to sit as he hurried up to her desk.

"My Lady, I-"

"You're late," she said pointedly.

"My Lady, I have a reason."

"Oh?" she said frostily, flatly. "And what is that?"

She was about to add something more biting, something that would drive the point home, but his face was more solemn than she had seen it since Quatre had confessed, and something about his stance warned her that there was something wrong.

"What is it?"

"My Lady, I think you should come with me."

She didn't ask, just followed him out of the office and down the corridor, passing bustling aides and various other personnel carrying stacks of datacards and hard copy files high in their arms, half-bowing at her as they passed. She nodded absently back, her attention focused wholly on the little man who was leading the way in front of her, wondering what could be so serious as to make him hours late for work. Gorniak was never late.

The room they entered was down a side corridor, a small room with three rows of seats and a large screen at the far end of the wall. It was a simplified version of one of the briefing rooms aboard the Peacemillion, and she had had it built after she had moved into the palace to serve as a multipurpose small meeting hall or a room for various press conference showings. Gorniak flicked on the dim overhead lights at the back end of the room and motioned her to sit down.

"No," she said, standing. "Tell me what this is."

With a sigh, he moved to the screen controls on the stand by the door, The screen flickered to life, a bright fuzzy blue. "I was late this morning because I was watching the morning news, Lady Peacecraft."

She blinked. "What?"

"I thought so," he said. "You don't know about it. You'd be the last to know, at this rate. No offense, my lady, but everyone's afraid of telling you."

"Telling me what?" Relena blew out a breath. "Gorniak, if you don't stop talking in riddles and just give me the facts, I-"

"You don't watch the morning news, do you, my lady?" he said.

She frowned. "No. I get all the news I need as soon as I go to the office. And as soon as I meet with you. Which I was planning to do, but you were late this morning."

"Ah." 

It was hard not to take two steps over to him, take him by the collar, shake him, and demand answers. It was what Heero would have done, but she was not Heero.

"I recorded this this morning," he said, and the screen flickered again and an enlarged version of a news anchor's head appeared. "It's the World Nation news channel."

"Good morning," the man said. He was dressed in a blue suit and there were tight lines around his eyes, no matter how brightly he was smiling. "We have some breaking news this morning that surpasses the news of Mr. Quatre Raberba Winner's secret identity during the war. It is nowhere near as shocking," he amended, as a picture of Wing Zero's head appeared in a little box over his shoulder, "but every bit just as important."

Relena frowned. A nagging suspicion crept into the corner of her mind, and she sat down heavily in one of the chairs. If this was what she thought it was, the Preventers were going to be getting some calls from her this morning, and they were going to be doing a lot of explaining.

But it couldn't be.

Right?

"Reporting live from outside the Tokyo News building, here's correspondent Cecilia Barloni."

"Good morning," the young blond woman said, with a smile on her face that did not match the serious tone of her voice. "This morning, Tokyo News released a very important piece of information that may change our perspective on the Gundam crisis, either for better or for worse. As you know, Tokyo News international staff member Muhammad Ali Banks was the man who first broke this story to the world. Now, it appears there is more to his story than we realized."

She stared directly into the camera, then continued solemnly. "As of seven o' clock AM this morning, we now have the identities, names, and faces of the five Gundam pilots."

Relena blinked.

_My name is Quatre Raberba Winner…_

"I thought you would like to see this, Lady Peacecraft," Gorniak said behind her. She ignored him, attention focused entirely on the screen. She was not shocked, just…unwillingly accepting. Accepting the inevitable.

There was a hollow feeling creeping up the inside of her stomach, and she suddenly felt like throwing up.

"We have their identities on file and feel that this is something the public should know. Back to you, Andrew."

"Thank you," the male news anchor said. He was not smiling now. "The news we are about to release to you is of the gravest importance. It will hopefully be printed worldwide in the daily newspapers also, if for some reason someone you know has missed this broadcast." He ruffled the papers in front of him and cleared his throat. "And now, here are the faces and names of the five boys who shook the world in the most serious armed conflict we have ever known."

The screen blinked, and a picture appeared. An Asian boy, hair bound in a tight ponytail at the nape of his neck, glancing fiercely away from the camera as if in protest of the picture, but it was impossible not to make out his features.

"This is Chang Wufei," the anchor's voice cut through the silence in a voiceover. Stats rolled at the bottom of the page. "He was fifteen at the time of the war, from Colony L5, which was destroyed during the war. He piloted the Gundam 05. Of Chinese origin, from the remnants of the Long clan which governed the colony. As of this time, he is currently at large."

Relena swallowed.

There was a beep and a picture of Quatre, which had obviously been taken at the disastrous press conference, appeared. It was in monochrome, black and white. Just like a prison photo.

"We already know this young man," the voice said. "Quatre Raberba Winner, head of the Winner Group. He piloted the Gundam 04."

Another beep. Trowa Barton was looking into the camera, green eyes serene. If she had not known him so well, she would have sworn he was smiling.

"This is the pilot of Gundam 03, Trowa Barton. He was also fifteen at the time of the war, from Colony L3, of French origin. He is believed to be part of a circus troupe touring Europe and Asia. At this time there are no warrants out for his arrest, but it is advised for you to be on the alert."

The beep. The braid was the first thing she saw; it was impossible not to notice it. She had forgotten how impossibly long it had been. It was thrown casually over his shoulder and he was winking at the camera, smiling his cocky grin.

"Pilot of the 02 Gundam, Duo Maxwell. From Colony L2, of American origin. Fifteen years old during the war. His whereabouts have been tracked to exclusive boarding school Cliffside Heights in the United States, the site of yesterday's riot which killed four students and injured nine."

Relena closed her eyes for a moment.

_Duo…I'm sorry._

"And finally," the anchor said, over the noise of the beep as the photo slid into place. She drew in a breath. If she reached out one hand, she could almost touch…

"Pilot of the 01 Gundam, also known as Wing Zero, is Heero Yuy. Fifteen during the war, he originates from colony L1 and is of Japanese origin. His current whereabouts are unknown."

Cobalt blue eyes stared into the camera, meeting her own in a gaze of wills, and she could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. Plotting some strategy or other, even while he dutifully followed procedure and sat obediently for the picture. She wondered in a corner of her mind how much it had taken to convince him that a picture was really necessary.

And then Heero was gone, replaced by the bland face of the news anchor. "Again, those were the names and identities of the five Gundam pilots, taken from authentic files and photos saved from the beginning of the war by the Preventers. It is strongly encouraged for anyone who might have news of the whereabouts of any of the four pilots currently at large to contact the World Nation Criminal Justice Headquarters at once. Details can be found on the internet or by calling this number."

A number appeared at the bottom of the screen, and the anchor rustled his papers again. "Totals from yesterday's riot at Cliffside Heights, USA, are four dead, nine injured. Totals from yesterday's riot at Tiananmen Square, China, are two hundred thirty-seven dead, four hundred fifty-three injured, seven missing. Totals from yesterday's riot on L3 are seventeen dead, twenty-eight injured. We will keep you updated as the news progresses. Apparently, Preventers forces have been contacted and forbidden use of life-threatening force as a result of these deaths and injuries."

The anchor opened his mouth, and then the screen went dark. "That was all I taped, my lady," Gorniak said. "I was late for work, after all."

She drew in a shuddering breath and blew it out, conscious of the dark room and the flickering screen. "I-this was a worldwide broadcast?"

"I believe so. That anchor is one of the most prominent of the World Nation news staff."

"To hell with him," Relena hissed, in a sudden show of temper. Gorniak said nothing. She took another deep breath. "I'm sorry. I just-I-"

"I understand," the press secretary said as she sagged in her chair, holding her head. 

"What are we going to do?"

"It depends on your stance on the issue, my lady. There are-"

"My stance on the issue is clear," she snapped. "You know that. Everyone knows that. Or have you forgotten my speech on national camera the other day?"

"I know that, I was just-"

"What? Trying to put words in my mouth?" She sprang up from the chair, stalked down the stairs and back up. "Everyone does it, and I'm sick of it!"

"Yes, my lady," Gorniak said evenly. He was watching her, she knew, like everyone watched her. Trying to lure her out. Trying to find her weak spot, and when they did, it would be all over.

But they had already found her weak spot, so what was the use in trying?

"Don't 'yes my lady' me! Well, are you just going to stand there?"

"No, my lady," he said. But he didn't budge, just watched her. She stopped her pacing halfway and threw up her hands. Sat down slowly on the carpeted floor.

Held her breath and counted to ten.

She was the queen. She could handle it. She could handle anything.

"What do we need to do?" she said evenly. "Give me all the courses of action I can take for the press. Make sure a copy of my speech is in the national paper by tomorrow so the whole nation knows my stance on the matter. There should be no confusion."

"Yes, my lady," Gorniak said. He turned off the viewscreen with a snap and there was a whir as he withdrew the datadisk from the drive. "I have some papers you might like to see also. Press statements and the like."

"I support the pilots, you know," she said at last, still sitting. She didn't have the strength to stand. She had to call Une. Or Sally. Or Milliard. Had to find out exactly how bad things were. "I've always supported them, from the beginning. Even when I didn't realize it. I think it must be my curse."

"What seems a curse may become a blessing, my lady."

Relena laughed. Tried to, at least. It didn't come out too well. "You know, my mother used to tell me that. Mrs. Darlian, that is; my adopted mother. I tried to believe her, until the war. Then I stopped believing."

There was a silence, and then footsteps as he stepped out from behind the controls and opened the door. "Shall we go, my lady?"

Glancing at the screen, she thought she could still see the afterimages of their faces. They were proud people, the pilots. Perhaps prouder than she, and she owed them so much. It was the least she could do…even as the puppet queen of a puppet kingdom.

The least she could do.

_Wufei. Quatre. Trowa. Duo._

Heero.

"Yes," she said softly, reaching out one hand slightly to the dark screen. "I'm coming."

  
_Go to Relena story [Kimi ni Todoke][1]_

  
**END SAINAN NO KEKKA ACT III**

[Act III Part II][2] | [Act IV Part I][3] | [Back to Sainan no Kekka][4]

   [1]: side-kimi.html
   [2]: act3-2.html
   [3]: act4-1.html
   [4]: /gundam/sainan/



	14. The Curtain of the Next Chapter Rises

Sainan no Kekka 4.1

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT IV, PART I

** Mune ni kakushita tsubasa de  
Ouzora e mai agareba  
Wasure kaketeta kinou no  
Jibun ni aeru**

Omoide nante iranai  
Me no mae no ichibyo dake  
Oretachi wa ima ikiteru  
Subete o kakete

Atsuku nareru ima o  
Sagashinagara ikite iru  
Daremo oretachi o tomerare wa shinai  


** I covered the wings of my heart  
If I dance towards the sky  
In the yesterday that was forgotten  
I can see myself**

I don't ask for memories  
Only a second before my eyes  
We are now living  
Breaking everything

Now accustomed to the heat  
Of searching for living  
Nobody can stop us  


**--Gundam Wing, _Wild Wing_  
[Duo Maxwell image song]**  


  
  
**Scene I: Life and Death in the Burning Fire**

  


_"With just a little luck, a little cold blue steel;  
I'll cut the night like a razor blade till I feel the way I want to feel.  
There's a raging fire in my heart tonight."  
--Top Gun, Mighty Wings_

  
Lieutenant Commander Derman Etille, Commander Gustavson's second in command, was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a square jaw and kindly, fatherly eyes, and Milliard liked him immediately.

The commander of the A007 rebel militia had returned as promised that evening, bringing along the vice commander and the leader of his elite guard forces. Milliard recognized the guard commander. He had been a trooper aboard the Libra, and he greeted him as such.

The guard shook his head.

"Those days are past now, sir. It was a pleasure serving under you, but I am no longer a member of White Fang."

Milliard could understand that. He, after all, was no longer a member of White Fang either.

Gustavson's eyes grew wide at the Preventers equipment that littered the otherwise sparse tent: the digital map, the homing beacons and the hand-held communicators. "This is state-of-the-art! So much equipment…providing you allow us to use it, sir," he added hastily, casting a covert glance in Milliard direction.

"I'll see about that," he said, not quite knowing what to make of the rebels' awe. Beside him, Dorothy folded her arms over her chest.

"I don't like it."

"Shh."

Gustavson turned back from the equipment to face him. "Sir…if you would permit us. I believe we have the most recent information on the enemy's whereabouts." He gestured at the digital map, and after a brief hesitation, Milliard nodded.

"Go ahead. Tell me what you've got."

With a flick of the switch the map came to life, and Gustavson fiddled with the controls for a moment, programming in various coordinates. The green lines zoomed in, blinking, to show a graph of what looked like various concentric circles with rectangular blocks scattered in various clusters. Gustavson's officers gathered by his side, and Milliard motioned Dorothy to do the same.

"This is a rough sketch of the area where we are now," Gustavson said, gesturing with his finger. "I see you've done some scouting yourself, and the information you have is for the most part accurate. The circles are the rock formations in which we are currently camped. The rectangular shapes are buildings."

He pointed to one of the largest rectangles. "This is a mobile suit facility about a day's journey from here by foot. We have been trying to gather information about this facility for several weeks, and we believe we have a good grasp of their schedule and their craft." A pointed look at Milliard.

A nagging suspicion crept into the back of his mind, but he ignored it. "Go on."

Gustavson turned back to the map. "The facility is heavily guarded. There are three entrances to the base, two of which are delivery and one for other vehicles. The delivery routes to the facility are here…and here." Pointing. "The delivery trucks usually run between 0400 to 0600 hours and then 1700 to 1800 hours. They deliver various supplies, including food, munitions, mobile suit parts."

Dorothy moved restlessly next to him. "Are they repairing mobile suits, or constructing their own?"

Gustavson shook his head. "As far as we can see, they haven't constructed any new mobile suits yet, though that is becoming a more likely possibility by the day, with their new trade alliance."

Milliard frowned. "Trade alliance?"

Etille nodded. "They've established a trade alliance with some colony off planet. We don't know the details, but they are being supplied from transports that come into the capital. We have forces in the capital, but security for the transports is even tighter than usual, and we haven't been able to get much information regarding cargo. But it is very probable that they might have figured out a way to produce mobile suits in their entirety."

Gustavson was tight-lipped. "Heaven help us if that's the case."

"You were saying about the facility?" Milliard prodded. The suspicions nagged at him again, and he sighed, gave into it. "I think I know what you are planning to do."

"You probably do, sir." Four pairs of eyes watched him.

"You want us to go with you on a raid. To steal mobile suits."

"Would you?" Etille said.

He was silent.

"It's not as much a matter of equipment as a matter of time," Gustavson said heavily. "Any day now, we've been afraid they're going to start shipping in actual new mobile suits. Leos, Aries, Tauruses. They certainly have the resources to do so with this new trade system they've created. And if they do, it will only be a matter of weeks, perhaps days…before we are outclassed in everything they've got. Troops on foot are no match for mobile suits."

"I wouldn't say that," murmured Dorothy, and Milliard knew she was thinking of Sally Po, and the tales she used to tell about her stint in the Chinese rebellion. He'd heard the stories many times while working late nights at the Preventers headquarters, filling out paperwork while Sally typed up schedules, talking to keep them both awake.

"Commander Peacecraft…we need your help. Even if you decide not to ally with us…anything in the way of weapons or supplies would be wonderful." Gustavson paused. "I hate to say it, but our situation is bordering on desperate. The government has found many of our divisions, and soon we'll have to accept defeat."

"You said there were three groups of this militia?"

Etille nodded. "We are the western group. There's a central group, in the population center of the colony. Numbers there have shrunk since last month, when one of our bases there was raided by government troops and most of our people were killed. There's another group in the capital itself, but they are less of a military group than an underground resistance. A spy network, you might say."

"And how strong is the government of A007?"

Gustavson shook his head. "Ever since the current administration decided to rebel against the World Nation, there's really been no chance for any pro-World Nation factions anywhere on planet. We used to be one of a few hundred groups…we thought the rebellion would be over in a week…that we could handle it. But it didn't turn out that way."

"We're sick of fighting," the guard commander put in quietly. It had been the first word he had spoken since he had arrived, and Milliard was struck by the deep sincerity there. "I have a family, commander. I have a wife. They deserve to be living in peace…not in this hellhole of a rebellion with no way out."

"It's martial law, basically," Gustavson said. "The government is cracking down on anyone who is or is even rumored to be pro-World Nation. Their slogan is 'Citizens' Rights, Freedom for All,' but-" he cracked a sardonic laugh, "it's basically freedom for none."

Dorothy snorted. "It doesn't make sense. I don't understand why A007 would want to rebel…wasn't the World Nation giving you everything you wanted?"

Etille shrugged. "I was perfectly happy under the World Nation. I don't understand it either. We're simply fighting to get the old regime back."

"I thank you gentlemen for coming," Milliard said, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. He needed space to think. "I will send my answer by tomorrow morning."

Gustavson bowed. "Yes, sir."

He watched their retreating backs, their fading footsteps, then turned to Dorothy. "You don't like it."

She glared at him. "No I don't. It's very obvious these guys want to use you - us - to get what they want, and I don't know if I trust them. For all we know, they may be some government faction in disguise, planning to hit us when we least expect it."

Milliard shook his head slowly. "I…I don't think so."

"You're too trusting. They did attack us first, remember."

He sighed. "That was an accident."

"You just want to get to those mobile suits! I know what you're thinking!"

He felt his fraying temper snap, rounding on her. "Yes, I want to get to the mobile suits! Fine! Are you satisfied now? We were sent to this colony to get a job done, and I'll do whatever I have to accomplish the mission! I've been a soldier all my life, and I don't think you have any room to talk!"

She shrank back from him, avoiding his eyes, and he suddenly knew he had done something horrible. "Dorothy. Dorothy, I'm sorry. I-"

"No," she murmured. "You're right. Do whatever you want."

"Dorothy! Wait!"

The doorway of the tent closed behind her, and he stared at it, feeling defeated. Why had he snapped at her? He couldn't remember. Zechs Merquise would have never done something like that. Zechs Merquise would have been calm, competent, decisive.

But it was Milliard Peacecraft now who had to make the decision, to decide what he valued.

He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders. First he would go apologize to Dorothy. Second, he would prepare a missive and a messenger. Third, he would prepare his troops for a night raid.

There really was no other option, if they wanted to survive.

The mobile suit facility was a black monolith in the crescent moonlight, and he crouched behind a rock outcropping, overlooking the yard. Behind the black triangles of guard towers he could see the mobile suit warehouses, rows and rows of them.

He remembered how it was back at the Academy when he had been a freshmen, when he and a few of the cadets would sneak into the yards at night, wanting just to sit in the cockpit of one of the giant machines, to feel power under their fingertips. They had been young then, not understanding that with power came responsibility and duty and grief.

A crackle over his radio. "Commander Peacecraft?"

"What is it?"

"We are in position, sir. Awaiting your signal."

He raised his field glasses, pointed them at where Dorothy waited down below with the few soldiers who he had slotted to rappel in over the chain link fences and take out the guard towers.

_They'll know we're here,_ he had told her. _There's no way to avoid that. We don't have time to study the plans to find a quieter way in. Just be quick._

Of course I'll be quick. Her voice was disdainful but her eyes were dark. She still didn't trust him.

"Roger that." He nodded to the team beside him and the leader gave him the affirmative signal, slipping off into the night. The soldiers of his own team, crouching behind him, were perfectly silent. He was impressed. Most of them had probably fought in the war, and he wondered how many of them had been infiltration or reconnaissance troops.

He raised his hand and heard only a slight crunching of boots on the grass as they moved out behind him, carefully scaling down the rocky hillside. Any time now. Any time now-

The alarm sounded.

It was a screechy horrible noise that vibrated through his head, and he gritted his teeth. That was it. He broke into a sprint, the soldiers behind him doing the same.

There was gunfire, and he heard the bullets pinging behind him as he raced down towards the fence, and then there was an explosion. Someone screamed, and the red and green blasts of laser cannons filled the night air for a brief moment.

The alarm was still sounding.

"Group A, left!" he ordered harshly. "Group B, follow me!"

The facility was ordered just as Gustavson had said, with dumpsters on the far side of the fence just inside the shattered fence that they had used as an entrance. Supply houses on the right, fuel tanks in the distance, huge cylinders like giant tree trunks. The flightline was their goal, and the hangars that lay just outside it. The line was dimly lit, and there were guards piling out of the darkened guardhouses. They didn't have much time. Behind him was another thundering round of gunfire, and he could hear as several soldiers behind him went down. But he kept on running.

There was no time for the dead here.

They dodged through a deserted alleyway and lost their pursuers for a brief minute. Perfect. There was a small door in the side of the hangar to their right, and he raised his rifle, blasted it into the control panel, removing the casing. Fumbled with the wires for a moment while someone flicked on a flashlight to help him see, and then the light on what was left of the keypad blinked green.

"Go!" he hissed, flinging open the door, surveying his squad. They were down almost by half, and most of the ones who were left were wounded in some way or another. One man was obviously limping, gritting his teeth as he took up the rear through the door. Milliard could see the blood soaking through his pants.

The mobile suits would be locked down, and they would have to hotwire their systems. It was easy enough for him, who had piloted a Gundam during the war, but he guessed that most of these soldiers had never even touched a mobile suit before. He had given a crash course just before they had moved out tonight. He hoped it was enough. 

He heard gunfire, running footsteps. Squeezing himself into a dark hole between a wall of tools and some sheets of metal, he waited until he saw the posse of three guards race past, weapons at the ready. They wore red uniforms.

There was no time to think. He let his instincts guide him as he ran, past the crew section of the hangar, into the huge cavernous space where the mobile suits were housed.

There were six of them, just as Gustavson had said, and he could see some of his soldiers already climbing into the cockpits. So they had figured out how to unlock the systems. Good.

He had the hatch to his mobile suit open in no time, powering up the craft and swinging it around to face the side of the hangar. Gunfire spattered his armor and he turned his shields up full. Power was not the issue here, but the safety of the machines. Returning automatic fire, he keyed the communications panel and watched in satisfaction as it flickered to life. Heard the familiar hum of the engine and the blinking of the heads-up-display.

It was like coming home.

The Aries he sat in was no Epyon. He didn't think he could handle sitting in Epyon again, remembering all that had happened while he had piloted it. But an Aries was all right. It reminded him of his training days at the Academy, when honor and glory were values that every cadet held dear. It reminded him of Noin.

Noin.

Straightening, he touched the controls with firm resolve, and the Aries took one thundering step forward, then another. "Stand back," he ordered on the comm channel. "This might hurt."

Before anyone could respond, he raised the Aries' main gun, and fired.

The wall before him was not designed to take any kind of battle damage, as they had guessed, and the resulting explosion was blinding. Bits of metal bounced of the Aries' windshield, and he waited until the smoke cleared before advancing. The other mobile suits were green dots on his battle display, and he counted two…four of them.

There was one more, wasn't there?

"A4, what are you doing?"

"The machine won't respond, sir!"

"Emergency systems control!" he snapped, slapping the panel for open communication to the injured mobile suit. The face blinked onto the screen, a dark-haired boy who couldn't have been more than seventeen. 

"I…it's not responding, commander!"

He swung around, dodging a laser bolt flashing dangerously close to his windshield. "Control D3!"

"I can't-" the boy's voice was pained. It was only then that Milliard saw he was bleeding from the forehead. "I-"

There was a burst of fire and the boy's face fuzzed into nothing. He dodged another blast, returning fire. The hangar wall was a black mass of twisted metal, and through it he could see the wreck of a mobile suit.

"A4!" he said into the comm. "A4, come in!"

Seventeen…the Gundam pilots would be seventeen years old now. Only children, really.

"Let's go," he said tersely, breaking off and launching the craft across the ground of the yards. There were green dots coming from starboard…five Leos and a Taurus. A blink, and Etille's face appeared on screen.

"Good work, commander."

"We're not out of this yet," he said. "Follow me. Battle formation Beta."

"Roger."

The chain-link fence was only a few hundred meters away, and he urged his mobile suit on faster, drawing fire, hoping that no one would get hit and they would return without any more casualties. He hated it when his men had to die in war. It was brutal.

"Commander!"

His HUD flickered as twin lasers shot over him, and there was a faint grinding noise of metal. 

"Go on! Don't wait for me!"

He spun the mobile suit around in time to see Etille's Leo fall to the ground, pinned by two Aries who were definitely not any of theirs.

"Etille!"

"Go!"

'"Dammit!" he shouted, angry more at himself than at the enemy, angry at himself for letting his troops down, angry at himself because his men were dying and there was nothing he could do about it. "Dammit, Etille! Get up!"

He started to turn, to go back the way he had come, and found his path blocked by another Aries. Fire shot from its forward guns, and something popped in the cockpit, and he felt warm liquid dribble down from his forehead.

He turned and fled through the fence, leaving the battle behind him. The Aries pursued him for a short while, but when he looked back a second time, it was gone.

Dorothy was safe. She met him as he dropped from the hatch, putting a hand to his forehead.

"You're hurt."

"Don't worry about that," he said harshly. Gustavson strode over, his face impassive, and Milliard looked him in the eye.

"Etille is gone."

"I know," the rebel commander said.

That was all that needed to be said. The fate of a man killed in battle was not something to be discussed or questioned, and he let it drop.

"How many did you get?"

"We took six, altogether. You?"

"Five," he said, grimacing at the memory of the boy who had died in the Aries there. "We lost one."

"So did we," Gustavson said gravely. "As you know. But eleven is a good number. The raid went well. Thank you, Commander Peacecraft. And you," he bowed to Dorothy, "Lady Catalonia."

She looked grim. "Don't mention it." Milliard looked at her, her face covered with soot and one shoulder of her uniform torn. 

"You're hurt too."

"Nothing compared to you," she returned, wiping the blood from her cheek. "I-" She stopped.

Gustavson looked from him to her, then bowed. "I will take my leave. Should I report here tomorrow morning?"

"Please," Milliard said, not really paying attention to the rebel commander. "See you then. Good night."

"Good night, sir."

"I'm glad you came back safely," Dorothy said, her voice low.

He couldn't think of anything to say, so he simply smiled. "I was right to have picked you to come with me. You're an excellent soldier."

Her face crumpled for an instant, and he wondered frantically if he had said something wrong, or maybe she was still angry at him for shouting at her this afternoon. But it was only for an instant, and then she was as calm as ever.

"What do we do now, Milliard?"

"Now?" He turned to survey the stolen craft. "We make sure they don't come after us to try to steal their mobile suits back, and then we train pilots."

"Pilots." She sounded dubious.

"Yes." He glanced at her. "You piloted during the war. You could help teach."

Dorothy laughed harshly. "Not really. I was a Mobile Doll pilot. I never actually flew."

He considered this. "You don't know how to control a mobile suit?"

She shrugged. "I think I could if I was taught the basics. They're about the same, right?"

Well. He smiled, and she frowned at him. "I don't like that smile. What are you thinking?"

"I think," he said grandly, gesturing at the stolen Aries that stood tall and proud above the cliff like a trophy, "it's time to teach you how to pilot a mobile suit." 

  
_Go to Dorothy story [Peace][1]_

  


  


  
**Part II: Backed into a Corner**

  


_"So I stayed true to the things I knew when I was younger."  
-Beth Orton, Stars All Seem to Weep_

  
"Lady Une!" A microphone was shoved into her face by an overly enthusiastic reporter.

She stared back at him with a stony gaze, for a second wishing she still had the shield of her glass to hide behind. The reporter's eager grin faltered, then faded away entirely as she brushed past him.

"I thought I ordered this hallway cleared!" she snapped at the first lieutenant who was on her heels.

"You didn't give us a chance to finish the sweep!" the lieutenant protested, then blushed when he realized who he had just snapped at. Mentally he kissed any chance for promotion good-bye.

"I don't have time for you to take your leisure! When I say I want something DONE, it should be done STAT! My God, why am I cursed to be surrounded by imbeciles?" she demanded.

Everyone wisely kept silent as she careened around a corner, her eyes flashing angrily. She was going to kill the next person who gave her the slightest excuse. She gave a glare at another reporter who materialized, and he quickly retreated without making any attempt to pester her for a story. 

Finally she went into her office. Going over to her desk, she sunk into the padded chair, trying to decide what her next step should be. She had watched the news with the same suspension of disbelief she'd been feeling ever since Banks had broken into her office, and reality finally sank in. This could destroy her, her Preventers, and everything she'd ever worked for.

The riots had become worse, and the death toll had topped a thousand. She had had to put an travel injunction on L4, since everyone seemed determined to go there and let Master Quatre Raberba Winner know exactly what they thought of his actions. By all accounts, the Winner family had closed ranks and Quatre had gone into hiding. Even Une, with all her resources, was having a hard time tracking down the billionaire. His sisters had taken over the business, and none of them were talking. 

Her hand started to reach for pain medication, but she stopped. She would deal with it- Sally had been right. It wasn't a good idea to get so dependent on medicine- she wasn't about to get addicted. No, she would accept the pain as part and parcel of her job. 

Fine. It was time to accept the situation. The milk had been spilt, so now she had to clean it as speedily as possible so it didn't have a chance to spoil. Treize wasn't around, but she was. She would carry on his legacy, a legacy which no one seemed to understand.

She shut her eyes. First thing was first. She had to track the Gundam pilots down and get them under her control. She hated to think what Chang Wufei or Duo Maxwell would do about the situation, much less Heero Yuy. The pilots were used to direct action, and they, with the exception of Quatre, had little sense of diplomacy. Wufei and Duo were a touch on the direct side, and Heero was as unpredictable as an tornado- coming in, causing havoc, and then taking off before anyone was quite sure what had hit.

Trowa she could trust. She had always trusted Trowa, even when she had known he was an infiltrator. Quatre wouldn't do anything violent, either, but his public announcement had been almost as harmful. Still, that left the other three as uncertain reagents ready to be thrown into the brew. If she could catch them quickly enough, she might be able to control the resulting exothermic reaction, making sure it happened when and where she wanted. Une hated having to use the pilots, but rationally, she had no choice.

_First things first,_ she thought, entering the location number into the vid screen. It was only a few seconds before it was answered, much to her surprise. "Sally Po," a haggled woman with circled eyes said.

"I'm sorry for calling so late your time, but- Sally, what in HELL are you still doing awake?" Une demanded.

"There was another potential riot, and I helped disperse the protesters peacefully. Did you know that Duo Maxwell, until two days ago, was a student at Cliffside Heights?" Sally asked with bitter humor.

"Maxwell- THERE?" Une demanded, feeling slightly sick. She'd been hoping Sally would be able to help her track the pilots, but this was too much. "What were the chances?" 

"Better then you think. Apparently it's a very small world."

"Is he still there?" Une asked hopefully. That would be one less problem that she would have to worry about. She'd always found Duo the most frightening of the pilots; the way he could kill a man while laughing always sent shivers down her spine. She personally thought he was a few bricks short of a load.

"No. He left two days ago with Hilde Schbeiker."

"Hilde was a student there?" Une said. "According to my files, she was on L2 running her scrapyard."

"Nope. She sold it to Howard- remember that engineer, the one who built the Gundams? Anyway, she sold the yard and came and picked Duo up. I'm not sure exactly where they headed off to."

"Just great," Une muttered. "I can't believe this. Duo's on the run, Quatre's in hiding, and we have no idea where the other three are."

"If you sit still long enough, you'll find out. Just wait for the largest explosions."

"Sally!"

"Yes?"

"That wasn't funny!" Une said.

"But it's the truth. Those three know one reaction to stress, and that is to blow up the cause of the stress. They're terrorists, and that's what they were trained for."

Une sighed, hating the idea that Sally might have a point. "I have to have them here, Sally. I have to be able to control what they'll do, at any cost. The idea of them free to react any way they want to is enough to send shivers down my spine. You knew them better then I did- where do you think they could be?"

"Well, I'd bet that Heero and Trowa have already disappeared into the general population. They're probably altered their appearance, maybe even going so far as to have plastic surgery. Trowa- wait, doesn't he have a sister?" Sally asked.

"Yes. At a circus. He was performing there, but I doubt he'll be there anymore. He wouldn't do anything to risk her safety- she was the most important thing to him."

"Still, track the circus. Find what continent it's on. He'll probably remain fairly close so he can make sure they're safe."

"Perhaps," Une said, fingering her chin as she thought. "Duo probably is back out in space. He and Hilde are both Colonists."

"Four colonies for him to choose from- it seems likely. And the colonies are more likely to defend the pilots- after all, they ARE their saviors, and a lot of the colonists remember that," Sally agreed. She began to untwist one of her long braid, and Une realized the other woman was preparing for some well-deserved sleep.

"I'll only keep you another few moments. Wufei is the one I have no idea about. His colony self destructed, otherwise I would have said he would be there."

"He has a strong sense of tradition. L5's colonists were primarily of Chinese descent- perhaps he went to China? Somewhere remote, where he could be alone? He didn't like people much."

"I'll look into it," Une said. "Thanks, Sally. Now go to bed, get some sleep. That's a direct order."

"Yes, Ma'am!" Sally returned back with a crisp salute.

Une laughed as she broke the connection. She needed to laugh.

She hit the pager, and one of her assistants appeared- Major Li again. "Major Li, I need you to start a search for the rest of the Gundam pilots. For Chang, look specifically in China. Maxwell is most likely on one of the Colonies. Barton and Yuy will be difficult to find- start looking for any "new" identities. I doubt you'll be able to find any of them, but we have to make an attempt. As of this moment, you're off all other duty except this, and have Security Clearance 2- your code is Li-Alpha Phi Omega." Une entered the information into her consol and hit the button that would enable the Major to have a security level just below that of Une herself.

"Also, get ahold of... isn't General Brown in charge of intelligence? Please ask General Brown to report to my office at his soonest possible convenience. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am! Who should I assign as my relief as your aide?"

Une looked pained. "I don't have that many higher-ranked officers left," she said. "I don't know any of the lower ratings- Sally is the one who would.know, but I just sent her to bed."

"Permission to speak freely, ma'am?" Major Li boldly asked.

"Granted," Une said. Not many of her subordinates had the courage to ask for permission to address her freely, and one never had when word was out that Une was in one of her "moods", and Une was certain someone had warned Major Li. Needless to say, Une was curious and a bit impressed- mentally she placed Li on the fast track for promotion. She'd been invaluable ever since the entire Gundam mess had blown up.

"I know this is presumptuous of me, but I'd recommend Lieutenant Gils-Reve. He is a touch short on seniority, but he's smart, and he knows how to keep his mouth shut. I think he'd get along very well with you."

"Meaning that he'd be able to put up with getting yelled at everything third time I spoke to him?" Une said with a straight face. She pulled up his personnel dossier and reviewed it quickly, nodding approvingly as she saw his credentials. He was a touch low of experience, but sometimes the best officers were made when they were thrown off the deep end, and asked to swim.

She looked up thoughtfully. "Ask him to report to me as well, I guess." _If he needs more authority, I can always promote him, maybe even jump him a grade. See how he handles things when the cards are down. There's no room for weaklings in the Preventers, especially not now. If he can't handle the heat, he'll have to get out of the kitchen._

Major Li saluted, without the mocking Sally Po had brought to the gesture. Une watched as the Asian woman left, then picked up a file and began to prepare.

She looked down at the grimly functional uniform of the Preventers, seeing the stark beauty inherent in it. Earlier she had thought that it was unflattering, but that wasn't what was important. What mattered was what it represented- peace for the universe, protection for the citizens of Earth and the Colonies. 

_Treize was right,_ she thought. _There's beauty in everything. Now I just have to show the world how to see it._

She looked up from her desk as the door chime went off. "Enter," she called.

In came a man in his later fifties, whose hairline had receded years ago. General Brown was one of the few Federation Generals who had survived the war, and Une had secretly gloated about having him in her employ many times. He was a brilliant, shrewd man who seemed to appreciate the comfort of peace, yet was realistic to know how much work it took to maintain said peace. He inspired loyalty in his subordinates, yet never abused it.

In fact, his only flaw was that he hated the rule book. He was the kind to bend the rules as much as possible, and sometimes he would even go so far as to ignore them all together. It made him perfect for the Intelligence Commander's slot, but Une often wondered how he had ever managed to get promoted to General in the first place, considering his casual disregard of procedures. Still, he did his job, did it well, and was loyal to her. She couldn't ask for more.

Another quality was, aside from Une herself and possibly Sally Po, he was the best-informed person on the planet. He could cheerfully rattle off exactly what Relena Peacecraft had for breakfast, and reveled in it. He didn't have to show off his knowledge- it was enough that he knew. "You asked for me, ma'am?"

She nodded. "Yes, General, please have a seat." Une bit her lip for a second, then looked him directly in the eye. "I don't know how to broach the subject, so I'll just come out and say it. General, the Preventers are in a crisis situation."

General Brown nodded. "I was well aware of that- if Cliffside Heights hadn't convinced me, I would be a fairly stupid man, something I don't think is accurate."

She looked at him, nodded slightly. "I don't want to ask you this. I would give anything not to have ask you this, you know. But I need you to locate the Gundam Pilots.

"I assigned Major Li to do so, and she'll make an attempt at it. I gave her security clearance level two, but that won't help her. You and I are both well aware that the pilots are masters of camouflage. If they're hiding, it'll take the best of our agents to find them, and Major Li, while a competent officer, isn't a spy. She doesn't have the resources you do. You and I are both level one security, and this is, and we might have a chance at it, even though I doubt it.

"Here's what I want you to do. I want you to take gray men and track them down. Use all means and resources at your disposal, and you have the complete financial backing of the Preventers. Intercept the pilots and have them brought to Geneva- use any excuse you have to. Bind them in a straight jacket, if it comes down it it."

General Brown nodded. "Mission accepted." He stood and went for the door, but was stopped when Une took a deep breath.

"One more thing. If it becomes impossible for any reason to bring any of the pilots in, I want you to kill them, and then have your operatives suicide. No form of ID should be left on any of the bodies."

He turned, gave her a salute with ancient appearing eyes. "I understand," he said softly, then left the office.

Une cradled her head in her hands. "I'm so sorry, Treize. But you know I had to. If I can't control the pilots, there's no hope left for peace."

  


  
**Scene III: Royalty of Pure Blood**

  


_"When you question me for a simple answer,  
I don't know what to say."  
--Celine Dion, That's the Way It Is_

  
The phone on the side of Relena's desk was silent. It wasn't because she wasn't receiving any calls, because Gorniak had informed her that the number of people trying to contact her had doubled the same afternoon the identities of the pilots had been released. It wasn't that she was blocking the calls either. She prided herself on working hard to be someone who truly cared about each citizen in the kingdom, and she would have gladly taken each and every complaint personally, if she had the time.

It was just that the ringing from the phone had finally managed to add to her already agitated nerves, and she had, in a fit of blind rage, thrown it against the wall. So now it was broken.

She stared at the chipped lump of plastic thoughtfully, leaning back in her chair and massaging her aching hands. She had rarely ever thrown temper tantrums as a child, at least not that she could remember. Milliard insisted that she had always gotten him in trouble by having "fits," as he called them, but that was too long ago in a time and place which her memory had not retained. Since she had been old enough to go with her adopted father to his press conferences and his off-planet appointments, people had complimented her on her poise and her calm.

Oh, well. Everyone had a breaking point, she supposed, and she had reached hers yesterday.

She still had the vidscreen, which was her primary tool of communication, but all the calls to the vid were screened by operators and then by Gorniak himself before they were allowed to go through to her. This insured that only either personal matters or matters of extreme importance would come through on the vidscreen. Everyone else could use the phone.

The gray weather predicted by yesterday's forecast had finally come in this afternoon, and the fog and drizzle were not doing much for Relena's own dampened spirits. True, things could be worse. There could have been a forced coup of the World Nation, or Quatre could have been arrested….any number of things could have happened which could have compounded the situation. She supposed she should be glad for that.

There were piles and piles of paper on her desk and more documents clogging the hard drive on her overworked computer. She glanced at the monitor warily, seeing three new messages come up on the screen. Deciding that she just did not care anymore, she reached over and hit the delete button. If these people were serious, they'd keep sending until she responded. It was something she would do.

But then again, she was more stubborn than most.

The green light on the vidscreen blinked, signaling that she had a call. Relena glanced at the darkened screen, wondering whether she should pretend she was not there. It was probably one of the heads of the World Nation, asking some favor or other, wanting to know tidbits about the pilots, wanting do know where they were. She had already said she wouldn't tell a thing. They could ask all they wanted.

Well, if it was just a World Nation lackey, she could always hang up in his face. She enjoyed doing that sometimes.

She hit the receive button.

"One moment please," the screen proclaimed in a flat electronic voice, and then blinked.

"Queen Relena Peacecraft, this call is from the Dermail Duchy, France."

She blinked. Dermail Duchy? That was…

"Good morning, Lady Peacecraft."

It was afternoon here, but she nodded politely anyway. "Good morning." The image on the screen was of a woman elegantly dressed, one white-gloved hand tapping her chin impatiently. If not for the neatly styled graying hair, Relena could have sworn that the woman was no older than thirty. "To whom might I owe the pleasure of this call?"

"Ah…yes." The woman did not sound pleased, and her eyes snapped at Relena. You should know who I am, the eyes said. Everyone knows who I am. "My name is Emily Khushrenada Noventa, but I believe you might know me better as Dorothy Catalonia's mother."

Inwardly, Relena did a double-take. This was Dorothy Catalonia's fabled mother? She'd heard the stories and read the gossip in the news, but she'd never actually looked closely at a picture of the woman. Now she could see the resemblance…the eyes, especially. Dorothy had her eyes.

"I am honored," she said graciously, not sure if she was honored or not. Better to be on the safe side. "And what business would you have with me, Lady Catalonia?"

"I think you know very well," Emily Khushrenada Noventa snapped, completely disregarding all pretense of propriety. "Where is my daughter?"

Relena forgot to cover her surprise. "Ex-excuse me?"

"My daughter." Emily drew the word out, as if speaking to a child or an idiot. "Where is she?"

How should I know? Relena wanted to snap back at her, but she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Lady Khushrenada…I don't know what you mean. I have not seen your daughter since the war."

"Ah, yes. The war." Twisting her face at the word as if it left a bitter taste in her mouth. "Well, Lady Peacecraft, tell me what you think of this." Reaching out of sight of the screen for a moment, Emily held up a sheet of elegant stationary and began to read.

_Dear Mother,_

By the time you read this I will be gone. Milliard Peacecraft has approached me with a proposal which I have not the good graces to refuse and I have left with him. Please do not worry about me. I will return when the business is finished.

Dorothy

Milliard?

Emily stabbed one long tapered nail at the letter. "Milliard Peacecraft is your brother, is he not?"

"Well…" Relena stammered, not sure what to make of this. "Yes, he is, but-"

"But?" Emily waited, then nodded as if satisfied. "No excuses. Your brother has taken my Dorothy, and I want her back!"

"I don't-"

Emily waggled a finger at her. "The schemes of men always end up leaving a lady out in the cold, and I know the kind of reputation your brother has. I know not what witchcraft your brother used to bewitch my daughter, but I want her back. Now."

"I don't know where she is," Relena said, straining to keep her temper in check.

"How can you not know? Milliard Peacecraft is your brother!"

"My lady, I have not seen my brother in five months since he joined the Preventers. I am not responsible for his actions. Milliard is an adult perfectly able to take care of himself, and if he asked Dorothy to accompany him, I'm sure it was in good faith."

"Don't you lie to me, girl." Emily's eyes were flashing now, dangerous. Dorothy's eyes. Like mother, like daughter. "If you think your brother can get away with kidnapping my Dorothy and having his way with her, you should think again! I am one of the most powerful women in the world, and I know how to use that power!"

That was it. Relena leaned into the screen and smiled sweetly. 

"Lady Noventa?"

The duchess' eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Lady Noventa, I am also one of the most powerful women in the world, and like you, I know how to use that power. Unlike you, I do not abuse my power. If you knew what was good for you, you would get the hell out of my family's business and perhaps work on establishing a firmer bond with your daughter so she won't run away next time!"

She wanted to laugh at the stunned look on the duchess' face, but held it in. "Good day, Duchess," she said, and clicked the vidscreen off.

Slumping back in her chair, she took a deep breath and let it out. She probably should not have done that, and it would definitely hold repercussions for her later…but it felt strangely good to let out some of her frustration.

Still…Milliard and Dorothy? She never would have guessed. Twirling one long lock of golden hair between her fingers, she smiled slightly to herself. Her brother…interesting. She'd always thought he was in love with Noin. What had changed his mind?

In all likelihood, Emily Khushrenada was wrong, and Milliard had taken Dorothy somewhere on purely military business. She could see him doing that more than kidnapping her for some romantic midnight crusade. Always business-minded, was her brother, and Dorothy did have more than adequate experience in military affairs.

She wished Milliard would call her every now and then. She…she missed him

She wondered for a moment what he was doing, then wondered if he had had any part in putting down any of the riots in which people had been killed. She hoped not.

The Preventers…

She had been meaning to call Lady Une, but she had kept putting it off. Lady Une was probably busy…she didn't have time to talk to her. She hadn't seen Treize's second-in-command since the war ended, and Relena doubted that Une had totally forgiven her for trying to kill her. But…she needed answers, and Une was the only one who could tell her what was going on.

Taking another deep breath, she dialed the number for the Preventers Headquarters in Geneva.

The red call light blinked and she sat up straight, fixing her hair around her shoulders and waiting.

A flash and the face of a male operator appeared on the screen. He nodded his head in greeting. "Queen Relena Peacecraft?"

"Yes," she said. "I would like to speak with General Une."

He nodded again. "One moment, please."

The screen went dark again, with a red status bar blinking, and she stared at it until it began to blur in front of her eyes. Red on black…like blood.

"Relena?"

She blinked. The status bar was gone and in its place was the face of Lady Une, looking at least five years older and like she hadn't slept in a week.

"You look terrible!" she exclaimed before she could help herself, leaning forward into the vidscreen. "Have you slept at all?"

Une smiled wryly. "Thank you for your concern. I've been getting sleep on and off…the caffeine pills help somewhat."

Relena knew she looked horrified, but she couldn't help herself. Une cracked a tired laugh.

"I'll live. What brings you calling?"

Relena bit her lip. "I…I was just wondering what was going on. How my-my brother was doing. I haven't seen him in months. How the Preventers are dealing with the riots and what I can do to help…if anything."

Une sighed. "Things are going as well as they can, which really isn't saying much. You heard about the riots at Cliffside and Tiananmen Square, obviously. I've sent out squads…they're not to use anymore loaded firearms or explosives unless absolutely necessary, and then that order has to go through me first. So we shouldn't be seeing anymore shootings."

"That's good," Relena murmured.

"As for your brother…I dispatched him on a mission offplanet, and I have no idea when he will be back."

Offplanet? She pondered this for a moment.

"He didn't happen to take Dorothy Catalonia with him, did he?"

Une blinked. "Not to my knowledge. Though…" She looked thoughtful," he did say that he was going to recruit some people with 'experience.' Not that he told me what that meant."

"Ah. All right."

"Is something wrong, Relena?"

"No…nothing wrong." Suddenly serious, she looked Une in the eye. "Tell me how I can help."

Une looked startled.

"I'm serious," Relena said. "I feel useless, sitting here in my palace while you are taking all the fire. I knew the pilots, too. I was their friend. I know how you feel…I want to do something. I have connections…"

"Always the noble one," Une murmured. "I'm not sure what you could do right now. The situation has already gone to hell. Now it's just a question of how fast it will fall."

"If it's falling," Relena said firmly, "I want to fall with you. I know Duo was at Cliffside….have you managed to locate any of the pilots yet? What about Quatre?"

"No news on the other pilots yet." Une looked sympathetic. "I know you're probably worried about Heero…but we have no idea where he is. I've sent out a search team. Hopefully they'll be able to find him."

Relena nodded slowly.

"As for Quatre…his location right now is classified. I know this is a secure channel…but.."

"I understand," Relena said quietly. "Thank you anyway."

"Don't mention it. Anything you'd like to know?"

Relena shook her head. "Not right now. I'm sorry to bother you."

"No bother," Une said, smiling slightly. "Your call was the first personal call I've had in weeks. Thank you."

She was taken aback slightly, but managed to smile back. "You're welcome. I will call again later."

"Have a good day," Une said, and the screen flicked off.

So Milliard wasn't there, after all. She knew how important he was to the Preventers. Well, it couldn't be helped now.

_The situation's already gone to hell…now it's just a question of how fast it will fall._

If it's falling, I want to fall with you.

She gripped the armrests of her chair tightly. She was useless here in the Cinq Kingdom, with its stacks of paperwork and endless routine. Any fool could fill out paperwork and sign documents. She was tired of speaking and not doing. If she was a real queen, she would back up her words with action…right?

Milliard wasn't there, so she would have to take his place.

Standing, she pursed her lips, thinking. This was sudden….but no one could say they hadn't seen it coming. Gorniak had hinted several times that she should maybe take a trip to Geneva or Tokyo to see things firsthand for herself, and several of her ministers had agreed. She would just take a week, maybe two. She would be back in no time.

It was the duty of a sister and a friend, to help those in times of need. She might be a pacifist, but there were times when the good of the world depended upon more than lofty ideals.

Milliard had taught her that. It was the only right thing to do.

And maybe, just maybe somewhere out there…a Gundam pilot would be waiting.

_Be strong, Heero. I'm coming back to you._

  


  
**Scene IV: Journey to the Shadowed Land **

  


_"Shadowland, the leaves have fallen  
This shadowed land, this was our home."  
~The Lion King, Shadowland_

  
Colony L2-C was one of the oldest in the L2 Colony cluster, and its age showed. Most of the wealthy had deserted it for newer, more modern, accommodations, leaving it free for the criminal element to move in. 

And move in they did. While C didn't have quite the reputation of The Breaks, it was a moderately rough area in that survival of the fittest was the law of the land. Hilde was by no means a weak woman, but she was nervous about having to enter this no man's land. The law enforcement was non-existent, and she knew that she would be a prime mark. Having Duo along would help, but two teenagers against the world of C were not good odds. Still, they had faced worse.

She herself still wasn't sure exactly where they were going. Duo had told her that he would need her to help recover both Gundams. It didn't matter that he had asked her to come- she would have followed him anyway, but it was nice that he had asked. There was no way she was letting him out of her sight now that she had him again. He was just too important to her. 

Neither of them had spoken the other much. There was an awkwardness that had never been there before, and neither had a clue how to break through it. She was confident they would work through it, though.

Hilde stepped off the shuttle, coughing slightly. C's air filtration system was archaic by modern standards, and the air had been recycled so often that it should have hazard warnings attached to it. Hilde had only been on Earth a few times, but each time she went there, she delighted in the rich, relatively clean, air. It was a luxury that all the colonists appreciated; though they seldom would admit it. Colonists tended to view Terrans as "soft land grubbers", and it was this frontier pride that helped that not only survive, but in many cases, thrive. 

C, though, was all about survival. Drugs were everywhere, and there were no small numbers of prostitutes. C was the center of smuggling for the L2 cluster, and a few of their cartels were known throughout space.

"Calm down, Hilde," Duo said from behind her. 

She glanced at him, wishing she dared keep her attention on him, but she didn't. The area was simply too dangerous for her to waste her time focusing on a known variable. The second she dared take showed him wearing a serious expression, and his posture was alert. Even though he was young, he was radiating signs that HE was a predator, an alpha male, and should be left to his damn business. Hilde shivered slightly, and wondered if that expression was the last thing his victims had seen. "I am calm, Duo," she said, keeping her expression carefully blank. "I would just feel a whole lot better if I knew where the hell we were going." 

Duo wrapped his arm around her waist. "We're going home, babe. My home." 

"What?" she asked. "But I thought-" 

"The remains of Maxwell Church," he said softly. "Where else would I leave Shinigami but the place where it all began?" 

She nodded as she recognized the logic behind it. "I should have known. And that's why you're going to get them." 

"It won't take the press long to figure out my background- and when they do, one intrepid reporter is going to go snooping around L2. I have to get the Gundams away from here, and back on Earth. I may be a man alone, but I'm not helpless." His voice was hard, and Hilde suddenly envisioned Duo throwing away his life in some grand, futile scheme. He wouldn't let them take him alive, she realized with cold certainty. He had been captured before, and the experience had traumatized him enough that she had tried to make him go to a counselor. He had, of course, refused. Duo couldn't stand to be caged, and there was no way anyone was every going to succeed in imprisoning him again. 

He would embrace his namesake first. 

"Duo…" 

"Hilde, relax. I've arranged for transportation to C Side, then we're going to go the rest of the way on foot. No one goes near that area; it's a ghost town. It's starting to have stories spread about it- superstitious fools. As if Sister Helen or Father Maxwell would ever hurt anyone. Personally, I would WANT to go there if I was still living on L2- it'd be a great place to live- no indent gangs, no cartels." 

"Just the specter of death himself," Hilde murmured to herself. 

"Why fear death? The dead can't hurt you," Duo said softly. "It's the living that you have to worry about." She wasn't sure if she agreed with that, but Duo's philosophy on death had always been a touch on the unnerving side.

"C'mon- I have a- well, she's not a friend, but an acquaintance who's waiting to meet me. She has the car ready."

Hilde took off two steps behind him. They walked briskly, avoiding eye contact with other pedestrians. "Can you try to look less like a soldier?" Duo hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

"What?" she asked in surprise.

"You're Oz training shows in how you move- very rigid and alert. You look like you're a spy."

"How SHOULD I move, then?" she demanded.

"Try to loosen up! Be alert, but don't look like you're going to salute the next authority figure you see! I should have gone by myself," he muttered.

"Don't you DARE think like that, Duo Maxwell!" she commanded, getting louder without meaning to. People turned to look, surprised, and she hastily lowered her voice. "I'm staying with you. You're not leaving me behind this time- I will follow you through hell and back."

He blinked at her a few times, surprise showing in his wide, yet beautiful eyes. "Hilde…"

"You need me, Maxwell," she said, poking him in the chest with her index finger. "And I need you, too- this may not be the best place to say this, but I love you, God damn it! Nothing is taking you away from me again- not even your nightmares! I let you go once- it's not going to happen again!"

He grabbed her, kissing her lips quickly. "Now's not the time nor place," he agreed. "But this is definitely a conversation I want to have, Hilde. But right now, we have to get the Gundams."

She agreed, and he took off again, holding her hand this time. The warm pressure of his fingers brought a slight flush to her face- ridiculous, since they had been lovers. It was like rediscovering something that had been lost, and she fervently hoped things would work out.

Duo weaved through the streets with the familiarity of long practice, and she realized that they were on his home turf. She'd never imagined that someone like Duo could come from such a place. Still, he had, and now she realized that she hardly knew him at all. He was like an onion; you peeled away one layer, only to find another new layer beneath. She wondered who the real Duo was.

She wondered if he would ever show her.

Finally he pushed into a large door, knocking on it. After passing a cover charge, the doors open to let couple in. "Stay close to me," Duo whispered.

Hilde's eyes widened as she took in her new surroundings. She and Duo had just walked into one of the seediest bars in the galaxy. Momentarily she was reminded of the Cantina scene from an old movie she had loved- there were people of every walk of life, but all of them were dangerous. The lighting was greenish, and the air was so thick with illegal substances that it made the atmosphere outside seem like a fresh spring day in the Alps of Europe. Hilde was tempted to stare at a man who had some of the most unusual tattooing she'd ever seen, but once again, her common sense prevailed. This was Duo's scene; she would follow his lead. 

Duo flowed through the crowd like it was water, and she had a hard time keeping up. Twice she was propositioned, and she lost count how many times someone pinch her. Some of the pinches were not gentle, and Hilde knew that she would have bruises.

Duo came to an abrupt halt, and she almost ran into his back. Grumbling to herself, she straightened her shirt, then stared at the woman who had caught Duo's attention. Was THIS their contact? she wondered. 

The woman in front of them was worth staring at. She was built like a bodybuilder who had been taking too many steroids, and half her head was shaved. The other half boasted uneven tuffs of green hair, and Hilde had the impression of a lawn someone hadn't finished cutting. She was wearing beat-up leather. The woman's eyes were a very pretty baby blue, which seemed at odds with the rest of her appearance. 

"Hilde, meet Nuance," Duo said. "She's selling us the car." 

"Hi," Hilde said, not knowing what else to say. 

The woman grinned, flashing uneven teeth. "It's in good condition, Maxwell." 

"It'd better be," Duo said grimly.

She widened her eyes melodramatically. "Would I cheat ya, love?"

"If you thought you could get away with it, yes," Duo replied, giving her a sweet smile.

Nuance laughed, a bark that seemed to shake her entire body. "Usually you'd be right, but you're a special case, Maxwell." She leaned forward, looking at him with an intensity that was surprising in this uncouth and unconventional woman. "I've been keeping up with Earth, and I know what's going on. There are bounties out for you, dead or alive, and some of them even come from legit sources. I figure that if you have to go somewhere, I'd better help you.

"I remember the war. Thing is, I understand it, unlike a lot of the bozos who are just angry. I had a brother- he was killed by the Federation. Since the Gundams went down, things are better. Not perfect, but I respect what you fought for- we have the freedom to make choices- if I want to be a goddamn smuggler, I can be. Sure, they're penalties, but they're not unreasonable. Not like they used to. 

"Listen to me. I sound sentimental. We'd better get out of here- your face has been plastered on all the Colonies and Earth. Most people here a little behind, but when the bounty hunters start coming in, they'll talk for the right amount of money." 

"Will you talk?" Hilde asked hesitantly as she followed the two out. 

Duo muttered something about people with long memories, and Nuance gave him a friendly clout on the shoulder. "Calm down, Maxwell." The streets seemed less threatening with the new woman. Hilde knew the woman was a smuggler (she'd as much as come out and admitted it point-blank), but she liked her. Something about her demeanor told her that Nuance genuinely liked Duo, and wouldn't betray him. The woman led then down an alley, and Hilde fingered her gun nervously. She wasn't stupid; this was the perfect opportunity for someone to kill the both of them.

Nuance proudly gestured towards a rather battered car that was sitting at the end of the dead alley. Duo looked at it carefully, overlooking the outward appearance. "It's in good condition." Popping the hood, he let out a low wolf whistle. "Is this thing street legal?"

"'Course not. If it was, it wouldn't be of much use to you."

Duo grinned at her. "I like the way you think." He gave her a wad of cash. "I don't need to tell you that you don't know me," he said, his voice harsh.

"Maxwell, I'm not stupid. Even if you didn't get even, your gal pal would," Nuance said. 

"You're not as stupid as you look," Duo said.

"Wouldn't be alive if I was. _Sok szerencsét,_ Duo," she said. She leaned in and kissed his cheek, then tugged his braid playfully. "Keep an eye on this, will you? A lot of people will see it as a trophy just about now."

"Sure thing, Nuance!" he said as she disappeared into the shadows.

Hilde took the passenger side of the car. "What did she tell you?" she asked curiously. She hadn't recognized the language Nuance had used.

"_Sok szerencsét_- it's Hungarian for 'good luck'. Thing is, I think Nuance is primarily Italian. Then again, you can't tell on L2. Most people are of American descent, and the Americans are sort of… a mixed breed, I guess you could say."

He frowned down at the car. "Let's see if I remember how to drive a standard," he said, shifting gears. The car lurched, and Hilde reached hurriedly for her safety belt. She remembered watching Duo pilot- he was damn good, but it looked like it was a rough ride for his poor MS. Obviously it extended to his driving abilities as well.

The drive took a while, and it gave her too much time to think about what they were going to. She had only seen the Gundams up close a few times, and she wondered exactly what Duo had planned for her. She was a competent pilot, but there was no way she was up to piloting a Gundam. Did him mean for her to take Deathscythe while he took Zero? The stories she'd heard about the Zero system frightened her to death. Surely he didn't mean to put her in the cockpit of Wing Zero. No one but a lunatic could master it- a lunatic or a Gundam pilot. Maybe it took both qualities- after all, none of the pilots she'd met were exceptionally well balanced in the head.

The roads on C were in poor shape. Duo swerved occasionally to avoid potholes, and she was glad she hadn't had lunch whenever they hit one. The jolting ride had her feeling nauseous. She was now heartily grateful that she hadn't had lunch on the flight down."

Duo turned off the main road and if anything, the condition of the streets got worse. The bumps became more frequent, and Hilde was thrown against her seatbelt more times then she could count. The rubble that surrounded them surprised her; it looked like a war zone.

It was a war zone, she realized after a second. This was where the rebels had fought the Federation almost ten years ago. Hilde recognized that Maxwell Church -what remained of it- had to be close by.

Duo shifted the car into park, then took a deep breath. "Come on, Hilde. We have to walk."

Wordlessly she slid out of the vehicle, setting her feet on the concrete and steel. They began to pick her way through the streets, heading in a roughly north direction.

"Duo," she said after a few minutes of silent travel.

He turned haunted eyes on her, and she wondered if she even ask her question. "Yes, Hil?"

"Why isn't this place cleaned up? I mean, it looks like its been destroyed for a very long time."

"No money. C Side has no residents, so what's the point? You saw C Port- that place is run down AND it has inhabitants- so why would anyone waste money cleaning up an area no one lives in? Makes it the perfect place for Shinigami, though. Or it was."

She nodded, and they moved another two miles in. Finally Duo glanced around, and he seemed to recognize the place. "Stop right here, Hilde. Now we gotta dig."

  
_Go to Duo story [Sub Rosa][2]_

  
[Act III Part III][3] | [Act IV Part II][4] | [Back to Sainan no Kekka][5]

   [1]: side-peace.html
   [2]: side-sub.html
   [3]: act3-3.html
   [4]: act4-2.html
   [5]: /gundam/sainan/



	15. The Curtain of the Next Chapter Rises

Sainan no Kekka 4.2

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
  
Now, a question: Is Anyone bothering to read this off of fanfiction.net? We're getting hardly no response at all, and QS (who confesses to being a feedback slut) is wondering. Do us a favor and fill out the FB form so we know you're there!   
  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT IV, PART II

** Mou sugu yami no mukou ni  
Kagayaki ga hirogaru kara  
Yaketsuku mune no itami mo  
Waratte miseru**

Wild wing boys  
Sono mune ni kakushita tsubasa hiroge  
Wild wing boys  
Hikari yori hayaku yami o kirisake

Wild wing boys  
Toozakaru kinou mitsumenagara  
Wild wing boys  
Ashita e no atsui omoi dakishime  
Take off

** Now over from the darkness  
A brilliance is spreading  
In the pain of my burned heart  
I am laughing**

Wild wing boys  
I soared through my heart with spreading wings  
Wild wing boys  
Light more and more erases the darkness

Wild wing boys  
While gazing at a faraway yesterday  
Wild wing boys  
I embrace the passionate memories of tomorrow  
Take off

**--Gundam Wing, _Wild Wing_  
[Duo Maxwell image song]**  


  
  
**Scene V: One Step off the Edge of Madness**

  
_

"I need to lose to make it right;  
I'll confront the stars tonight. "  
--Bush, Forty Miles from the Sun

_

  
There was no signature on the piece of paper that the black-coated man handed to him, but there didn't need to be. He knew it was important.

"Can you take care of it?" the man asked. There was a deadly undercurrent running through his voice, but he himself had been a killer probably for longer than that man had been a henchman to whatever seedy corporation he served, and he had the upper hand. And the man knew that.

"What do you take me for," Darkflight snorted, "an idiot?"

"I'll be waiting," the man said, and before Darkflight could answer, he was gone.

He looked down at the piece of paper in his hand, wondering how the hell he was supposed to decipher those two lines.

_Beijing, China.  
Chang Wufei._

It was some sort of job, he knew that. Probably had something to do with the brewing Gundam crisis on Earth, seeing as how his contacts had been dropping hints to him all this week about the big one he'd be getting when "all the facts were in."

Sakayari Togo was the leader of one of the largest semi-legitimate businesses here in the Breaks, if any such business could be called so. He was so good, in fact, that he also operated one of the largest businesses in the now-downtown of the L1 business district. Not bad for a man who had started out a living selling crack, if the stories were true. Darkflight doubted the legitimacy of most of the stories circling the bars these days, but this one had the ring of truth to it. Sakayari was wealthy, powerful in both L1 proper and in the Breaks circles, and he wanted someone dead.

Darkflight wasn't about to refuse a man like that his request, legitimate or not.

The problem remained: who the hell was Chang Wufei?

He pocketed the paper, stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and began picking his slow way home. The place where the contact had chosen to meet him was out of the way, and it was getting dark. He pulled his gun from his belt holster, holding it loosely in his hand, just in case anyone was foolish enough to try to jump him. Not that he thought anyone would. People were smart enough these days to recognize a trained assassin when they saw one, and most of them didn't want to die just quite yet.

He made it back to more familiar territory without mishap. Darkness was creeping over the slums, the holographic semblance of sky fading as night set in over L1. He ignored the prostitutes swaying their hips at him from the other side of the street and the drunken laughter from the lighted bars. It was rather early to get drunk, but who knew what people thought? He crossed the road to the tumble-down building squatting on the street corner, looked both ways to make sure there was no one hiding in the shadows ready to mug him at the door, then strode into the bar.

He spotted Wing right away, the greasy black hair looking almost greenish-brown in the smoky light. His partner was slumped against the bar, one hand holding a mug of something dark and unhealthy-looking, the other pressed against his eyes. Darkflight groaned inwardly. This did not look good.

"Hey, Wing? I'm back."

Wing's head turned to the side ever so slightly, and a flicker of recognition entered the dark eyes.

"Oh…you."

There was blood on Wing's face. Streaks of it.

"You get in a fight?" Darkflight swung onto the stool next to him, divesting Wing's hand of the mug of beer and propping him upright.

"Fight?" When Wing was drunk, he didn't slur. He just didn't speak. At all.

"What happened?" Darkflight said patiently. He was used to this. "Did you get your money?"

"Money…"For a moment, Wing's fingers twitched, then he seemed to remember something and with slow and painful motions reached down and fumbled with his pocket. There was a bulge in there…bills?

"Let me get that for you," Darkflight offered, and reached out his own hand. He barely dodged Wing's fist as it whistled past his ear, then winced in pain as his outstretched hand was caught in an iron grip.

"Thanks," Wing said, eyes unfocusing, finally managing to get his hand inside his pocket and pull something out, handing it to Darkflight, who grasped it with the hand that Wing was not currently trying to murder.

"You can let go of my hand now."

Wing seemed to consider this for a bit, then shrugged and released his hand. "I got it."

"I see," Darkflight said, hurriedly pocketing the money before some other unsavory character in the nearby vicinity could decide to make a grab for it. Not that he thought they would, with the blood down Wing's face and neck and spattered on his clothes.

"Hey…you want a drink?" The fat bartender.

"No." Darkflight stood, pulling Wing to his feet and putting an arm around him to support him. "We're leaving."

They made it down the steps of the bar without mishap, but he could tell it would be a while getting home. Wing could hardly stand on his feet, much less walk, and he wondered what had happened. His partner had a high tolerance for alcohol…he must have been drinking for hours.

Darkflight had wanted to bring him along to go meet his contact for the new job, but Wing had declined. He had "business," he said. Darkflight thought he knew what the business was; something to do with a deal fallen through with a client and a customer that someone else wanted dead, but he had the common sense not to ask. It was Wing's job, not his.

And they had money now, bloodstained though it was.

It took less time than he expected to arrive home, when he closed the rickety door of the apartment behind him and Wing promptly collapsed into a heap on the ground.

"Wing?" Touching him. Shaking him. "Wing?"

No response.

He had never seen Wing this drunk before.

Dragging Wing over to the wall and turning him over so that the other boy wouldn't accidentally suffocate in his sleep, he fingered the piece of paper in his pocket. It was good that Wing had passed out, really…he was in no condition to talk about any kind of work, and a drunk Wing was unpredictable, at best. Darkflight had never seen his partner become violent to the point of actually hurting someone, but the scene in the bar tonight was enough to warn him that something was not right.

He wondered what had happened. Wing wasn't the type of person to drink for the hell of it, and he certainly wasn't an alcoholic. Drug addict, yes. Alcoholic, no. 

The moon had risen and he touched one finger to the cracked window glass, tracing the sliver, like frozen lightning dividing the dead metal and rotting concrete landscape in two. They had enough money in their funds to buy an old television, if either of them had wished to. But neither of them did. Darkflight enjoyed the silence of the room at night. If he listened closely he could hear the shadows whispering.

He couldn't remember who had told him that. Someone long ago, someone he couldn't remember.

He went absentmindedly over to one of the cardboard boxes by the wall, pulled out a syringe, considered it, then shoved it back in the box. He didn't need it tonight. There were things to do, when Wing woke up. Providing that the other boy ever did. There was a can of warm tuna in at the bottom of the box, and he pulled out his knife, opened that instead, shoving the slightly acidic-tasting fish into his mouth. His stomach growled. He hadn't realized how hungry he was. Between the pangs of ritual hunger and real pain of enroaching starvation, there was no hunger.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before Wing began to stir. The faint moan alerted him, and he pushed himself off the floor, dropping to his knees as Wing sat up, hand to his head.

"Darkflight?"

He tried not to breathe a sigh of relief. "Bastard. I thought you were going to sleep all night."

"What happened?" The voice was perfectly lucid, as emotionless as ever.

"You passed out. Don't remember much?"

One hand went briefly to the dried blood crusted on his forehead. It glittered black in the moonlight. "I don't remember anything at all, after you left to meet with your guy. How did that go?"

"Eh." He needed to clean those cuts. "Sit still." There was antiseptic in the box too, somewhere. An old bottle, but it was there. "How the hell did you get these, anyway?"

"I told you I don't remember." 

He was hopeless. 

"So," Darkflight said, rummaging under the dirty sink for a cotton ball or a piece of cloth or something that could clean the wound, "have you ever heard of a Chang Wufei?"

If it was possible, Wing went even more still.

"Wing?"

In the moonlight his eyes were large pinpoints of dilated fear, and the vein in his neck was throbbing. As Darkflight watched, the scar began to throb too. Slowly, then faster, pulsing.

"Who?" Wing whispered hoarsely.

"Uh..never mind?" He found a cotton ball and moved closer to dab it onto Wing's forehead, and he caught Darkflight's arm. The grip was like a vise.

"Who?" The gaze was penetrating.

Darkflight fought to keep his emotions in check. "Look," he said. "I don't know what you have against this guy, but I've never heard of him. That was on the paper I got. Chang Wufei. Beijing China. That's all it says."

"China," Wing said, and dropped Darkflight's arm as suddenly as he had grabbed it. "China." He repeated the word like it was a mantra of protection. "China. Chang Wufei." His face twisted, and he began to laugh.

"Wing? Wing!"

He kept laughing, an insane, mad, frenzied laugh, and Darkflight stumbled backwards, clutching the bottle in one hand.

"Stop laughing, dammit. Wing! Stop laughing! STOP! FUCK YOU! STOP!"

He had raised one hand, clumsily, not even realizing he had it in the air, had formed a fist, knuckles white, when the mad laughter ceased as suddenly as it had began. Wing looked at him with calm eyes. But there was something around the edges that hadn't been there before. They frightened him.

Hell, everything Wing did was frightening him tonight.

"What's going on with you?" Darkflight whispered.

"I'm sorry," Wing said in an even tone. Looking pointedly at the bottle and the cotton ball. "Weren't you going to clean the blood off me?"

"Uh. Yeah."

There was something going on. Something going on that he didn't know about, and he didn't like it.

"Wing, if you're up to something, you better tell me now." Rubbing the cotton with perhaps more force than was necessary over the cuts. It must have stung like hell. Wing didn't even flinch.

"Nothing's going on," he said, and his voice sounded puzzled. "Why?"

Darkflight sighed again.

"Once," said Wing, staring serenely out the window, "I heard a fairy tale about a mermaid. She was in love with a human prince, so she went to a sorceress, asking to be changed into human form. The price was that every time she walked, she would feel as if she were walking on knives. But it was worth it, because she danced with the prince."

Darkflight nearly dropped the bottle, but he was done, anyway. There were shiny streaks of wetness across Wing's forehead and neck. "So…so what happened?" he managed. Bottle back in the box. Cotton in the trash. The piece of paper was still in his pocket.

"The prince forgot her," Wing said. "He married another woman. The mermaid threw herself off a cliff into the ocean, but since she was no longer a mermaid, she drowned." His voice was mournful, yet hard, the voice of a daydreamer in a nightmare.

"I never knew you liked fairy tales, Wing."

"I don't." Curious look. "So is that all the instructions said?"

"Uh…yeah." He couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Chang Wufei." For a moment he was afraid the insane laughter would start again, but Wing simply fell back on the bed and crossed his arms behind his head. "I got my money. Had to beat up a few guys to do it, but I got it."

"I know," he said uncomfortably. "You…gave it to me."

"Did I? I don't remember." Wing shrugged. "Doesn't matter anyway. Blood money. Do what you like with it."

He always said that. 

"I will, thanks. You need to get some rest."

"When are we leaving?" Wing said. He was sitting up again.

"Leaving?"

"For China." He gave Darkflight a patient look. His eyes were still wrong, somehow. "We did get the job, right? You're not just fucking with my mind?"

"Yeah, we got it. I don't know. Whenever you're ready."

"I'm ready now." The light tone was gone and the mask had slammed down again, the eyes cold and hard and familiar. Whatever had possessed him at the mention of Chang Wufei's name was now gone. "Tomorrow?"

"I need to get shuttle tickets!"

"I thought you said they were ordered."

Darkflight shrugged uncomfortably. "I got second-hand information."

"You might want to check on that." Wing shrugged again. "I thought that was how all high-profile clients treated their 'customers' these days."

"What are you going to tell Atsuki?" He could imagine her face when Wing broke the news. That they were going away. That they might be gone for weeks. That there was a chance they would not come back. There was always that chance, but on an off-colony job, that chance was all too real. That was why he used to like the assassin job…there were no ties, no loved ones to cry over his death if he met his end messily in some alley or on the cobwebby floor of an abandoned building.

That had been before Wing showed up.

"Atsuki?" The name sounded foreign in Wing's mouth, like an awkward nickname he hadn't quite gotten used to. "Atsuki."

"Yeah. Tell her we're going to Earth to scout? Tell her maybe we'll be back soon?" He groped for ideas. It wasn't every day that one's best friend and assassin partner had to tell his girfriend goodbye for an indefinite period of time. What did one say, then? _Yes. I'm leaving. I might not ever be coming back. Goodbye._

Girlfriend. Whore. It was the same thing, here in the Breaks. To think about it, having Wing leave was probably the best thing for Atsuki. It wasn't good for someone like her to get attached to any particular customers. After a while…things…began to happen to the girls. Disappearance. Whipping. Other things. He'd heard stories. There were harsh employers in the Breaks, and they knew how to use fear. Darkflight would give them that, even if they were dirty liars.

"I'm going to tell her the truth," Wing said. "She'd probably hear it through the grapevine anyway. And she deserves better."

Silence for a moment. "Yeah," he said at last. "Yeah, I agree. Though I'm going to try to keep this secret from the grapevine as long as possible."

"It's not going to work, you know."

"I know. But I can try."

"You can," Wing echoed, and for a moment the strange quality in his voice was back. But when Darkflight turned to look at him, there was only the inscrutable mask.

That mask had been crumbling an awful lot lately.

"We should get some sleep," Darkflight said at last. "We can sleep in. Nothing tomorrow."

Wing didn't answer, simply lay down and flung the blanket partially over himself, breathing smoothing out almost immediately. There had been no sign of a hangover, no post drunken nausea. The boy was a machine.

Chang Wufei. Had Wing known Chang Wufei? He resolved to get a copy of the newspaper as soon as possible, seeing as this very likely had to do with the Gundams, and he needed to practice his reading anyway.

_The prince forgot her. The mermaid threw herself off a cliff into the ocean, but since she was no longer a mermaid, she drowned._

Whatever.

It was a long time before Darkflight finally slept.

  


  
**Scene VI: A Revelation Come Too Late**

  


_"Yume no naka de, kioku no naka de  
Kitto mata aeru ne…"  
[Inside our dreams, inside our memories  
We will surely meet again…]  
--Gackt, U+K_

  
It was a dark and stormy night.

Dark and stormy nights weren't really all that uncommon in the Breaks, but they were not so common as to become cliché. The rain had been coming down hard all day, but the storm had let up several hours ago after midnight, and now it was just cold with lightning flickering in and out of the clouds, threatening but without real force.

It was summer, and it was ridiculously cold.

Atsuki stared out the window, her breath fogging the cracked windowpane, wishing that the environmental systems controls in this part of L1 would fix themselves. The thermometer read six degrees Celcius, and it was the middle of June, for heaven's sake. It was like living in Alaska.

If she wanted to live in Alaska, she'd move there. Dark and stormy night, indeed.

Grumbling under her breath, she flopped down on the dirty bed. She had the night off, a rare occasion, and she had nothing better to do than spend a long, lonely night in her room. She supposed that was sad, but she had stopped caring a long time ago. Her fingers went automatically to the pillow, to stroke back thick bangs from cobalt blue eyes that weren't there. She closed her eyes, hand falling away. 

Wing wouldn't be coming here anymore.

She'd been happy for him when he'd told her that Darkflight had gotten them a job. A "big job," was the term he had used. Wing and Darkflight were good; they deserved more breaks than they had been getting, and this was a chance for them to get moving.

And then he had told her he was leaving.

She had looked at him, dressed in torn leather pants and a dirty white top, dark hair greasy and blue eyes steady in the flickering light, and then she had bent forward and kissed him.

She didn't say anything. She didn't need to.

The night seemed even more dark and stormy at his memory. His eyes…they were the color of a storm. They were the storm - the storm in her heart, and the winds were just getting rougher the more she tried to push it away.

_What would you do, Quatre?_

She pictured the face of her brother in the glass of the far window against the dark thunderclouds: the blond hair and the bright eyes, the innocent smile. She'd seen him on the news after the war, though he wasn't on as much as of late since things on L4 had quieted down. It had been a shock to see him, the same cherubic face grown several years older, quiet voice speaking with the authority of her father.

She hadn't cried for her father when the papers had carried the stories of his death. There was no need to. She hadn't loved him. Reeshya had loved him, and so had Quatre. But she'd never known him as anything more than a tyrant, running her life with his iron fist thrust into her face when she dared speak up. He favored Reeshya and Quatre. They were the youngest, and Quatre was the heir. But for her, there had been no exceptions.

There were never any exceptions for her. She had vowed never to fall in love again, and when she finally did so, was ready to confess her feelings for the man who had taught her to live again, he had to leave.

Scrubbing her eyes with the back of her hand, she sat up, flicked on the old television on the corner of the desk. It was an old color set, made at the end of the television era when holovid screens were beginning to become popular to use in their place. The set still worked, though sometimes the sound would die, and there were fuzzy lines across the screen. She wasn't picky. The fact that it worked was what counted.

What better way to pass the time than to watch the news, where people were dying in ever increasing numbers and the world was a bleaker place by the day?

The screen blinked, shrank to a pinpoint, then widened again. It was a commercial. She changed the channel, sitting back against the bed.

"-and as you know, Quatre Raberba Winner's confession had the world in astonishment before this larger turn of events was announced."

Confession? Her brother had a confession?

She sat up, scooted closer to the television, hoping Quatre wasn't involved in some kind of scandal. He was a good businessman, but he was young still. Though she couldn't imagine him getting involved in anything but philanthropic ventures. Quatre was like that. At least he had been….it had been seven years.

Static fuzzed the voice for an instant, but the sound came back as what was obviously a replay of some press conference appeared on the screen. The voiceover was crisp, serious.

"Two days ago, Quatre Raberba Winner, the young heir to the Winner fortune, shocked the world by announcing his part as a Gundam pilot during the war."

What?

A _what?_

Gundam pilot?

She stared at the screen, frozen, as a large picture of a Gundam slid across the screen and the caption at the bottom rolled out letter by letter.

_Quatre Raberba Winner, Colony L4 Gundam 04 pilot_

Surely this was a joke. It was a joke…it had to be a joke. A cruel joke. Quatre wasn't a pilot. Quatre was a ten-year old boy who liked science and literature and was always there to talk to her when she was feeling down. He was an innocent child who abhorred war, just like her father, and wanted nothing to do with it. He believed in knowledge and wisdom and peace.

He couldn't be a Gundam pilot.

_If you ever did go away, you'd come back, right?_

Her throat was dry and she wanted water, but the refrigerator was empty and only a fool would dare drink out of the water fountain in the hallway. The voiceover continued as the tape rolled. Quatre stood calmly in the middle of the rolling storm of photographers and cameramen and reporters shoving microphones in his direction, smiling slightly, blue eyes clouded. He was still so strong, her brother. Perhaps that was his downfall.

_Oh, Quatre…_

She closed her eyes, saw a dark-haired boy slumped against the wall of her room, felt his pulse under her fingers, felt him trembling. Heard herself speaking.

_They were my heroes. So daring and brave, knights in shining armor._

Quatre.

_They would come rescue us, sweep us off our feet and take us away to their kingdom…_

"Mr. Winner's whereabouts are as of now unknown," the voice continued. "After the press conference, efforts were made to contact him at his home on L4, but calls were unanswered. There were several attempted break-ins that night to the Winner mansion which were turned back by the guards and L4 police, in which twenty-seven people were arrested. This morning, it was confirmed that Mr. Winner is no longer residing at his estate and may no longer be on L4."

_Good for you, Quatre,_ she thought, swallowing. Her palms were clammy, and she couldn't think. She'd seen a picture of a Gundam once, when they had first made the news, with its huge armor-plated body and the giant guns pointing right into the photograph. It had given her nightmares for days afterwards.

That Gundam might have been her brother's…

She wondered what her father had said. He had probably raged, stormed, refused to let Quatre go. She felt the corners of her mouth turn up slightly, glancing back at the television, which was now showing some shaky footage of rampaging Gundams in China. So Quatre had rebelled, after all.

Perhaps they were more alike than she had thought.

But he had rebelled to save the world. She, on the other hand…

Even if she wanted to return now, he wouldn't want anything to do with her. He was the knight in shining armor and she was the filth-covered girl, groveling at his feet and begging to be let into the doorway of his beautiful castle. A fairy tale gone wrong.

She would never grovel.

She took a deep breath and let it out, willing her eyes to focus on the television once more. The picture of the Gundam and Quatre's press conference had disappeared, cutting back to the news station anchor at his desk, looking very seriously into the camera.

"Yesterday, the World Nation released the names of the other four Gundam pilots on worldwide broadcast. Information should be in all local newspapers by tomorrow morning, but just in case you missed the broadcast, here are the names and faces of the pilots once again. Please be on the lookout for these boys."

She felt sick, crawling under the covers of her bed, keeping eyes fixed on the screen. They were going to betray all five of them…betray them as criminals when all they had done was fight for peace. The Gundam pilots had been her heroes during the war, her heroes and the heroes of all the girls. She had still been living at the shelter then, and she remembered long sleepless nights of wondering, speculating. The pilots were definitely handsome, they had agreed. Tall and strong, princes in disguise. They were out to give the oppressed back their freedom. Sometimes with a hope that was almost tangible, they'd wonder if the pilots would come to L1 and the Breaks. Maybe one of them knew what was happening here. Maybe if they waited long enough, they would be free, too.

But they never came.

She had been slightly disappointed, but she knew it had been a foolish daydream. The Gundams were fighting a war, and they had more important things to worry about than a bedraggled group of whores trying to survive from day to day on the streets of the Breaks. It was all right. She would get by. The pilots were still larger than life in her mind, heroes of the galaxy.

She clutched the edge of her blanket with cold hands. And now even that dream was gone, shattered, by the distant, professional voice of the news anchor.

_Quatre Raberba Winner._

"Pilot of Gundam 05 was Chang Wufei, from Colony L5."

The face of a Chinese boy appeared on the screen. His gaze was fierce, a warrior's gaze. His black hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, and his eyes were intense. He looked very young.

"Pilot of Gundam 03 was Trowa Barton, from Colony L3. He is reported to be part of a French circus troupe."

Trowa Barton looked like someone she could learn to like, if she ever met him. He had brilliant green eyes under neatly combed brown hair. Like Chang Wufei, he looked young, but for some reason he also looked very old. She understood the feeling.

"Pilot of Gundam 02 was Duo Maxwell of Colony L2. He is reported to have enrolled in Cliffside Heights Academy, USA, on Earth."

Duo was mischievous looking with sparkling violet eyes, and she supposed that the rest of the girls would find him handsome. He was nice looking enough, but oddly that didn't appeal to her. She supposed he was someone who would stand out in a crowd, maybe someone she'd pick out of a bar and try her moves on. She didn't know if that was a good thing. Duo didn't look like a Gundam pilot, but at the same time his eyes spoke volumes.

She was good at reading eyes.

She wondered if Wing had known Duo. Or Trowa, or Wufei, or Quatre. Maybe that was why he had been so distraught at the news. Or maybe one of the Gundams had done something terrible to him. She struck that thought from her mind. The Gundam pilots would never do anything terrible to good people. They were the avenging angels. And Wing was a good person, at heart. She knew he was.

"Pilot of Gundam 01 was Heero Yuy of Colony L1."

A photograph. Brown hair. Sardonic smile. Cobalt blue eyes.

She blinked, blinked again. Heero Yuy…for some reason, he looked…

He looked very familiar.

Like Chang Wufei, Heero Yuy looked like a warrior. Like Trowa Barton, he looked both old and young at the same time, and like Duo Maxwell, he was someone that she would have been willing to take her chances with, if she saw him.

There was something that bothered her about the photograph, but before she could look at it again, it had vanished into the stern face of the news anchor.

"Again, if you have any information about these pilots, please contact the nearest government authority."

Damn.

She fumbled out of bed, dragging her feet across the cold floor. The man had said that the news would be in local newspapers by now…there was a newspaper vending stand outside the complex. She never bothered to read the newspaper, but maybe it would have pictures of the pilots. A picture of the pilot of Gundam 01.

The stairs were damp with mildew and things unnamed, but she didn't even grimace as her bare feet hit the steps. Living in a place such as this had hardened her, and there was no use complaining about things she could not change. The newspaper stand was half-empty, and she inserted her small change into the slot with trembling fingers and pulled out a copy.

Sure enough. It was the top headline. 

_IDENTITES OF PILOTS RELEASED AT LAST_

Hurrying back to her room, she wiped her feet and crawled back into bed. The paper was damp, too, leaving smears of ink on the already grimy bedspread, and she held the limp pages up to the light.

The picture was in black and white, but the intense eyes were there. So intense, like ice and fire. Again, the tingle down her spine, of danger, and…excitement? She traced the face with her fingers, snatching them away when their movements registered in her suddenly sluggish mind. It was ridiculous…obsessing over a boy she had never met. She had Wing…there was no need.

Wing.

She looked closer at the photograph, blinking, then frowning and looking closer. They could be related, if she squinted her eyes. They had the same bone structure of the face, the same eye shape. Yes, related. Maybe Heero had been Wing's brother, even. That would have given him cause to suddenly panic, when he had seen the news release.

Was that farfetched? Her heart was suddenly beating faster, and she licked her lips. There was something there…something more than what she was seeing.

If she covered the neck with her hand, if she colored the hair black and then pulled it back from the face…the cheekbone structure was the same. And the same eyes, hard, cobalt blue if the picture had been in color.

No. It couldn't be. She took a deep breath. Wing's mouth and nose shape was different, his forehead a little narrower…

She bit her lip and looked back at the picture again. Wing had a scar.

Her heart pounded and she could barely see, but she reached out a finger, consciously this time, tracing the shape of a scar across the boy's face as she had so often traced the real hard-ridged flesh while Wing had been sleeping. It ran across the bottom of his neck…across his nose….across the right eye….his forehead. The scar would have puckered the flesh so…there…and there. The nose would become crooked. The forehead maybe narrower…

_When I saw that headline it was like…it was like suicide._

Oh dear God.

It couldn't be.

She threw the paper from the bed and stood up, trying to calm her shaking. It was warm in the room, but she was still shaking. Why was that?

_They weren't murderers. I know that much. Atsuki…tell me they weren't murderers._

If Wing…was…Heero Yuy. Her mind stumbled over the name. That would explain so much . That would explain everything. How he had suddenly appeared in the Breaks after the war, with no record of past history there. How he killed with efficiency, quickly and professionally, without batting an eye. How he had memories of the war, though he had not been a soldier.

How he had reacted to the Gundam news release.

Her arms snaked around her body, and she stared out the window, ignoring the buzz of the television in the background. It was the only logical explanation. The only explanation that her mind would give her, now matter how hard she tried to push it away.

_If they were murderers, would I have loved them?_

The last of her childhood fantasies of the pilots, of princes and kingdoms and castles in the air, of knights in shining armor, disappeared.

Wing was only a boy, lost and alone and desperate for something he wasn't sure existed. He must have been even more of a junkie before she had met him, to have completely erased his memories of the war.

No, it wasn't complete. He still remembered, somewhere.

_I'm a murderer._

She loved him. She still loved him, no matter what he called himself, no matter what he had been or was or would ever be. And he was in danger. Sooner or later…sooner or later they would find him and call him a criminal and a murderer and seek out the world's justice without second thought. She had to find him and tell him that, even if he wouldn't believe her.

If he still remembered, even if it was only the tiniest of memories, he would believe her. She was sure of it.

He had been staying away from any news releases ever since…that night, and Darkflight wasn't the most informed person around, either. She wondered if he had happened to catch it anywhere, but she doubted it. And even if he had, the most she could hope for was a reaction like that of the one he had experienced when the first news had broke. 

Without a second thought, she scrambled over the bed, flicking off the television, throwing things into a worn satchel. She had to go…she had to go find him. No one would miss her here. Perhaps they would shrug their shoulders and not give her disappearance a second thought. Perhaps they would chalk it up to an unlucky overnight encounter. It didn't matter. It wasn't right that she should stay here and do nothing when Wing…Heero…could be in danger from enemies he couldn't even fathom. She was one of the daughters of the Winner clan, cut off or not, and there had to be some way she could…

Quatre.

If she went back….maybe.

No.

She clenched her hands, pausing. Quatre would have the appropriate tools…he would have known Wing. Heero. He would probably be trying to find him too. It was the logical conclusion. It was probably her only solution.

She hadn't seen him for seven years, and now she was crawling back to him to seek his help. The thought made her feel nauseous. 

No, she wasn't crawling. She was going back because she was willing to help someone she loved. Quatre should understand that. 

_If you ever did go away, you'd come back, right?_

I love you, neechan.

It was too late for regret, too late for lies.

_I'm a murderer._

Whoever said I loved you?

"Wing," she said to the empty room. "I lied. I love you. I'm coming for you. Wait for me…"

  


  
**Scene VII: The Expiation of Sandrock**

  


_"In the end, you are my one true friend."  
--Bette Midler, My One True Friend_

  
It was hell out there.

During the war, Quatre had been a prisoner, but there was something worse about this situation. This time he was a prisoner in his own home.

His sisters had once again taken control of his life, and he hadn't been happy about it. Jaffa and Rashid had conspired to bring him down to earth, to the Magunac's old base where he had spent so much time with Duo, hoping to shield him from the press. Oz had found it once, but they were no more. Une would have found him eventually- sometimes the way she worked seemed like magic to him.

It was too late to hide, he could have told his protectors. The one press conference had been enough to disturb his dreams. In the three nights since, he had been plagued by a steady stream of nightmares about the inquisition he had faced from the reporters. He recognized that his own actions were coming back to rest on his head, but he didn't understand why no one was willing to listen.

He knew he had shocked the world. He had shocked himself, and his entire family originally. But still…

Every time he shut his eyes, he relived those trying moments. Voices came at him, and the crowd was a seething mass of furious faces- faces that wanted something he couldn't give them. 

_"Mr. Winner, why did you build the Gundam?"_

"Mr. Winner, what did your father think of your being a pilot?"

"Quatre, isn't being a pilot against everything your family stands for?"

"Are you prepared to face a tribunal?"

"Are you going to issue a public apology?"

"Are you prepared to reimburse victims of your attacks?"

"Who are the other pilots, Mr. Winner?"

"WHY DID YOU DO IT?"

He had tried to answer some of their questions, but they weren't listening. They had scented blood, and he was the victim of their fury. Finally people had a place to channel their rage about the war, about the why's that had been left unanswered. He had no more answers then anyone else- what could they possibly expect of him? He had followed his own conscience- why couldn't anyone understand that?

Standing in one of the smallest rooms of the compound, he looked out over the small town. The people bustled around, going about their daily business, unaware of the turmoil that one young man among them was experiencing. Such a simple life, he thought, looking longingly at a group of girls who were playing hopscotch. Was I ever like that? Was I ever an innocent?

He shut his eyes, trying to recall that life, but was unable to. No, he had always been the thirtieth child of Raberba Abdul Winner, and the designated heir. From his birth, he had been carefully groomed to become a business tycoon, the ruler in all but name of the L4 colonies. He remembered playing with his sisters, but even those times had been carefully monitered and structured. Sometimes he wondered if he was only an actor in a play. Such thoughts always led to a somewhat ironic desire for an understudy to step in.

He'd been watching the news ever since he'd been at this compound, and he understood why his sisters (the four who had accompanied him, at least) had wanted him to keep away from any form of media. Within the space of days, the formerly popular head of the Winner Group had been demonized. He was amazed at what people were willing to say, and he could feel the hatred the world had built up against him.

When the identities of the others were announced, he was relieved to learn that none of them had been found. He would have set his resources on finding them, but recognized that it would be a pointless effort. The rest of the world was hunting for them... the chances of Quatre, even back by the immense resources of Winner Empire, finding them first, was slim to none. He hoped that Lady Une would find them, but chances weren't that good.

Where is Trowa? he wondered as he stared at the flickering screen that was running an extremely slanted expose on the pilots. The records for the others were practically non-existent, as Trowa, Duo, and Heero had fallen through the cracks of a Federation system that didn't care about the Colonies, and all the records' of Wufei's early life had been blown up when his colony self-destructed. That didn't stop the reporters from making "educated guesses" which were as far from the truth as possible.

He picked up the remote and prepared to flick it off, when a new segment started. TV Tokyo had apparently hired a team of psychologists and profilers to investigate the pilots, and they were presenting the findings. Quatre knew he should cite the show off now, before he could get upset with more outright lies. Still, a part of him was morbidly curious (the part that caused people to slow down to view traffic accidents), and he left the show on in spite of his better judgment.

The man who was speaking had his name, Dr. Keith Richards, emblazoned across the bottom of the screen by the TV Tokyo logo. He was a small man wearing a neatly trimmed beard, black blazer, and a pair of half-glasses balanced on the tip of his nose. Great. Quatre just would _love_ being psychoanalyzed by this man.

Five pictures of the pilots flashed across the screen. Quatre sighed. He was getting far too used to seeing those same pictures over and over again- well, with the exception of his. The newpapers luckily had enough photos of him from other public engagements, but he hated how they always chose the one that made him look the most angelically innocent. As if they were highlighting how different his new image was from the previously perceived reality.

_"The first pilot is, without a doubt, a psychopath. His single-minded pursuit..."_

Reeshya came into the room and leaned over the back of the plush sofa he was sitting on. Resting her hand on his shoulder, she stared at screen. "Quatre, why are you watching this garbage?"

"Penance," he said softly, watching as the images continued to flash across the screen, describing Heero. Numerous professionals offered opinions, and none were very flattering.

"Quatre, this isn't the truth. You know that, I know that- Lady Une knows that. The people who matter know who you guys were. Hold onto that knowledge, Quatre."

He stared at the screen, which had now brought up a picture of Duo, who was winking cheerfully into the camera. _"...possible that Duo Maxwell is bipolar..."_ Dr Richards said, a sentence that jumped out at him.

Quatre blinked, wondering why they had never considered something like that. The condition -also known as manic depression- would have explained so much. Duo's ups and downs, his unpredictable brilliance followed by bouts of disphoria and depression. "They're right," he said, then started to wonder. Maybe they were right about so many other things.

Reeshya frowned, and then reached out and jerked his face over with her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. The tactile contact between the two empaths heightened their awareness of each other's feelings, and Quatre's will, the stubborness that had kept him going for so long, began to show cracks at the seams. For the first time in his life, he jerked away from Reeshya, the sister he had always considered his confidant.

Reeshya wasn't having any of that. "I refuse to see you torture yourself like this," she said. "And they are NOT right, Quatre. They just don't want to admit that the pilots did what they could not- tumble a corrupt organization for the good of humanity. You and your comrades put the welfare of society ahead of your owns dreams and desires."

_"03 possibly is afflicted with a mild form of autism...."_

Quatre's attention refocused on the screen. He would be next, and he wanted to know what was wrong with himself.

Reeshya apparently understood his intention, and she wasn't about to allow him to. She jumped up, and manually turned the television off.

"Hey! I was watching that!" her brother protested. He sounded very young.

Despite the heavy atmosphere, Reeshya chuckled. They, being children of a disgustingly reach man, had never had this quarrel, as their father had been able to supply them all with luxuries to prevent fighting. It was amusing to have this classic battle so late in life. "I'm not going to let you! Didn't anyone ever tell you that people who overhear things about themselves aren't likely to hear anything complimentary?"

"But Reeshya-"

"Don't 'but Reeshya' me, Quatre. I'm your older sister, trust me. Let's do something else."

He nodded slowly. "Yes, let's. We haven't really talked."

"No. We haven't." She paused, her eyes flashing. "I don't want to ask you this, but I need to. For my own peace of mind. Quatre, whatever happened to Sandrock?"

He smiled softly. "Reeshya, that isn't like you, to be so nosy. What happened to my sweet sister?"

"She grew up. Quatre, the world is a dark and dangerous place. No one can afford to be innocent anymore. No one can be a princess, locked away safely in an ivory tower."

"Boku no Sandrock..." he said, and his face was lit with a sad smile. "Sandrock, too, is paying a penance," he said softly.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Come with me," he offered, linking arms with her.

Together the siblings walked through the house, to the second story window in the house. "Look there," Quatre said, pointing out over the compound.

Reeshya obeyed, her eyes widening. She couldn't count the times she had walked passed the new irrigation system, the system that gave the Maguaracs a self-sufficient agricultural base. The brightly colored metals showed how new it was, and she blinked, trying to factor this all into her head. "In plain sight... how come I never noticed?" she wondered aloud.

"Few see what is right before their eyes," he returned.

"Now Sandrock gives life... I thought it fitting."

"Is there... is there any way to rebuild it?" she asked hesitantly.

"No. I destroyed all the information of the Gundams I could find. Purged the files. Perhaps someday a scientist will come along with enough knowledge to build one himself, but for now, only the pilots and Howard have enough knowledge to build one, and we won't. We've seen too much death."

"What of the others?" Reeshya wanted to know.

Quatre shrugged. "I'm not sure. But I trust them."

  


  
**Scene VIII: No Time to Look Back**

  


_"Who is that girl I see  
Staring straight back at me?  
Why is my reflection someone I don't know?"  
--MuLan, Reflection_

  
Around midnight, the weather changed.

It had been hot all day, but as Noin sat on her bed and contemplated sleep, with the lights off and the moon shining through the windows, it began to rain. She could hear it tapping on the glass panes and faintly on the roof. It had been a long time since it rained. She missed the rain.

Sighing, she turned off the light and lay down on the bed, pulling the covers up to her waist, hoping the rain would cool the steaming heat somewhat. Burning sun by day, burning heat by night, even inside. It never changed.

It was too hot to sleep, so she sat up again, pushing her hair out of her eyes and glancing at the tiny digital clock on the wall. They had taken away her watch, perhaps thinking she might find some way to use it as an escape device. It had probably been a wise move on their part. When she had been an instructor at Lake Victoria, her watch had contained a hidden guided laser beam; the very latest in technology. But the watch she had worn on this mission was just a simple watch. Better to be safe than sorry, she supposed. The principles of war and all that. Sun Tzu. The art of war, security and simplicity.

Noin rubbed her eyes wearily, wondering if she had insomnia. She hadn't been able to sleep for the past few nights, lying awake and staring at the ceiling for hours.

There had been a commotion outside her doorway a few days past, and she had tried to look out the tiny barred window at the top of her door, but it was too high up and she could see very little; only several guards marching past at the very end of what seemed to be a long guard detail. She wondered what was going on. New maneuver drills, perhaps? Or maybe the planetside resistance was acting up again?

She hoped it was the latter, but she doubted it. The planetside resistance had been growing weaker and weaker, and the last she had heard of it before her capture was that several resistance cells had been discovered in the capital and all the members of those cells had been taken prisoner. The resistance commander was thankfully out of the city at that time. What was his name? Gustav-something? She couldn't remember. There had been reward posters taped to lampposts and building sides, and broadcasts daily from the radio for his capture.

She hoped he was still free, though that wasn't likely, if the trend had continued after her capture. The new government was certainly showing everyone who was in charge, and they had no qualms about engaging in a little violence if necessary.

What was it that they were after, anyway? If one looked at this so-called "rebellion" from Earth's point of view…or even from the colonists', it was a senseless cause. The World Nation hadn't had much control over the colony, with it being so far away from the center of the galaxy, and the colonists were basically an autonomous governing body. It was as if the whole rebellion had been staged to gain someone's attention…but whose?

Thinking made her head hurt, and she scooted against the wall, watching the subtle play of moonlight outside the windows. The bars cast shadows on the curtains.

She wondered where Zechs was. If he was coming for her.

Probably not. The Preventers had far more important things to worry about, and likely they had forgotten all about her. Besides, Zechs was…

He had never said that he loved her. He had never said anything one way or the other. When she was there, he spoke to her. When they were apart, not a word. No phone call, no contact whatsoever. It was if out of his line of sight, she did not exist.

She had put up with that for years, and she didn't have to put up with it anymore.

Noin fought the urge to laugh, staring up silently at the ceiling once more. _I can take care of myself,_ she'd told him once before, a long time ago. _I don't need anyone telling me what to do._

Pining after someone who she'd told she didn't need…that was something that only she would do.

There was a slight tapping noise at the window. Her head swung towards it for a moment, but it was nothing. The rain? A rodent, perhaps. There was an overabundance of those within the old palatial headquarters. She would never have guessed how incredibly dirty the building really was. The military had more important matters to take care of than taking care of its people, evidently.

The tapping noise again. She froze, eyes searching out the wall from which the sound had come. It wasn't her imagination…too distinct for raindrops, and no rodent would make a sound that loud.

Tapping. Her brain processed the sound. Tap-tap-tap-tap. Four taps, a pause, then five.

Tap code?

She had never in her wildest dreams thought that she would be in a position to use OZ Specials tap code, but there was only one obvious answer. There was someone tapping on the other side of the wall, and he had been an OZ Special, and he knew who she was. And he was sending her a message.

The letter u.

She flung aside the covers, sliding against the wall and then crawling low to avoid the security camera she knew was monitoring her movements inside the room. If she hugged the walls and then moved towards the far side of the room, she would enter the camera's blind spot.

Squatting down as close as she could to where she guessed the tap had come, she put her ear to the wall and listened again.

Tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

U.

She took a deep breath. It could be a trick. Some officer might be trying to trick her.

But that didn't make much sense. She had been the only prisoner within these walls, and why would they try to trick her, if they knew the tap code already? Tap code had been taught only to the most elite of the elite of the OZ Specials, and none of those, as far as she knew, had been part of the coup on A007.

She uncurled her fingers, swallowed. Tapped. Five taps, then four.

Y. Y for yes.

LTNOIN, the taps came back, and for a second she had to steady herself against the wall.

HOW, she wrote back.

ETILLE, came the reply. CLSOFSXTYSVN

Class of '67? ACDMY, she tapped. Y, came the response. An Academy graduate? AD 167 had been well before the war...if his story was true, then he was a veteran.

She took another deep breath before she tapped again. HOW. The same question.

PRVNTR.

Preventers? They were looking for her? Her heart beat faster and she tapped the next words perhaps a little too quickly. Could he be in the Preventers?

U, she wrote. You?

N. She felt a little disappointed, but tapped back. WHO.

PEACECRAFT.

Peacecraft? _Peacecraft?_

No. It couldn't possibly be. Zechs was dead. Her fingers were trembling violently now, and her heart was pounding.

ZECHS, she tapped back, hardly daring to hope.

Y

HOW, she said, for the third time. This man…she assumed he was a man…had to be lying. What was his name, Etille? He was tricking her…he was trying to break her. Before he could respond, she was tapping again. LIARLEAVEMEALONE

N, came the taps. PRVNTR

RNFRCEMNTS, she said, cautiously. She still wasn't sure if she should trust him or not. If his story was true…oh God, if it was true…tears stung the corners of her eyes and she blinked them away. She was a soldier, not a schoolgirl. She would not cry. WHEN.

THREEDYSAGORD

A raid…Zechs had led a raid? PRVNTRSRD, she tapped.

Y. A pause. MBLESTFACTHIT. Another pause. ICAPTRD

Noin followed the tapping carefully, processing the information in her head. She hadn't heard tap code since survival training before the war, and her memory was rusty. Mobile Suit factory hit. Etille had been captured.

ZECHS, she wrote back. 

FINE. Pause. WTHRBLS. Pause. CATALONIA

Zechs was with Dorothy?

This could all be a trap. They could be feeding her false information. They could be trying to play with her mind…another form of the never ending attempts to pull something out of her that they could use. They could be trying to trick her.

Zechs…could be alive. Zechs could be coming for her.

She hugged her knees to her chest in the cold room, curled up against the wall in the darkness and tapping an outdated code on the wall to someone whom she had never even met. It was ridiculous, the premise. And yet…Zechs could be alive. Peacecraft, the man had called him. Peacecraft. Zechs had called himself by his old name, Milliard Peacecraft, when he had been White Fang commander. If this man was…

WHTEFANG, she tapped.

A long pause. Y

That made sense. If he had served as a member of White Fang, he would have known both Zechs and Dorothy.

WHAT

Another long pause. INTLGNCE, came the response, finally. CHF

Intelligence chief?

Etille. The name rang a faint bell in the back of her mind, now. His picture had been on the wall of the front foyer of the Academy Main Building, one of the few who had distinguished themselves in the OZ forces enough for them to be honored in such fashion. His photograph had been at the far right of the wall, next to the large double doors leading into the commanding general's office. Etille had been a serious looking young man in the photo, hair neatly combed and a placid smile on his face. She had always thought he would be a rather dull person to know…though this conversation was proving anything but that.

Unless this was a trick. It could still be one…an elaborate one, but a trick nonetheless. They could throw open the door of her room any minute and have a perfect excuse to kill her.

If they had wanted to kill her, they could have done it long ago.

ESCPE, the taps said.

Escape?

_If I am captured, I will make every effort to escape and to aid others to escape._

She felt faintly embarrassed. The rules of the code of conduct made it perfectly clear…but the thought of escape had never even crossed her mind.

What had she been doing all this time, anyway?

She thought back, to the endless days of sitting, the endless waiting, for something to happen, anything. The interrogation sessions. More waiting. The embarrassment grew stronger, bordering on the edge of shame. What had happened to the proud soldier she had been? She'd been sitting, feeling empty and worthless, waiting for Zechs.

She had been waiting for Zechs, knowing full well that he would never come.

But according to Etille, Zechs was alive, and he was here.

A breath hissed between her teeth, and she hugged herself tighter. It wasn't fair…not fair.

HVNTTHT, she tapped back slowly. Haven't thought. Haven't thought of escape. Haven't thought of anyone but myself. Haven't thought of anything except feeling sorry for myself. 

Since when was she dependent on anyone?

OH, he tapped back, apparently at a loss for words.

She closed her eyes. What if Zechs was coming for her? What if he actually did burst in through the door, and found her sitting in a dejected heap on her bed, staring at the wall? What would he think?

Probably the first thing he would do would be to turn his back and leave.

WHEN she said, gritting her teeth. She was not a weakling, yet that was all she had been. 

Zechs was not dead. Zechs was alive, and it was time to show him what she was made of. She didn't need to be rescued. She could do it on her own.

PLAN, he said.

Noin licked her lips, mind working fast. She had to trust this man who called himself Etille…she had to. There was no other way. And if he turned out to be an impostor…well, she would deal with that when it came. If worst came to worst, she would be killed trying to escape. Better than rotting away day by day in this furnished prison cell.

LETMETHINK, she said. TMRW.

A pause. Y. A pause. GRDS.

Grds? She puzzled that out in her mind for a second, then it clicked. Guards. RT, she tapped. LTR. Right. Later.

There was no answer. She hoped he had not gotten caught. What were those codes that prisoners had used historically? GN, for good night. GBU, for God Bless You. There were several others, but she could not remember. She dared not tap again, for fear the guards would hear. And if they were at his cell, they would be at hers in a moment for sure.

She crept back to her bed in the same way she had gone to the wall, crawling under the covers and lying very still. Heard the tapping of the boots of the guards as they made their rounds. The scratching at the door as they peered over, then the tapping as they left, satisfied that nothing was out of the ordinary.

Zechs was alive.

She felt like shouting and crying at the same time. It was too good to be true. She shouldn't dare to hope…just in case. Just in case this Etille was telling her this to gain her loyalty.

To hell with it. If Zechs was alive, she would do anything, anything to be back at his side, where she belonged. Dorothy was a good soldier, but she was militarily nowhere near Noin's caliber. Noin was OZ trained, Dorothy home-schooled by her uncle and Treize. Besides, Zechs and Noin had always been a team. Always.

"Zechs…" A soundless whisper in the dark. She balled her fists in the blankets, mind working through possible escape scenarios. She hoped Etille was doing the same.

She had been a coward and a fool, but it was time to act. Somewhere inside her, the old Noin still existed, the Noin who had faced down an angry Chang Wufei that night at Lake Victoria, the Noin who had personally recruited three Gundam pilots to join a futile resistance that had somehow saved the world. Zechs had believed in that old Noin. At least she had thought that he had. And even if he had not, others had. That had to be enough.

Her sleep that night was restless with dreams of fire and smoke and the incessant calling of her name from the lips of someone she could not see.

_Noin…Noin…Noin…_

  
For more information on the American POW tap code used during the Vietnam War: [http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/amex/honor/sfeature/sf_tap.html][1]

  
[Act IV Part I][2] | [Act IV Part III][3] | [Back to Sainan no Kekka][4]

   [1]: http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/amex/honor/sfeature/sf_tap.html
   [2]: act4-1.html
   [3]: act4-3.html
   [4]: /gundam/sainan/



	16. The Curtain of the Next Chapter Rises

Sainan no Kekka 4.3

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT IV, PART III

** Hito wa yume no naka de  
Haruka sora e mai agaru  
Doko made mo takaku  
Eien no tobigoe**

Wild wing boys  
Densetsu no tsubasa de sora o kakeru  
Wild wing boys  
Moeagaru sora to umi no karata e

Wild wing boys  
Kiete yuku hoshikuzu mitsumenagara  
Wild wing boys  
Ashita e no atsui omoi kanjite  
Take off

** People in the middle of a dream  
Go dancing up to the distant sky  
Higher and higher  
Flying into eternity**

Wild wing boys  
Wings of legend soar through the sky  
Wild wing boys  
Beyond the burning sky and sea

Wild wing boys  
While gazing at the disappearing stars  
Wild wing boys  
Feel the passionate memories of tomorrow  
Take off 

**--Gundam Wing, _Wild Wing_  
[Duo Maxwell image song]**  


  
  
**Scene IX: Gifts of the Dragon**

  


_"Cover the madness, cover the fear,  
No one will ever know you were here…  
Bury the lies, bury me under a thousand goodbyes."  
--October Project, Bury My Lovely_

  
He didn't venture outside the next day, nor the next. The sun rose and set and the moon cast its glimmering silver light upon the bamboo window slats and the rush mat floor and the days came and went, and still he sat on the floor of the study, or wandered restlessly from room to room, or dipped his brush into the ink pots that sat on the corner of his desk, grasping at the words that would not come.

He had thought the war was over when in actuality it had just begun.

He should have seen this coming, of course. Yuy had hinted that something like this might happen, a long time ago when he had first gotten to know him. He had thought the boy was insane. He now knew that not only was Heero insane, but he was, most of the time, right.

This was one of the times when he wished that was not the case.

The tattered newspaper was still sitting on the corner of his bed, and he reached over, brushed one finger over the carefully lettered characters. It was not a lie. The truth was breaking…the truth was here, and it would sweep him away.

When he came to China after the war ended…he came because it was new. It was a new start, away from it all, away from what he had been. Here he could start again as who he wanted to be, with a new identity, a new life. He had broken all ties with his past. 

And yet it still haunted him.

It was an incessant nagging at the back of his mind now, since he had broken free of the crowd at Tiananmen and run, run like he had never run in his life back to the outskirts of the city, where he had caught a stray bus straight back to the village, then run panting the distance to his secluded dwelling in the midst of the trees and the babbling brook. The voice had always been there, but now it was stronger than ever.

_Wufei, what have you done?_

Wufei, what have you done?

Chang Wufei, what have you done?

Shut up! He would scream at it, pressing his hands to his ears and shaking his head so hard until the blood rushed into his skull and the bone pounded, as if that would silence the past. The people he had killed. The ones he had left behind. The ones he could not save. The nobility he had destroyed in the name of justice. They cried out to him.

He had left…he had left the Peacemillion. For solitude. For penance.

The sun was sinking behind the trees and he stood at the window, fingers fumbling at the bamboo shade, touching the shadow of red light there on the screen as if by doing so, by grasping that intangible echo of blood in his hands, he could resolve himself of guilt.

_That's not the way, Wufei. What have you done?_

I'm sorry, he whispered silently to the ghosts, _I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...Meilan. I didn't mean to._

She is dead. There is nothing she can do for you.

Nataku, my…forgive me!

There was no answer, and he suddenly felt so terribly alone, the void in his heart widening and sucking what was left of his human existence into its black maw.

There were gaps in his memory, entire spaces in which he couldn't remember where he had been or what he had done. He had managed to patch together events from the scenes before and after, but there were still those spaces of blackness in which he knew he had existed only because of the fact that he was still alive now.

It frightened him.

His journey…his journey back from the Peacemillion.

_After he left in the shuttle, he had piloted it to a private spaceport, bought a ticket on a passenger liner back to Earth._

That was one of the blank spots, the spots that he couldn't remember. He remembered being confronted by Yuy in the hangar, remembered tensing as the pilot of Wing Zero calmly inquired as to where he was headed. Remembered answering, remembered walking past him, and then…nothing.

The spaceport…there had been a spaceport. He remembered that much. He had been…wet?

He remembered being wet.

_There were crying babies on board, old men, loud-mouthed women. No other boys his age. He didn't expect any. They had all been killed in the war._

He didn't remember riding in the liner, but he had remembered voices speaking out of the blankness, so he had assumed that had been the case. So many forgotten memories…

He felt suddenly restless, kicked off his shoes and pulled open the back door of the house, following the sound of running water through the trees until he reached the small brook. Standing on its banks, he followed its tiny twists and turns until it ran into the bushes and out of sight. Out of his sight, though it kept flowing. Flowing, until it joined other brooks, rain run-off, combined into a stream, then a river, a mighty river sweeping through fields where farmers still plowed and hands stood knee-deep in rice patties, rushing down to where the ocean crashed and broke against the rocks.

The ocean.

There was something…something important, about the ocean.

_He had put his sword away when he had come here. The stream outside flowed into a river which flowed into the ocean several thousand miles away and when had stepped off the shuttle he had seen the gleaming white ocean shimmering and knew what he had to do._

The sword…that was right. But there was something disjointed about the memory of the beautiful weapon plunging into the glittering depths, out of his sight. Again, always out of sight. There was something more that he could not seem to grasp.

What?

He knelt, dipped one hand into the shallow water, brought it to his lips to taste. It was clear and clean and crisp, just like brook water should be. 

Why had he been wet, standing in the spaceport?

He closed his eyes, focused, like he had been taught to long ago by the instructors he'd had in his youth. To focus. To turn one's concentration inwards and find the centerpoint of meditation. To become one with the nature around him.

That day in the hangar. When he had spoken to Yuy. He replayed that scene inside his head. Saw himself enter the hangar. Saw himself walk through the empty, cavernous space. Saw Wing Zero. Saw Deathscythe Hell. Saw Sandrock. Saw Yuy appear out of nowhere and speak to him. Saw him answer, shrug, brush past the other pilot. Saw Heavyarms out of the corner of his eye.

Blank.

"Damn it," he muttered, voice ragged, then blew out a breath. Again.

Sandrock. Yuy. Heavyarms.

Nothing.

_Why can't I remember? Meilan…why…I…_

She's dead. You killed her, when you could not save her.

Shut up! he hissed, for a moment wondering exactly who he was talking to. Replayed the scene again, this time analyzing every small detail that he could remember.

Sandrock. The paint was flaking off all over the Gundam…one could hardly tell it had ever been painted at all. There was a large dent in the right leg, and one of the scythes was missing.

Yuy. Saw the intensity in the blue eyes, and then the almost-flicker of some emotion left unnamed.

_He knew the cobalt eyes were watching him, drawing an invisible target on his chest, speaking the silent words inside his own mind. Omae o korosu._

But instead the other pilot shrugged and stepped aside, motioning him towards the shuttle that stood at the opening of the hangar. "I understand."

Shuttle.

He mentally stopped himself. There had been no shuttle…where was the shuttle? There had been no shuttle in the hangar that day. There were a few usually sitting in there, with engines left on standby, but Sally had taken a crew out to see if they could salvage anything more from the wreck of the Libra, and the shuttle spaces were empty. A memory, to fill the blank space in his mind. There were no shuttles. The picture leapt into his head, large and clear, because there was Heavyarms, and then next to the 03 Gundam, there was…

Shenlong.

He drew in a ragged breath, covering his face with his hands, seeing once again himself seated on the Gundam's shoulder, and Sally trying to reason with him without realizing what she was saying. There was truth to her statements, but at the same time she had no idea who she was speaking to. She thought she knew him. They all did.

Shenlong was there. He had taken Shenlong that day, out of the hangar. There had been no shuttle.

_You fool,_ the voice taunted in his head. _You desperate fool._

How had he made the memory of the shuttle? Inside that spot where there had been nothing…he had created it for himself, and called it a memory?

He had piloted Shenlong down to Earth. No one had seen him. There were no radar scans for him, because the war was over and radar was a thing of the horrible past which was better left forgotten, at least for a while. But he could not forget, and that was why he had taken Shenlong. He would…help himself forget, once and for all.

Forever.

_Meilan._

Down through the atmosphere. He remembered the burning sensation in his throat and the tears that stung his eyes, created not entirely by the enormous speed of reentry through the atmosphere. They had told him that reentry with all power to engines could permanently damage his Gundam. The least of his worries. He urged the machine on ever faster, a race against time and something else which he could not name, but which he could feel gaining on him ever so slowly, and if it caught him, he was lost.

He broke through the clouds. It was bright, sunlight, white light sparkling on the crests of the ocean waves, and still he did not slow but simply kept falling. One of the engines had gone out, but it was all right because he did not intend to fly anywhere. This would be Shenlong's last flight.

When he plunged into the ocean, all he felt was a great sense of finality.

He pressed the button of the ejection seat, hurtled out of the cockpit at a speed that would have brought him well away from any explosion in the void of space, but with the drag of the water simply afforded him a view of his Gundam sinking, falling into the murky blue-black of the ocean, and he watched it go.

He was a coward, he knew. He should have self-destructed, if not with himself inside the Gundam, at least he should have destroyed the Gundam itself. Like Heero had done, long ago. That would have ended it all, would have insured that he could never go back. But destroying his Gundam would be like destroying what was left of his heart.

The sword he had left inside the cockpit. He wouldn't need it again.

There was no shuttle. There were no passengers. The rest of the blindfold lifted, and he remembered. He had used the ejection seat as his craft, had landed at the nearest town, which had happened to be a fishing town in Greece. Had taken a bus to Athens. A passenger liner to Beijing.

And there he had forgotten.

_Wufei…what have you done?_

"I'm a failure," he said into the evening air. The cool breeze drew the tears from the corners of his eyes and down his cheeks, running into the corners of his mouth, but he made no move to wipe them away because they were symbols of his guilt. Salty, like the salt of betrayal.

_You're a failure._

"I'm not worthy of them."

_You're not worthy of them._

Why do you fight? he had asked Sally. He couldn't remember what her answer had been. It was…too long ago.

"I betrayed you…" he whispered, and brought his hand up, holding it palm towards the setting sun, seeing the last droplets of water drip from it, just as it had when he had stood on the beaches of that small town, looking out towards the sea and the machine which he would never see again.

Because it hadn't been just a machine, after all. It was the only thing he had had to call his own. It was her soul, reincarnated, and instead of winning a victory for her, he had brought only shame upon both their names.

"Nataku." Her name was a desperate prayer on his lips. His hand closed into a fist, and he imagined the self-destruct control sitting cold in his palm, with his thumb on the red switch, and he pushed the button.

"Forgive me."

  
_Go to Wufei story [Human Touch][1]_

  


  
**Scene X: In Control of the Situation**

  


_"If there is a load, you have to bear that you can't carry,  
I'm right up the road, I'll share your load."  
--Michael Bolton, Lean on Me_

  
There were storm clouds outside the airplane windows, and Sally Po sighed, pulling the window shade shut and settling back her seat. It had been a hard few days at Cliffside, and coming back home to Geneva, to paperwork and the media and Une's temper, was not going to get any easier.

Sally had immediately placed those who had been closest to Duo in protective custody, recognizing that the students would be in danger from the former soldiers of Cliffside. No one was going to react rationally. Helena, Chris and Shinobu had taken it with good grace, concern for their friend mixing with determination for their new mission.

Before he had left with Hilde to retrieve the Gundams, Duo had begged a favor of the three teenagers. "I need you to find Heero Yuy for me," he said.

"Duo, what can they do for you that the Preventers can't?" Sally had demanded sharply, before any of the teens could get a word in edgewise.

"No offense, Sally, but I can trust them, and I can't trust the Preventers- I don't know them. For God sake's, Lady UNE is the one in charge of the operation- you honestly expect me to put something like this in her hands?" Duo asked.

"Une has changed," Sally said firmly. "She's probably more devoted to peace then anyone else on the planet."

Duo snorted, making his opinion quite clear. "Whatever," he said without conviction.

Sally decided to try a different tact. "You trust these… high school students?" she asked, raising an expressive eyebrow in the direction of the unconscious Ilene.

"That's not fair!" Helena burst out.

Duo made a gesture, smiling wearily. "I know them. They're my friends, and if you can't trust your friends, who can you trust?

"Um, Duo..." Helena said hesitantly, twisted a strand of her hair between her fingers.

He turned his bright lavender eyes on her. "Yes?"

"Exactly who IS Heero Yuy, and why are we suppose to look for him?"

Sally blinked a few times. Heero Yuy had been a part of her world-view since the fateful day she had first seen him strapped to the table in the Federation debriefing facility. _Heero Yuy..._ she thought. _How do you describe him to someone who has never met him? How do you describe a hero chosen by fate? How do you describe a boy who was the very incarnation of an ideal? _

"Heero Yuy is the pilot of Wing Zero, the most dangerous of the Gundams," Duo said briefly, apparently not waxing philosophical the way she was. "He gave Wing Zero to me to hide, and I think it's time for me to return it. Problem is, I honestly don't have a clue where he is."

"That's not true," Hilde replied. "He probably went home."

Duo snorted. "He didn't have a home. None of us did."

"Yes, but he probably returned to the Colonies afterwards. You did, Quatre did, and Trowa returned to his circus- so why wouldn't Heero?"

"He's from L1. It seems like a logical place to begin a search," Sally said.

"I can handle the search on L1," Shinobu volunteered in his native language to Sally. "I have… connections. Some of my family lives there."

Sally frowned as she answered in the same language. "Just because you have family on L1 doesn't mean anything. I have resources as a Preventer, and-"

Shinobu's eyes were fathomless as he spoke in a soft, firm voice, a voice used to command. "Can your Preventers search the Breaks? If someone wants to vanish on L1, that's where they would go."

Sally's brain slowly processed the information. The Breaks were one of the few places that she had been unable to get any good information from without paying ridiculous bribe fees. "I don't have a large enough budget to pay the snitches," she said cautiously.

"You won't need it- I'll handle it. I need a few good pictures of this Heero Yuy, and if he's in the Breaks, I'll know by the end of the week."

There was something hard in the young Japanese man's eyes, and Sally felt her curiosity piqued. So… he wasn't entirely what he seemed. She resolved to do a background check on Matsuura Shinobu. She needed to know exactly what was going on - she had to retain control of the situation, and unknown factors were most certainly not welcome.

Helena and Chris volunteered to use the school's computer to run searches, and Sally had promised them full access to the Preventers' database. She would have to do it on the sly (since she would catch Hell from Une if the Lady ever learned of how many rules she had broken), but she decided the ends would justify the means. It seemed, for a day or two, that everything would be all right, but then something went drastically wrong as Sally was about to leave the campus to return to Preventers' Headquarters.

Ilene Keets disappeared.

Sally hoped that nothing had happened to her, for all sorts of grisly possibilities immediately rose to mind. From what she had learned from Helena Rosenbaum, Ilene was widely viewed as Duo's most likely girlfriend (Hilde's existence wasn't known by many people, which Sally found interesting) and she was undoubtedly in danger from some people who would want to hurt Duo through his friends.

Still, a queasy feeling in her stomach said that wasn't that likely what had happened.

When the girl had regained consciousness, she had been on the verge of madness. Sally had seen the unreasonable look of fury in the chocolate brown eyes and had placed her in a dorm room, making a note to arrange psychiatric counseling. Still, the girl had apparently left her room and had simply disappeared, bypassing all the security guards that had been placed on the campus. Sally had her aide initiate a search, but the girl had broken no laws and was not priority.

Besides, she had to deal with the sudden arrival of the media.

Sally Po would never be able to describe the relief she felt when she realized that Duo Maxwell had managed to escape Cliffside Heights before the public learned who the pilots had been during the war. She hadn't yet informed Une that she had actually run into the pilot, and she knew she would catch hell when the General found out, because Une always found out about everything, sooner or later. But she did have her reasons.

The media had descended on the campus like a shark that had smelled blood. The students had been shocked, and it was only the presence of many, many soldiers that kept them from rioting again. Duo Maxwell had betrayed them- betrayed them twice. They wouldn't be forgiving him anytime soon.

Sally had finally settled matters enough to return to Une's side. She would be needed at the Preventers Headquarters, especially now that everyone knew. Besides, as Une's second-in-command, she felt almost obligated to be there. Things were certainly not going to get easier, and they both needed all the strength they could acquire.

The plane hit turbulence, and Sally bit her lip, trying to suppress the nausea she felt.

Her aide handed her a cup of carbonated water, which she sipped at gratefully. She knew she should take some kind of tablet for it, but she loathed taking medicine for anything that wasn't absolutely necessary. She'd seen what could happen when people had gotten too dependent on pills to make them feel "normal."

She looked over at the comm, wondering where Brown was in his investigation. It was like shutting the barn door after the horses had escaped, but she had ordered thorough background checks of the four students Duo had been closest to.

A yawn caught her unawares. _Timezones are one of the WORST things,_ she thought without amusement. _You meet yourself coming and going._ She wanted nothing more then to collapse into bed, but knew from experience that staying awake would be the best way for her body to adjust.

The green light on the screen blinked with an incoming message, and she hit the switch without bothering with an identification check. Anyone who had communication access to her here was probably important. The screen flickered to life, and the well-worn features of General Brown appeared. It was about time.

"Hello, General. Did you do that background check I asked?"

The General nodded slowly. "Of course I did," he said.

"Well?"

"Helena Rosenbaum and Chris Johnsen check out normal. Ilene Keets had a brother who was at Lake Victoria during the war." Brown paused. "He was killed that night Gundam Shenlong attacked the academy."

"I see," Sally said, knowing she should feel some sympathy for the girl, but it was taking most of her self-control to keep her eyes open, and thinking about Ilene was not one of the things she wanted to worry about right now. "And Shinobu?"

"Matsuura Shinobu…" Brown trailed off.

"Yes. Him," Sally prodded. "What about him?"

"You're not going to like it."

"I seldom do," she said with little humor. "Spill it. What is it about Matsuura Shinobu that is going to upset me so much?" It would have to be Shinobu - something about her had placed her on alert.

General Brown stared grimly at her image on the screen. "Sally, I hate to tell you this, but there IS no such person as Matsuura Shinobu."

:  


  
**Scene XI: Ninmu Ryoukai**

  


_"I'm sunk in the abysmal swamp  
Where there is no foothold.  
I have reached the watery depths.  
Distorted face..."  
--Malice Mizer, Illuminati_

  
Beijing was a beautiful city, like it had been advertised on the covers of travel brochures and magazines. Then again, after the Breaks, anything was beautiful. But there was something about the city that he did not like. The airport smelled of sweat and dust and the roar of the crowd was what hit him first when he stepped off the shuttle, like the sound of a giant wind in his ears. There were people. People everywhere, standing, walking, running, sitting, crossing back and forth in front of his eyes. He felt dizzy. Colors flashed before his eyes, sunlight glinting off glasses and suitcases and rings, and the voices reached out to him, tearing at him, grasping at his skin.

"Wing! Wing! Are you all right?"

He was grasping the railing with cold, clammy hands, and Darkflight's concerned eyes were looking into his. "Do you need to sit down?"

Wing pushed himself away from the railing. "Let's go," he said shortly.

So many people. He couldn't remember when he had last seen this many people. It was overwhelming. The scent of human bodies tugged at him, and he fought down his nausea. A bell was hammering at the back of his brain, out of the blackness that could be called his subconsciousness. People were dangerous. People were killers. People could betray him.

Betray him to what?

He pushed his way through the crowd, almost angrily. They jumped out of the way when they saw him coming. Why shouldn't they? A boy with a vivid scar down his face, dirty, unkempt, fresh off the streets. Strangely, this revelation filled him with no emotion whatsoever. He felt empty. Blank. Dead.

_Have you ever heard of a Chang Wufei?_

Why did that name send shivers up his spine?

Why did it tighten every muscle in his body?

Why did it knock at the doors of his memory?

Why was he afraid?

Taking deep gulps of air, he broke through the crowds at the front of the huge airport doors, hoisting his small pack onto one shoulder. Waited for Darkflight, who emerged after a minute, panting.

"Damn it, Wing, you can slow down. No one's chasing us, you know?"

Darkflight was wrong. They - he - was being chased. By someone. Something. He had to run, had to run faster, or else he would be caught, pulled back into the inexorable tide of blackness from which he knew he could never escape.

He began to run.

"Wing! Wing! STOP!"

He kept running, not listening to his partner's cries from behind him. The pounding of his footsteps was the pounding of his heart as he tore across the glittering concrete, fleeing from that _thing_ which he knew was just behind him. He had been safe on L1, but he was no longer safe here. They had found him.

"Wing! Damn you!"

Downtown Beijing was a blur. He dove through the densely packed crowds milling about on the walks, the traffic jams of vehicles in the streets. Horns honked and people shook their fists at him. He kept running. If he ran fast enough, he could escape. To a place where there were no more people, no more eyes, no more voices drilling into his brain, no more grasping limbs.

There. A dark alleyway, opening up between two buildings, and he dove into it, breathing hard, dropping to his hands and knees, where he felt the stinging bile gathering in his throat, and with a horrible retching sound he threw up. Threw up again. And again.

"Wing! Fuck, are you all right?"

He saw someone drop to his knees beside him, next to the pool of filthy stench in front of him, and he wiped his mouth with his hand. The hand was shaking violently. 

"I-"

Darkflight pushed him against the wall. It was high noon and the alleyway was brighter than he would have preferred it to be, but he couldn't run anymore. He didn't have the strength. He didn't think he could resist Darkflight's grip if he tried, so he simply sat bonelessly, all his thoughts focusing on not curling up into a shivering ball against the concrete.

"What's wrong, Wing?"

He shook his head.

"Come on." Darkflight sat next to him, eyes watching him closely. Darkflight's eyes he didn't mind. It was…the rest of them, that frightened him. "Tell me. Something freaked you out back there. Wing?"

"I…" he said, then shivered. "Too…too many people. I…I can't-"

"Oh." The sound was a breath blown out, carried off by the wind. "Damn." He could hear a note of self-remorse in his partner's voice. "I didn't even think about that…I'm sorry, Wing. Maybe I should have come alone."

"NO!" He moved before he could think, knocking Darkflight to the ground and staring at the other fiercely. "I won't let you!"

"Calm down! You're here now, aren't you? Ouch, leggo!"

His breath came in gasps and he scooted against the cold unyielding brick and concrete, hugging his knees.

"You can't do this without me."

A frown on the dark face. One hand tentatively reached out to touch his shoulder, but he didn't mind Darkflight's touch. It was the others…the touch of people, that bothered him.

"Wing. Something's going on with you, and I want to know what. Now."

He shook his head again. "I can't-"

"Damn it!" Darkflight exploded, jerking his hand away. "I'm sick and tired of seeing you like this! I can't work with a partner who can't get himself together, physically or mentally. And if you won't tell me, I can't help you!"

"Fire me, then." He looked up, meeting the other's eyes. Defiant. He felt something bubbling up from inside him.

Darkflight's voice was startled. "What?"

"Fire me. If you don't need me anymore."

"It's not that I-" Darkflight began, and Wing sprang to his feet.

"It's not? Then what is it? I have my own secrets, like you have yours, and if I don't tell you, it's my own business! Quit digging into my mind, you bastard!"

Darkflight stared at him open mouthed, and Wing felt the energy draining out of him as quickly as it had come. He slumped against the wall, forehead against the cool surface, smashed one fist into it. He knew his knuckles were bleeding now, but he felt no pain.

"Fuck you."

"Wing," Darkflight began quietly, then fell silent. He closed his eyes, hearing his partner get up, expected him to say that it was over. Finished. Waited for the footsteps that would mean Darkflight was walking away from him and never coming back.

Instead, there were hands on his shoulders, pushing him back down to a sitting position, and Darkflight was kneeling there with a curious expression on his face when he opened his eyes.

"I'm going to go check out the streets," he said. "Stay here."

"But I-" Wing struggled up. "I want-"

"You're in no shape to come with me," Darkflight said shortly. He couldn't tell if the dark-skinned boy was still angry or not. Maybe it was a trick and Darkflight really was leaving him. "Stay here. Try to sleep. I'll be back in a few hours."

Darkflight was going to try to gather information about the victim. That was his partner. Always with the job first in his mind.

He wouldn't find anything. Not unless he knew where to look. He took several deep breaths.

"Darkflight."

The other had stood up, looking back down at him with concerned eyes. "Get some rest, Wing. You're not coming with me, and that's that."

"Gundam pilot," he said. The words froze on his lips and he had to force the muscles to move, to get them out.

"What?"

"Chang…Chang Wufei." His arms snaked around his chest and he could feel his heart pounding. Nausea threatened to overwhelm him again, but he choked it back. "Gundam pilot."

There was a moment of silence as several emotions passed over Darkflight's face. Curiosity. Confusion. Hurt. Fear. Finally it settled into a sort of calm wariness. "How do you know?" he said.

"I just do," Wing said faintly. He wasn't sure how he knew, either. "Trust me."

"All right," Darkflight said after a moment. "Well, that's easy, then. His name should be in the newspapers and what not, right?"

Wing shrugged.

Darkflight turned abruptly. "I'll be back."

"Wait!"

"What now?" He sounded faintly exasperated.

"You don't speak Chinese," Wing said, a little desperately.

Darkflight looked startled for a moment, and then he laughed. "Like you do?" He didn't wait for a reply. "Don't go anywhere."

Wing watched him go, heard his footsteps echo back into the alleyway. "Actually," he said to the far wall. "I do."

He didn't know how he had learned Chinese, or how he knew that he knew Chinese. He had never spoken it, in the Breaks. He didn't need to. But the knowledge was there in the back of his mind, that he could read the characters flashing on the neon signs above the buildings, could understand the words being spoken in the hubbub of the rushing crowd. Just like he knew that Chang Wufei was a Gundam pilot.

He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. He didn't know how long he slept, just that he was being shaken awake in what seemed just a second later, that the red and gold shadows meant the sun was going down, and that he had not dreamed.

"I'm back," Darkflight said.

Somehow in his sleep he had slumped onto the ground, and he pushed himself back up. Darkflight had a pleased expression on his face, and Wing gave him a curious look.

"Did you find anything?"

"Oh yes. Tons." A slight pause. "You were right, you know." As if the words were being forced out, just slightly.

"About what?"

"About Chang Wufei. Being a pilot, I mean." Again that tone of voice, a searching look. He blinked. There was something unnerving about his partner's gaze.

"Quit looking at me like that," Wing said.

Darkflight blinked. "Oh. Sorry." He was carrying a newspaper in one hand, which he dropped to the ground. "I found this."

Tentatively, he reached for the paper. "Is this bad?"

Darkflight shrugged. "I don't know. Chang Wufei is in there, so I thought you might want to have a look."

There was a headline, in bold letters. It was in Chinese. "You can't read Chinese," Wing said.

"No. But I can look at pictures, right? And there was Japanese and English picture captions. Besides, you don't read Chinese either."

_GUNDAM PILOT IDENTITIES UNCOVERED,_ the characters said. He gripped the newspaper tightly. He was not surprised. This would have happened, sooner or later.

"Yes I do," he said softly.

Darkflight blinked. "What?"

"I speak Chinese."

There was a stunned silence.

"Oh."

Wing was already flipping through the paper, past the large picture of the Gundam on the front cover. Apparently, this was week-old news, but it was still important enough to make the front page. The pictures of the pilots were on the third page, after several commentaries on the atrocities of war, which he skimmed over and then dismissed.

_Gundam 05 pilot, Chang Wufei_

The caption was repeated below in English and Japanese, but he focused on the Chinese paragraph below it. Dangerous and highly unstable, the newspaper said.

He resisted the urge to snort. Chang Wufei was not highly unstable. Or if he was, he was no more unstable than the rest of them.

Where had that thought come from?

His hands were shaking again, but he skimmed up through the pictures. Quatre Raberba Winner. Trowa Barton. Duo Maxwell.

Duo Maxwell?

Heero Yuy.

The newspaper fell to the ground and he jerked away from Darkflight's helping hand angrily. There was a wall inside his conscious memory, a wall which he could not break down, a wall which held all the memories he was missing. 

_You did it to yourself._

I wanted to, he snarled. _I wanted to forget._

"I wanted to forget," he whispered, brokenly, and he could sense Darkflight's confusion from behind him.

_Forget what?_

"Wing, what are you talking about?"

"Nothing," he snapped, still facing the wall. "Did you find anything else on him?"

"I've got his location." There was none of the usual pride in Darkflight's voice at accomplishing a mission, at successfully digging up the needed information to hit their next victim. "We can move out tonight, if you want. If you're up to it."

"No," he said, after a moment. "No."

"Tomorrow?"

"Sure. Tomorrow." Nothing was making sense tonight. Faces were blurring in his mind, and he felt numb all over. "Whenever."

"This took shorter than I expected," Darkflight was saying. "We could be back on L1 within the week, you know."

Wing nodded, not trusting his voice.

_Have you ever heard of a Chang Wufei?_

"We're going to kill him," he said.

"Huh?"

"Chang Wufei. We're going to kill him."

"Well of course we are," Darkflight said, after a moment. "That's our job. We're not getting paid to go on a joyride to China."

His hand was a white blur in the shadows, and he closed it into a fist. Opened it. Closed it. "Yes."

"Wing?"

For a moment he wavered, and then his legs wouldn't support him anymore and he fell.

"Wing!"

Arms, catching him and he was staring up at the sky between the buildings, seeing the moon coming out from behind the clouds. A face flashed before his eyes, of a girl with golden hair, reaching her hand out to him. Atsuki? It was not Atsuki.

"Rele-" he murmured, and a cool hand brushed his face, and then there was nothing.

  


  
**Scene XII: The Return of Shinigami**

  


_"You say a fall from grace would suit me well.  
Well you can crawl straight back to Hell."  
--London After Midnight, Revenge_

  
It took half the day to remove the various debris that had been hiding the two Gundams, which gave Duo way too much time to think.

Hilde would occasionally steal frightened, confused glances at him, but made no attempt to engage him in conversation, for which he was rather grateful. The messy state his mind was in was unlikely to produce any coherent chain of thought.

His hands shifted through the mental, and now and then he thought he saw dried blood on the twisted wreckage. Blood and warped metal... how fitting.

_Whose blood is it? A Federation soldier's? One of the rebels'? One of the orphans'? Father Maxwell's? Sister Helen's?_

Or could it be mine?

Slowly they revealed the Gundams, which were covered in the dust of over a year. He wanted to get out a cloth and polish them, return them to their former glory, but recognized that his whimsy had no place here. The machines had to be removed, and had to be removed quickly.

_But how to move them?_

He had invited Hilde along to pilot one of the machines- she was a damn good pilot, no matter what she thought. Still, he had reservations. No one but a maniac would willingly get into Zero, and he'd come to view Hilde as his more rational side. There was no way she would be able to handle the insanity that was called the Zero System. He wouldn't subject her to it.

Hilde looked up at him, wiping sweat from her brow. "Duo!" she called.

He looked over the Gundam they had uncovered. "Yes, Hilde?"

She clambered over the machine and perched beside him, taking a healthy gulp of water from the canteen on her hip. "I really think we need to decide exactly what we're going to do with these things."

"We're bringing them back to Earth. I have the feeling they'll be needed again."

Hilde's face was smudged with dirt, and she took out a cloth that wasn't much cleaner then her face. She futilely began to wipe at the grime, trying to put herself back into order. "Duo... Earth? What would they fight?"

"Epyon," he said in a flat voice. "Zechs is alive, so Epyon has to be somewhere."

Hilde looked at him. "Epyon? Why would Zechs want to fight you? He's a Preventer now."

"For the moment," Duo said with a snort. "Who knows what side he'll be on in the next hour?"

"You really don't like him much, do you?" Hilde asked as she handed him the water.

Duo swallowed a mouthful before answering, wiping his lips on his sleeve. "No, I don't. Then again, I don't like Relena, either."

Hilde wanted to press him for more information, but they had more vital matters to discuss at the moment. "Duo... how did you get both of them out here?"

"I used a remote on Zero and piloted it from Deathscythe. It really wasn't that hard."

"How come you don't do the same? I mean, why do you need me?"

"I could take them both back, but the Earth has reestablished its surveillance satellites. To get by them will require the full attention of a pilot- besides, if something comes up, I can't control both of them. Not in a crisis."

"So I should take Zero then?" she said, her voice soft with fear. Duo had told her about Zero, and she had seen the nightmares he had had. She had a right to be afraid.

Duo looked over at Wing Zero, longing to tell Hilde that it would be okay for her to fly it, that he would take Deathscythe Hell. He had missed his Gundam, and part of him wanted nothing more to be in the cockpit, to once again become Shinigami, to once again control his own destiny. With his Gundam, he had changed the world.

Still, he wouldn't give into that temptation. Zero was the stuff of nightmares, and he wouldn't condemn anyone to it, especially not the girl he… well, he was pretty sure he loved Hilde. "It's ok, Hilde. I'll fly Zero, you take Deathscythe- just… take good care of him for me, right?"

Hilde was touched at the trust he was showing her. She knew that Deathscythe was an extension of Duo himself, and for him to allow her to be its pilot was a major gesture on his part. She recognized exactly what it cost him to offer that- Zero had been the cause of many of his nightmares. "Duo, are you sure? I mean, do you really want to deal with the Zero system?"

He shrugged. "Only a maniac would WANT to deal with the Zero system, but I will if I have to. But I've been thinking, and I might be able to disable the system. If I can do that, then we won't have any problem."

She nodded, and her eyes brightened like someone had lit a light behind them. "That sounds good!"

"'Course it does! I'm the one who thought of it!"

Hilde playfully cuffed him upside the head. "I'll work on getting Deathscythe ready for take-off while you go dismantle the damn thing," she said, her mood more positive then he remembered seeing it in the past few days.

She quickly disappeared behind Deathscythe, and he could hear her playfully humming a song about coffee and the joys of caffeine- a song she had always liked, and that had driven him ballistic. She was pretty tone deaf, but that never bothered her. He wondered briefly why those with the least musical talent were the ones always most inclined to subject others to their voices.

With a sigh, he manually opened the hatch that would provide him with access to the control keys and datachips. He'd never messed with the programming of a Gundam before, and he was uneasy about it- he was a pilot, not an engineer. He knew enough to make basic repairs, but he'd always taken it to Professor G or Howard when things had gotten truly dire. He knew enough theory to make some alterations and recognized the cards that were the heart of the monster Quatre had installed, but theory meant squat when in came down to the wire if he couldn't put his knowledge into use.

It took fifteen minutes for Duo to figure out the connections since Zero was a weird conglomeration of Zero and Sandrock, and he swore after he finally did. Unlike the time when the Zero system had been installed in Sandrock, Wing Zero was built AROUND it. It would be impossible to dismantle it without reprogramming the Gundam entirely. Quatre might have been able to, since he had built the cursed thing, and Heero probably would have as well. Trowa had been a mechanic, so even the silent pilot would have had better luck. Of all the pilots, Duo was the least suited to the task in front of him, with the possible exception of Wufei.

Duo squirmed out of the cramped space and sat on the Gundam's shoulder, thinking the possibilities through. He could either leave the Gundams where they were (not likely), just take Deathscythe, let Hilde pilot Zero, or pilot it himself.

The decision was obvious.

He leaned into the open hatch and pressed a few buttons, beginning a systems check. Heero and Quatre had mastered the Zero system- could he do any less?

"Duo!"

He moved back to see Hilde's concerned face. "What is it?" he wanted to know.

"Did you manage to disable the Zero system?" she demanded.

He was tempted to lie so as not to worry her, but Hilde needed to know the truth. "No. Wing Zero was designed to operate with the system- I'd have to design a whole new operations program if I was going to remove it."

She paused. "Can you copy Deathscythe's?"

Duo considered her very reasonable suggestion. "I don't think it will work. For one, I'd have to force compatibility- Zero and Deathscythe were designed using different programming languages. I'm not a computers specialist- that was always Heero's line."

She sighed. "So we're back to square one... one of us is going to have to pilot Zero."

"I'll do it- you worry about Deathscythe."

"That's ok." She took a deep breath. "I had a question about Deathscythe's thrusters- they don't look like they're up to 100% operating capacity. Perhaps you could take a look at it, since you're the expert?"

"Sure thing."

Duo hopped off Wing's shoulder and made his way to the ground. When he noticed she hadn't followed him, he looked up at her in puzzlement. "Taking a break?"

Hilde's eyes were sad and slightly frightened as she gazed down at him. "I'm sorry, Duo, but I have to do this."

He wasn't quite able to comprehend what she was saying until she quickly entered the cockpit.

"Hilde!" he yelled, her name ripped from his throat.

_Oh shit oh shit oh shit..._ he thought, the two words tripping over each other in his head.

The hatch came down, locking the petite girl inside it, and Duo backed away involuntarily when Zero's eerie green eyes flared to life.

"No! Don't do this!" he screamed, trying to figure out some way to shut down the Gundam.

Before Duo could do anything, Hilde had launched Wing Zero into the air.

"No, no, no..." he whispered.

_Not for me.... please, Hilde.... you don't know what you're doing._

There was only one course of action left for him to take. He looked at the remaining Gundam and sighed. "It's up to us, pal."

Agilely he climbed into the cockpit of Deathscythe Hell, trying to ignore the feeling of homecoming. He switched on the controls hurriedly, listening to the machinery begin to whir as the panels lit up. He knew that he should perform a systems check, but he hadn't the time

.Not while Hilde was out in Zero.

All sorts of scenarios, none of them pleasant, began to dance through his mind. The Zero system was a mind-fuck, and Hilde- his sweet, courageous Hilde- didn't stand a chance in hell against it. Strapping the harness around his body, he shut his eyes for a moment, taking a death breath to calm himself.

"The God of Death is back. I'm coming, Hilde. Be safe," he whispered as he pulled the lever that would allow him to follow in Zero's wake. 

  
**END SAINAN NO KEKKA ACT IV**

[Act IV Part II][2] | [Act V Part I][3] | [Back to Sainan no Kekka][4]

   [1]: side-human.html
   [2]: act4-2.html
   [3]: act5-1.html
   [4]: /gundam/sainan/



	17. Dead Soldiers with Unmarked Graves

Sainan no Kekka 5.1

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT V, PART I

** Nani o shinji  
Nani o motomete  
Hito wa ikiru  
Daremo ga wakarazu ni  
Tachitsukusu yoru**

Ima wa yume mo nai to  
Jibun o azakeru no wa  
Iki ba o nakushita make inu sa  
Kokoro no naka de moesasaru mono  
Shinjitsu naraba ore wa yuku  


** Believing in something  
Asking for something  
People live  
No one knows  
As the night continues on**

By saying that now there are no dreams  
A person who ridicules himself  
Will lose his way  
There's a burning in my heart  
If it is the truth I will go  


**--Gundam Wing, _Shinjitsu o Tsukamitore_  
[_Grasp the Truth_, Chang Wufei image song]**  


  
  
**Scene I: The First to Fall**

  


_"The time and the place in evidence don't exist.  
They wanna confess, and be blessed by the rope"  
--Blondie, Under Arrest_

  
Quatre had been longing for relief from pressures of his position as C.E.O. of the Winner Group, but now that he had it, he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself.

He'd spent the first two days catching up on his sleep. It was a soldier's creed, after all, to sleep whenever one could, and Quatre finally found the time to make up for a year of getting dragged out of his warm bed by Kasserine. But one could only sleep so much before going mad out of boredom, and Quatre reached his limit in less then three days. His quick mind wouldn't stand for idleness; he'd never been idle in his life before, and didn't know how to handle it.

The next few days were passed wandering around the compound and generally making a pest of himself. The Magunacs quickly assigned a constant bodyguard to him- not so much for him, but for the people around him. He was determined to help, never mind that he hadn't really the slightest idea on how to do most household chores. He'd always had people around to do it for him, and he figured now would be the perfect time to learn.

He was a natural in the kitchen- a natural disaster, that was. After discovering that it was possible to burn water, and giving himself a case of mild food poisoning, he had been banned for life from that domain.

"You know, it really is sort of funny, Quatre," Rashid had said when the cook had complained to him. "You're one of the most feared terrorists the world had ever seen, the brain behind the Gundam pilots, and you managed to survive the war only to nearly kill yourself with your own cooking?"

Quatre's response was not repeatable in polite company.

"It's for your own safety- and ours," Jaffa had said, attempting to soothe him. "I'm sure you can find another hobby that are more suited for your talents."

Quatre had fumed and redoubled his efforts to "help". He stole into the laundry room and made his first attempt at doing laundry. Since he had a very small load, he added whatever extras were lying around, decided that it couldn't hurt. He added soap and started the machine, making a mental note to come back in fifteen minutes to check on it.

He was pestering the cook (from the doorway of the dining room, since she still wouldn't let him set a foot in her domain) for a snack when someone screamed his name. "Quatre!"

He winced. That hadn't sounded good. When he tracked down the source of the voice, he was confronted by an impatient Jaffa standing with her hands on her hips, glaring up at him in the manner only an infuriated sister could. "Neesan?" he had asked, worried about what he had done wrong.

"Look at that," she said, pointing to the laundry room.

His eyes widened in horror. Inching across the floor was a steadily growing stream of soapsuds. "What happened?" he asked.

"You did," Jaffa said, much of the irritation leaching out of her voice. She looked tired. "This is such a classic mistake that it'd be almost cliche. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed that anyone could have made that mistake, especially not someone who graduated college at twelve!"

He gave her a shy smile, hoping to defuse her mood. "I'm sorry, Jaffa. I should have read the instructions. But I've seen it done so many times on vid that I assume that you just had to fill the little tray thingy."

Jaffa rolled her eyes. "Spare me from innocence," she said. "Quatre, you have maids. You have enough money to hire maids for your maids. THEY are the ones who are getting paid to do laundry- YOU are the one who wears it. I WOULD make you clean this up, but I shudder to think what you would do with a mop." 

He pouted at her, forgetting that he was suppose to be the Head of the family. "You really don't trust me much, do you?"

"I trust you with my life, Quat, but not my laundry."

Quatre's incessant attempts to be "helpful" finally convinced Jaffa that something had to be done about it once and for all. Reeshya tracked down Quatre on the morning of the fifth day out by the irrigation system poking around, pestering a maintenance crewman with his incessant "why's." His older sister saw the slightly pained look in the poor employee's eyes, and gleefully tugged on Quatre's ear, dragging him away.

He yelped. "What did you do that for?" he demanded.

Her grin was full of mischief. "It's more fun this way," she said. "What were you doing out here, anyway? You can build a Gundam, but you can't fix an irrigation system?"

He muttered a few choice words he'd learned from Duo, finishing it off with, "You're a sadistic wench."

She blinked. "You looked like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth," she said, her jaw opened slightly in amazement.

"You're just figuring this out?" he asked in mock surprise.

Reeshya sighed. "Quatre, love, we all understand you're nervous, but I have to be honest with you. You're driving us all nuts."

Quatre sighed. "I just... well, this waiting is getting to me. How come we can't just get over this? I wish something would happen- this waiting for the other shoe to drop is going to drive me mad!" he said, glaring at her fiercely.

She gave him a quick hug. "We know, dear, but it's not healthy for you to worry yourself like you have been. Why don't you play your violin? You were complaining that you didn't have time- now's the perfect time to work on something- didn't you mention something about working on Bach's partita? The one you were having problems with?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "How can I? Music is something I use to express myself, and right now, I don't have the slightest idea how I feel. I tried to play, but I was so nervous that my hands shook- how can you play violin when your hands aren't steady?" he asked in frustration, and she could almost touch his pain. Her emotions vibrated in sync with his and amplified them.

Quickly she jerked herself away mentally, refusing to get caught in the spiral. The kokoro no uchyou was useful, but if they didn't control it, it could rule you. She remembered one time when they had lost control, and it had taken a week to sort out which emotions belonged to who. "Quatre… what good is wallowing going to do?" she demanded.

"What else do I have to do? Since those reporters starting spreading their rather viciously slanted version of the war, all I've been able to do is worry!" Quatre said, running a hand through his blonde hair in frustration.

Reeshya suddenly realized what would keep Quatre busy. "Come with me," she demanded, dragging him in her wake by the hand. He followed in bemusement trying to figure out what was behind the sudden renewed bounce in her step. She seemed to be excited about something.

She took him into a study and pushed him down into a chair, then dug up a laptop. "Write."

"Huh?" he asked in confusion.

"Write the truth about the war. Write what really happened- your reasons for doing what you did, what you thought of the pilots, about the Zero system… write everything. Sometimes the only thing you can fight with is the truth, and I bet you're learning lately how powerful a weapon that is.

"I don't know if you'll want to get this published, and it might be able to be used against you in court… but I think this is worth the risk. You need to do this for yourself. You're starting to lose track of yourself, and I can't bare to see you suffering like this."

Quatre stared at a moment before a slow smile spread over his face. "Thank you, Reeshya. I think I will." He flipped the laptop open and within a minute he was typing away.

Reeshya watched him for a few minutes before nodding her satisfaction. Then she left the room, drawing the door shut behind her.

Quatre typed until he felt like his fingers would fall off, spilling his entire life's story, then continued. It felt amazingly therapeutic to just say the truth, rather then have to worry about what other people had to say, and clear up the misconceptions that had surrounded his life.

As he wrote, he realized that he wasn't doing this for himself, but more for others- for those who had not survived the war. He was not claiming to be right, but rather cauterizing the wounds on his soul, the wounds so much killing had inflicted upon the once-gentle Arabian.

On the third day of his sudden burst of productivity, two of his men entered the room. "What is it?" Quatre asked, his eyes slightly blurry from lack of sleep. He had written over 200 pages and was still going strong, and disliked the interruption, though he wasn't about to show it. 

"Rashid sent us- we're to escort you off the compound," the older of the two men, Siddig, said.

The blood drained from Quatre's face. "What happened?" he demanded.

"A representative from the World Nation is here. Rashid is stalling him as best he can, but he has a warrant to search the place. They know you're here."

They know you're here. The words echoed in his head. It had happened, finally. He pushed the chair back and straightened his shirt, wishing he had time to put on fresh clothes. "No," he said. "Take me to them. I'm not going to run away."

They looked prepared to argue, but the hard look in the teen's blue eyes convinced them that it wouldn't be a wise choice. "This way, Master Winner," said the one who had remained quiet until now.

They quickly threaded their way through the multiple corridors of the compound, and all too soon Quatre saw Rashid arguing with a man who barely topped five feet. He had the features of someone from South America, and he didn't seem to be backing down at all from the towering Arab who was stonewalling him.

Quatre started to walk out towards him, but someone caught onto his sleeve. "Quatre, what's going on?" Reeshya demanded. Her color was high, and she was obviously out of breath from hurrying.

"What we knew would happen, Ree," Quatre said, amazed at the serenity he was feeling. "They've come for me."

"Then get out of here!" Reeshya demanded.

"No." He continued his advance.

The stranger noticed them approaching, and his eyes lit with a vengeful gleam that Reeshya didn't like. "Who are you?" Reeshya demanded, protectively stepping in front of her younger brother. She would be damned if she'd let him go without a fight.

The man looked at her. "My name is José Martino, and I've been deputized by the World Nation Security Council to escort Quatre Raberba Winner to Geneva where he is to face a war crimes tribunal for the destruction of two colonies."

The siblings' eyes widened. Reeshya whispered, "It was war… surely he can't be in trouble for that?"

Martino looked at her with hard eyes. "That's not for me to say. That will be up to the tribunal."

Rashid crossed his arms across his chest, glaring at the Latino with intimidating force, something that didn't seem to bother the tiny man at all. "Under whose authority do you do this?" he demanded. "You're not wearing a Preventer's uniform, and it was my understanding that the Preventer's were the law-enforcement arm of the World Nation."

Martino thrust a heavy sheaf of papers at Rashid. The paper was of heavy weight, and emblazoned with official seals. "The authority of the Preventers doesn't come into play. I'm a special investigator, and I have a signed warrant to take the pilot of 04 into my custody."

"No!" Reeshya protested.

"Let it go, Ree." Quatre stepped towards him. "I'll come with you," he said quietly. "I don't want any more trouble."

The other man nodded and produced a pair of shining handcuffs. "Please hold out your hands."

Quatre stifled a sigh. "You don't need to," he insisted. "I'm coming peacefully."

"I have to follow procedure in this case," Martino argued. "I know you have enough lawyers to tie up the court system for years, and everything is going to be by the book. I don't want anyone to claim that I let you off easily because you're a billionaire, or that you bribed me." 

The sound of the handcuffs clicking around Quatre's wrists echoed in his mind with a resounding sense of the inevitable. "Quatre Raberba Winner, you are hereby placed under arrest for high crimes against humanity."

  


  
**Scene II: Strangers on Common Ground**

  


_"Like the moon's pull on the tide…  
I'll be a moon's breath from your side."  
--Loreena McKennitt, Samain Night_

  
She had dumped her baggage on the bed of the hotel suite, not even bothering to put it in anything resembling order. Usually, Relena prided herself on being organized, but there were times when there were more important matters to think about.

The flight to Geneva had been uneventful and short, but that had just given her a good half an hour to sit and stare out the window and think. To remind her of all the other times she had sat and stared out the window of a shuttle or an airplane or a battleship. Different circumstances, different places, a different time.

_What's wrong, Relena? You don't want to go back to Earth?_

It had only been two years, yet it felt like a lifetime.

She hadn't notified Lady Une that she was coming. Une would have most likely told her not to come, begged her not to come, even. She wouldn't have put it past the former OZ colonel to have stationed Preventers troops at the airport gates, barring her entrance. So she'd simply played it safe and announced to her personal office staff that she would be taking a few days off. To tell them to call her if there was an emergency, but to handle anything else that might come up, because she was not to be disturbed.

There was nothing more she could do in the Cinq Kingdom. The drama…no, the war, would take place in Geneva, and she had every intention of being there when the firing started.

She would be there for the pilots, as they had been there for her, such a long time ago.

The taxicab rolled to a halt in front of the main gates of the headquarters base, and stopped as an armed guard trotted out of the guardhouse, eyeing the commercial vehicle warily. Relena leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder.

"This is where I get off. Thank you."

He smiled at her, a wrinkled man with graying hair and two teeth missing, but there were tears in his eyes. 

"It's been an honor…Queen Relena."

She blinked at him. She had not told him her name, and she was wearing sunglasses and a plain outfit, with her hair pulled back. He laughed dryly, then, and took her hand, brought it to his mouth and kissed it.

"I was a mechanic for OZ during the war. I remember seeing your speech on the television. It was…moving. I'll never forget it. I never dreamed I'd meet you in person."

"O-oh." She blinked again, still amazed that she was so recognizable, then smiled. "Is there anything…you'd like?" She had no idea how to deal with…fans? Could the Queen of the World have fans?

The driver shook his head and handed her back the bills she'd pressed into his hand at the beginning of the ride, nudging them into her hand as she tried to push them back to him. "Don't argue. Drive is on me. Good luck, Queen Relena."

The guard was tapping impatiently on the window of the cab, and she grabbed her purse and slid out of the bad seat. The cab driver waved before turning around and screeching away in a cloud of dust. The guard looked suspiciously at her, and she removed her sunglasses. He gasped, and she smiled as sweetly as possible.

"I'm here to see General Une."

The Preventers Headquarters was organized along the lines of a military base, and with over 300 acres of land, it could afford to be sprawling. The streets were clean, with sidewalks sparkling white, and men and women in camouflage uniforms walked briskly, alone or in groups, armed or unarmed, clutching memos and briefcases. Relena hung onto her hat with one hand and onto the window of the military jeep with the other, trying to take in everything at once: the strange sounds and smells and sights. She had only been on a military base once, and that was with her father on a visit to a Federation base. She had been kept strictly by her father's side, forbidden to leave the cramped sitting area outside the office in which her father was currently negotiating with some high official. It had been boring, and she had hated it.

The Preventers Headquarters was different. The base had an air of openness, of newness, of purity. Lady Une certainly had changed, if she had been able to oversee the creation of something like this. 

They passed the flightline, and Relena could see a few mobile suits parked on the white concrete, but it looked like the attack shuttles and huge tankers far outnumbered them. She wondered where Une wanted to take the military, if she was cutting down the use of mobile suits. It was something to ask.

The command center was a huge white building, several stories high and very imposing. Relena swung down from the jeep, waiting for the guard to tell her where to go. He came around the side of the jeep, scrawling something on a piece of paper.

"I doubt you'll need this, my lady, but just in case anyone stops you, show it to them."

"Thank you," she said, smiling at him, and he saluted.

"It's been an honor, Lady Peacecraft."

The rumble of the jeep faded behind her and she took a deep breath, staring at the white building. It was now or never. She pushed down the butterflies in her stomach and strode resolutely forward. There was no reason to be nervous. Milliard wasn't there. Milliard was off…fighting a war. It was just Lady Une.

Though "just" Lady Une did not make her feel any better.

The automatic doors slid open for her, and the guards just inside the entrance glanced at her politely and asked to see her identification. She resolutely produced it, and their eyes widened as they saw the name written on the card.

"Lady…Lady Peacecraft?"

She nodded politely, wondering how many other guards she would encounter, and then wondering if there was a back route to Une's office.

"But you're traveling alone! Where are your guards?"

"I prefer to travel alone," she said quietly, holding out a hand for her card and placing it back inside her purse. "I'd like to think that the guards on the Preventers Headquarters would be enough for my protection, isn't that right?"

"Ah…yes!" The guard on the right saluted hastily, and the one on the left followed suit. Relena repressed the urge to laugh.

"Could you tell me how to get to General Une's office?"

General Une's office was four stories up, down the main hallway and to the left. The place was crawling with guards, but that was understandable. It was, after all, the main headquarters for the World Nation military. She took her time, walking up the stairs instead of taking the elevator, politely asking permission from the security to simply walk around each floor. No one stopped her.

Milliard's office was on the third floor. She found it almost by accident, really, taking a wrong turn going back to the stairway and stumbling upon it. The entire hallway was dark and smelled musty, as if hadn't been used in a while. The door was closed and locked.

She traced the placard with her fingers.

_Milliard Peacecraft, Colonel. Operations Group Commander_

There was a funny feeling in her stomach, and she hastily turned towards the stairs before she would allow herself to become emotional. Milliard was gone, and that was that. There was nothing to be explained. He had closed herself off to her.

She reproduced the ritual with the identification card at the security desk on the fifth floor, then seated herself while the officer at the security station went off to notify Lady Une of her arrival. General. Not Lady, she reminded herself. That was then.

Glancing around the small sitting area, she felt her hands shaking and wiped her sweaty palms on the sides of her pants. There was no reason to be afraid. No reason, she reminded herself. It did not matter that she had not seen Une since they had parted ways when the war had ended. It did not matter that she had only spoken to her a few times in the past year, and all by vidscreen. It did not matter that Relena had once tried to kill her.

_And you call yourself a Peacecraft!_

That was different! she protested. _I was younger then._

She was talking to herself. That was bad.

Footsteps down the hallway. She stood up as the officer rounded the corner, smiling politely.

"Lady Peacecraft, the general is waiting for you in her office."

"Thank you," she replied quietly, and hurried down the corridor. Her shoes tapped weirdly along the tiled floor, and she almost felt like kicking them off so that her footfalls would make no more noise than they needed to. She was a civilian, intruding on a place where she did not belong.

_Preventers Commander in Chief,_ the nameplate on the door read, and she tried the handle. It was unlocked. She wondered if she should knock, then simply turned the knob and stepped inside.

There was another smaller sitting area inside, with a smaller, unobtrusive door to the right and a large vidscreen on the wall to her left. But it was the clear glass door before her that caught her eye, and the figure sitting behind the desk which she could see through the glass. She swallowed.

"Come on in, Relena," Une called, before she could speak. She saw the other woman get up from behind the desk as she swung the door open, and then Une was embracing her.

"You shouldn't have come."

"I know," she said, a little breathlessly as the older woman let her go. "But you know me. I couldn't just sit there."

"Yes, I know," Une said, a little dryly, hands on her hips. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

"I thought if I'd told you, you wouldn't have let me come."

Une laughed. "Believe me, I would have tried to dissuade you, but right now, to tell you the honest truth, any support is welcome. Any support at all."

"Is it that bad?" Relena wondered, placing her purse on the desk and taking a seat on one of the padded chairs. The office was middle-sized but sparsely furnished. There was a computer on the large desk and a vidscreen to the right of it. A coffee cup, half empty, and multiple paperweights scattered over the dark oak desktop. The walls were bare. "I thought you had things under control…more or less?"

"Well," Une said grimly, crossing back behind the desk and folding her hands together. The fingers were clenched just a little too tightly, and the knuckles were white. "It depends on your definition of 'bad.' "

"What happened?"

"Nothing you don't already know, I don't think. But I have a feeling things are going to be changing very quickly. Quatre's been in hiding, as you know, though I don't know how much longer that will last. The World Nation is very adept at snooping."

"I know," Relena said, crossing her legs. "What about the…other pilots?" Trying to keep the hope out of her voice. "Have you heard anything?"

"Yes and no. Nothing on Heero, I'm afraid. I'm sorry."

She wasn't expecting anything, but still it was a disappointment. "It's all right. The others?"

Une hesitated, and Relena could almost hear the thoughts flashing across her mind. She was a civilian. She was a powerful political figure. 

"It's all right if things are classified," she said hastily. "I don't want to-"

Une shook her head. "No…that's not what I'm worried about. If you know…you'll become a target. I don't want to subject you to that."

Relena let out the breath that she hadn't been aware she was holding. "Une…look. Even if you try to keep me out of it, I'll make myself involved. And I'm already a target, by the World Nation's standards. I became one when I made my position clear on the issue. You know that. So tell me everything."

To her surprise, Une reached out and grasped one of her hands lying outstretched on the desk. "I suppose there's no way to try to dissuade you…thank you. You might not hear this again from me, but you'll never know how much I appreciate it."

Relena squeezed her hand tightly, feeling the butterflies in her stomach dissipate. It was going to be all right after all…this was a different Une. "Tell me about the pilots."

"Duo, as you probably heard from the news, was a student at Cliffside Heights, in the United States. He left right after the riot there."

"I know," Relena said quietly. "I heard."

"I sent Sally down to Cliffside the day of the riots to see if she couldn't keep some kind of order there…apparently he'd left just before she arrived. Too bad. Trowa went back to his circus after the war, but I'd bet you anything that he's no longer there. He's smart. He'd leave in order to keep his sister out of danger."

"Wufei?"

Une shook her head. "I have no clue. Everything's a mess right now…I don't even know where to begin."

Relena nodded slowly, then looked up. It was now or never. And from the looks of it, there was a limit to how much her nerve would hold up. "Une…"

"What is it?"

"Where is…where is my brother?"

Une let out a deep breath. "He's…not here."

"I know. I found his office, by accident. The door was locked."

"He's been gone for some time…I think I told you…there was a rebellion on one of the outer mining colonies and I had to…dispatch him. I can't tell you more than that. I wish I could, honestly. But most of it you probably wouldn't understand anyway."

"I see," Relena said softly, feeling the knot in her stomach grow tighter. "Have you heard from him at all?"

"He radios in twice a week to give me reports. Short transmissions. I'm expecting one this afternoon, if you'd like to stay for it…I couldn't allow you to speak with him, but you could at least hear his voice…if you'd like?"

"No," she said. "That's fine…I'm sure he's taking care of himself."

She could feel Une watching her, those eyes still as hard and as clear as ever, and then Une shrugged slightly.

"Suit yourself. The offer is still open, if you change your mind."

Relena shifted, staring out the window. "No thank you."

"You and Milliard…had a falling out, didn't you?"

She jumped. "What makes you say that?"

Une smiled slightly, humorlessly. "I've always considered myself good at reading people. And the tone of your voice just then wasn't the tone of a fond sister concerned for her brother."

"We…had some problems," she said, twisting her fingers in her lap. "I don't know…I'm trying to remember him, now that I haven't seen him in months…but I can't remember anything."

Une said nothing, watching her. It was funny how peace could change everything. How it could make friends out of bitter enemies, and strangers out of siblings. "He said something a while back about he and I…being tied by blood only. That we weren't friends. Not even acquaintances. That I didn't know him."

"Did you?"

"I…I don't know. At the time, of course, I denied everything he said. But maybe it is true…after all. I don't know."

"Your brother is a complicated man," Une said. "I don't think even Treize understood him."

Relena stood abruptly, walking to the large window at the side of the office, looking out on the neat flowerbeds and white sidewalks of the perimeter of the command center. If not for the guard tower at the edge of the parking lot, it would have been just another office building, just another meeting.

"Do you miss him?"

She could feel Une's surprise. "Me? Who?"

"Treize. Do you…miss him?"

Une was quiet for a long moment, and Relena's fingers tightened on the glass of the window. "I'm sorry if I offen-"

"No. No, it's all right. Yes, I do miss him. Sometimes. It used to be painful, even…but I think the worst has passed."

"I'm glad," Relena said softly, turning to meet the lady's - general's - gaze. For a moment, she saw Une dressed once again in the red uniform, glasses on her nose, fierce and determined, and then the vision fell away to the haggard-looking woman in front of her, the woman who looked as if she hadn't slept well for weeks, with long hair gathered behind her in a loose bun, uniform still perfectly ironed despite it all, still fierce and determined. "He would be proud of you, I think."

"I've tried to make him proud. I hope…he would be, also."

"I'm sure of it."

"I'm sure your brother is proud of you."

Relena frowned. "I wouldn't be too sure about that."

Une smiled. "I think so. No matter what you think. I see him in you."

The other woman's words took a few seconds to register, and before Relena could think of a response, Une was standing up.

"But enough of small talk. Where are you staying?"

"A hotel by the airport," she began, but Une waved a hand.

"Forget that. You're staying on base. It's safer that way."

"But-"

"I won't say that the base is accident-free, but it's a whole lot safer than staying somewhere unguarded out in the city. I'm assuming you didn't bring bodyguards with you, since there aren't any here."

"No," Relena said. "I came alone."

"Stupid girl," Une murmured, but she was smiling. "I'll call up a car for you to take you back into the city so you can collect your belongings, and then I'll have them prepare a visiting officer's quarters for you. Free of charge, of course. It's on me."

Relena couldn't help it. She laughed.

"Thank you, Lady."

"It's just Une now," the general said firmly, coming around the desk again. "I was Treize's Lady…and that title died with him."

Relena nodded. "I understand."

Une took her hand. "This means a lot to me. Thank you, Queen Relena."

"It's just Relena now," she said. "I was Queen of the World…but that was a long time ago."

The grip on her hand tightened, and there was a look of gratitude in Une's eyes that she had never imagined she would see.

"Welcome back…Relena."

  


  
**Scene III: An Unwanted Legacy Claimed**

  


_"And as you pray in your darkness  
For wings to set you free,  
You are bound to your silent legacy."  
--Melissa Etheridge, Silent Legacy_

  
He looked over at the comm, hating every minute of this. He was steeling himself for the inevitable, but that didn't mean he had to like it. He had thought he was free.

The young man who called himself Matsuura Shinobu hadn't meant to get in over his head. Honestly, he hadn't. He'd wanted to get away from it all, wanted to make a break from the life of his ancestors. He'd changed his name, cut many ties to the past, and yet now he was voluntarily seeking to regain what he had given up.

He must be insane.

Still, he was doing it because it was right. Shinobu was different from the rest of his family. He could afford to have a conscience. He wasn't trapped in a secret world where he could trust no one. He wasn't trapped by a past that wouldn't let go.

Or so he had believed.

He had come to Cliffside Heights to complete the separation. His family had always been fiercely Japanese, even though they were colonists. They clung heavily to their language and culture, many of their actions incomprehensible by the Western mind. Shinobu wanted none of it- it was AC 197, and he was going to join the real world, the modern world.

He hadn't counted on the language barrier. He'd always lived in areas that had spoken Japanese as the primary language, and it had been unpleasant, to say the least, to have to learn to rely on his inadequate English. The language... oh, he spoke English, but it was so rudimentary. He couldn't understand the colloquialisms that his peers took for granted, and his thick accent prevented many from understanding him.

Shinobu had been slow to make friends, and those friends were few and far between. Chris was his only real friend; Helena and Ilene were friendly to him as they were to everyone else, but there was nothing truly personal about their companionship. They would often times as him to repeat himself multiple times, or speak to him as though he was a child.

Enter Duo, the human whirlwind. Duo, who knew how to laugh and tease, and was an immediate friend. A boy who spoke Japanese with no accent and was perfectly willing to accept an Asian. A boy who stood up for him, made it easier to communicate.

He hadn't been sure he liked Duo at first; the American was so expressive and bouncy, seemingly on a perpetual sugar high. Shinobu wasn't used to demonstrative people, and Duo was certainly one. He was amazingly tactile- Duo was always touching things, or waving his hands around when he spoke to make his point. He had never seen Duo remain still for more then a five minutes, and then the boy would be off again, bouncing around with a new passion.

Finally having someone who spoke his native language was an incredible relief- it was nice not to have to pause and search for words before saying anything. Duo was able to keep up with him, and Shinobu had been amazed at how fluent the American was in languages. Duo spoke four languages that Shinobu was aware of, and probably more besides.

Still, Shinobu hadn't been surprised to learn Duo's real identity and what he had done during the war. There had always been a hardness about the eyes, an alertness in his posture that had set off alarm bells in the Asian's mind. He had seen his share of rough customers and his day, and no one could persuade him that tangling with Duo wouldn't have been an extremely reckless and stupid idea.

Shinobu had been born on L1, and L1 was a hard place to live- especially the Breaks, which was where he originated from. With the support of his father, he had managed to move out and establish a new identity, but now he was voluntarily wading back into the shadowy world he had thought he had abandoned.

He must be nuts. Even criminals were careful how they placed their feet in the Breaks. They had been for over a century.

Shinobu was well aware of the history of the Breaks- more so then most of its natives.

The Breaks had started out as a group of high-rise condominiums created for the movers and shakers of the business and entertainment industries. Since only the extremely wealthy had enough money to move off-planet at that time (and doing so had quickly become fashionable), the condos had been pricey, and exciting.

Then something happened. No one was sure exactly HOW if happened, but it had.

The pivotal year was AC73. It had been a warm, balmy night (or so said the records the colony's artificial weather controls kept), and the year was going well. The economy was booming, the entertainment industry was doing well, and the people were relatively happy. They say that all good things must come to an end, and this saying was certainly well borne out by what happened.

It started with a murder. Actress Kristen Zcialbik was found dead on the floor of her suite early one morning in March, a gunshot ruining her previous matchless face. Her large lavender eyes were wide with terror, and someone had slashed her throat, giving her a second smile. There were no leads, no evidence of forced entry, but her death was written off as the doing of a jealous lover. After all, Kristen had been famous for the long line of broken hearts she had left in her wake.

Two days later, the complacency that had set in was yanked away. Multi-millionaire Joseph Steven Duncan was discovered with his throat cut in his bath. That same night, singer Alexander Jiang Wong collapsed at a party in the lobby of his building and was taken to the hospital. When he arrived in the emergency room it was discovered that he had died of poisoning. 

Rumors flew. It was quite obvious that the same person or group was behind these acts, but no evidence was discovered. There were no fingerprints, no signs that locks had been tampered with, and no reason to think that this was simply a result of hostility between rivals, since the three who were murdered were from separate facets of society. All of them were extremely rich and famous, but then again, so were a lot of people. What made them special?

There were no more murders for almost a month after that and anxiety began to fade. But in early April 73, model Shi Takakara vanished from her suite without a trace. Her body was found mutilated in a nuclear waste yard in the industrial part of L1. The next morning, her lover Eric Vu was found on the balcony of his room with his heart cut out. They never did find what happened to the organ- some guessed it had been sold on the black market, while others offered more grisly theories. Cannibalism was a favored theory, and soon Vu's death was added to the local urban myth. Some people even claimed to see Vu wandering around, looking for his lost heart.

Within a month, the Breaks were being deserted as inhabitants deemed it wise to move out before they became the next victims. The condominiums were simply left empty in the middle of downtown L1, simply left there for some reason or another. Plans were made several times to tear them down and build another building in their place, but each time government (which was composed primarily of Japanese descended officials) deemed it too risky to build any building on the site of former murders. For whatever the reason, the Breaks were still standing as the center of L1 gradually shifted further south at the beginning of the 90's, leaving them another monument of crumbling walls and broken glass in the midst of other deserted buildings. 

As the government moved out, the dregs of L1 moved in. The former downtown became a shadowy hideout for criminals, drug dealers, prostitutes, and others who saw the broken buildings as perfect places in which to set up shop or to hide away. The Breaks themselves became the headquarters of the largest drug cartel on L1, headed by drug leader Shionji Hisashi, the youngest and most feared drug king in decades. It was said that the then twenty-something Shionji had the ear of half the politicians of the government, and he had the others by the balls. 

Gradually, the area around the former condominiums became known as the Breaks themselves as the Shionji gang grew into a cartel that was feared throughout known space. Seedy bars, pawn shops, and casinos sprang up, covers for the drug deals and murders that took place behind closed doors with casual regularity. It was said that anything could be bought in the Breaks, whether it was sex, drugs, a slave, murder- as long as you knew the right people and the right price.

The crime rate soared and disease ran rampant. The government simply ignored the state of the Breaks, preferring to turn a blind eye towards it and to pretend it did not exist. As a result of this government negligence, the Breaks expanded rapidly. Prostitution and drug use skyrocketed. Assassin groups formed, selling their services to the highest bidder. Crime lords staked out territory in the shadows of derelict buildings and amassed their minions, building a mini-society of their own. By 121, even the bravest policeman skirted the Breaks and left the criminals to their own doings. When pressured, the government would say that the Breaks had their own set of rules that no outsider could understand. The Shionji cartel agreed, stating that they were the law, and imposing any kind of control from the outside would lead to unpleasant repercussions. No one wanted to think of what those repercussions might include; Shionji was known for his creativity.

In 147, the Reform party won the elections of L1 for the first time since the colony was formed, and the new government decided enough was enough. It sent a team of specialized soldiers to infiltrate the Breaks and determine how it could be reclaimed by, as Vice Chairman Kaoru Toshi stated, "its rightful owners: the government and the people." The operation failed miserably and all but one of the soldiers was discovered and tortured to death. The surviving man escaped with a report of the Breaks that proved that the situation was indeed worse than the government had thought. The poor man also had a warning carved into his back using a medical scalpel, warning against any further intrusions into the area. 

The surviving soldier, a man by the name of Kanna Masao, divided the area into five sections with information he and his fallen compatriots had gathered: four quarters and a middle section which consisted of the still-standing original high-rise buildings that gave the Breaks its name.

The north section was the territory of various terrorist groups, crime lords, and minor drug cartels. This section became known as Hell, and was probably one of the safest areas of the Breaks to enter, though that wasn't saying much. Calling ANY area of the Breaks safe was ludicrous.

The most dangerous section, though, was undoubtedly in the east. The east section was primarily the hideout of assassins and gangs. Hitogoroshi no Meiro... the labyrinth of murderers, murderer's labyrinth. The gangs ran wild and the strong survived for only as long as they remained strong. Average life expectancy of someone born in Hitogoroshi no Meiro was less then twenty-five. For a man unassociated with any gang, it was less then twenty.

In the west quarter were located the brothels, bars, casinos, and other small businesses that provided drug and other traffic. It was said that if you had a vice, it could be found there. Appropriately enough, Kanna dubbed the area Yuuwaku, or "temptation."

The south quarter, while not the place with the highest mortality rate, was the one the Kanna advised officials to fear above all else. Bourei no Basho was the property of the two major drug cartels that ruled the Breaks: the Shionji cartel and the Black Diamond cartel and an uneasy balance of power was alll that kept the area from bursting in full-fledged warfare. Killing was coming, but unlike Hitogoroshi , the murders were always done as silently and seamlessly as possible. Six of the fifteen government team members had been killed attempting to infiltrate the Black Diamond cartel. Both cartels were powerful, but the Shionji cartel was the dominant one, having held undisputed rule of the Breaks for almost fifty years, ever since they had moved in. 

This balance of power was shattered in AC 173 when Shionji Toburo, the son of Shionji Hisashi and the leader of the cartel, was murdered by an unknown assassin group. In the resulting chaos, the Shionji cartel fell apart, victim to succession quarrels as one by one the successors themselves met various unfortunate ends. The Shionji cartel, which had been the first to claim any sort of ownership in the Breaks, had been the one constant in a violent atmosphere of change. In a way it had almost been an invisible government holding the microcosmic society together, and without its dominating influence the society of the Breaks began devolving into one enormous hole of violence and crime. By AC 174, the "sections" of the Breaks as drawn by the government infiltration team no longer existed. The leader of the Black Diamond cartel soon met the same end as his rival, and though the Black Diamond managed to hold itself together, it had not the influence or the reach of the Shionji cartel. 

When Heero Yuy was assassinated in AC 175, the government turned its attention away from the Breaks completely, involved with more pressing matters. After all, they were being oppressed by the Federation, and even though they attempted to make the Federation keep their promise to protect the colony, not even the most foolhardy General would order troops into what would amount to a virtual deathtrap.

The war changed nothing in the Breaks. While inhabitants were aware of it on the periphery, they experienced no direct effects- that would come later.

When the new government at last attempted to focus their eyes on the Breaks once again, after the war, they were surprised and dismayed to find that the boundaries of the area were slowly creeping outward. In the space of two decades, the Breaks had become a slums area as well as a crime ring, and its outer boundaries were composed of streets of makeshift housing where less fortunate citizens of L1, including former soldiers who returned to the colony to find their property and savings destroyed or reclaimed, were forced to relocate. A number of these soldiers, desperate for food and shelter, joined various crime organizations in order to make a living, many ironically losing their lives in the process.

By this time, the Breaks were more than one hundred years old; some of the crime organizations that controlled them even more so. Since the breakdown of the Shionji cartel there had been no one dominant group but instead a handful of organizations fighting for the top. In this crime war, groups could be born, grow powerful, and then vanish all in the space of a week. 

Newly added to the battle for domination of the Breaks were the assassin groups. Former soldiers found these groups most attractive, for obvious reasons, and their ranks swelled massively at the end of the war. For the first time, assassin groups began abandoning their "anonymous" identity, emerging into the arena as a surprising and deadly force to be reckoned with. These groups could consist of a single assassin hiding behind a code name, or "guilds" or assassins, such as the Order of Knives Guild, which was the first to break the unwritten assassin law of secrecy and go head to head with the Black Diamond Cartel. 

Shinobu pushed all those irrelevant thoughts aside: that didn't matter. What had mattered was that he had promised the Preventer Sally Po that he would conduct the search on L1 for Heero Yuy... now came the moment of truth- could he actually embrace his past for the sake of a person he had only known for a year?

_Take your pick,_ he thought. _What are you going to do? Are you going to run away, like you've done for the rest of your life? Or are you going to actually do something that makes a difference? It's your choice._

I will... I will make a difference. He reached over and dialed the numbers in carefully. Then he swallowed, and hit the send button.

In less then two minutes, he had a live connection to L1- one of the highest security money could buy- and pain of death could ensure. The screen lit as someone answered.

Shinobu looked into the hard, lined face of Seki Hikaru, Head of the Black Diamond Cartel on L1. He was one of the cruelest and most feared men in the Breaks, a place where fear was a part of daily life. The authorities would have given anything to have the comm number Shinobu had just punched from memory. 

Seki's scowl quickly transformed into an expression of surprise. "Takeru!" he exclaimed, leaning towards the screen.

"Konnichiwa, ojiisan. I need your help."

  
_ojiisan : Japanese, "grandfather"_

  


  
**Scene IV: The Labyrinthine Passages of Time**

  


_"We must be swift as the coursing river  
With all the force of a great typhoon  
With all the strength of a raging fire  
Mysterious as the dark side of the moon."  
--MuLan, I'll Make a Man out of You_

  
When they came in to check on her that morning, Noin was prepared.

She had pinpointed all the hidden security cameras hidden in the corners of the room quite easily, and from there it was an easy task to calculate each camera's blind spot. The bed was watched, but there was a spot by the dresser and the window that the camera did not reach. The door was also watched, but the area along the side wall was open, where she had engaged in the tap conversation with Etille two nights prior.

The guard checks were routine now. One in the morning at about 700 hours, when she would pretend to be asleep until he left. Another one just before noon, and then one in the midafternoon at about 1500 hours to take her to be questioned, interrogated, or whatever they wanted to call it. The arrogant Lieutenant Colonel Morgan had still not acted out his threat of taking "other measures" if she refused to talk. Not wanting to ruin his good guy image, she supposed, though there was far less of that than he probably though.

_Meet me at the center hallway,_ Etille had said last night when she described the guard patterns and how they could possibly escape. Actually, it had come out more like MT AT CNTR HLWY, but she understood the general meaning behind the consonant sounds. She'd often wondered why Treize would teach such an inelegant language to his elite forces, but she'd come to discover that there was an elegance of sorts to the tap code.

Hidden elegance, Treize would have called it.

The sun outside the window and the digital clock showed that it was 0647, about ten minutes before the morning guard was due. He would probably unlock the door, come in carelessly, glance at the bed to make sure that she was there. Why wouldn't she be?

His carelessness would be his undoing.

_Humans are creatures of habit,_ she heard her flight instructor say. _Break out of your habits. Think outside the box. Be prepared to act on instinct._

The key turned in the lock.

She jumped out of bed, eyes going to the clock. It was only 0650. They were early.

_Act on instinct._

There was no time to dodge the security cameras now. The lock clicked open, and in two bounds she was by the wall in the little nook behind the door so she would be hidden when it had opened completely.

The door opened and the guard came in. He looked only half-awake and she watched as he hid a yawn behind his hand, glancing at the bed.

And froze.

She gave him no time to think. She leaped forward, slamming the door, grabbing his rifle from his nerveless hands before he had even begun to react, and smashed him over the head with it. He crumpled, unconscious.

Noin proceeded to strip him of all weapons and identification. The uniform was a little too big for her, but it would have to do. The belt could be cinched tighter, and aesthetics was the least of her worries right now. Stuffing all the useful items back into the pants pockets and discarding the unwanted ones, she picked up the rifle. Looked in the mirror briefly.

The uniform was crimson, but for all purposes it was identical to the uniform she had once worn as an officer in the OZ specials. Shoulder boards, double breasted jacket, high collar. The reflection in the mirror stared warily back at her and she blinked.

_Lieutenant Lucrezia Noin, pilot._

An alarm sounded.

She tore her eyes away from the mirror and dashed out the door, closing it behind her. Best to give the impression that nothing was amiss, though the security cameras would tell otherwise. Center hallway, Etille had said. She knew the halls well enough from her passage through them to the interrogation sessions. They had blindfolded her at the beginning, but she supposed as she showed no sign of tendency to escape, they had considered it not worth the trouble.

She had been passive.

_Zechs…I can do this. I'll show you what kind of soldier I really am._

"Noin!"

She spun around into a combat crouch, pointing the rifle at the voice behind her. A man emerged cautiously from a hallway to her left, panting a bit, with his hands up. He was wearing a sand colored uniform not too different in style from the Preventers uniforms, though it had seen considerably more wear.

"Don't shoot!"

"Etille?" she said warily, not putting down the rifle. Yes. It was him. She could see the resemblance in his face from the picture in the entrance hall of Lake Victoria. Twenty years older, but still recognizable.

"It's me." He smiled, suddenly. His face was lined and worn, but strong. "Pleased to meet you at last. I've heard much about you."

Noin held the gun steady. "Yes?" 

Footsteps sounded down the hallway and there was a shout. "We've been spotted," Etille said, sounding unconcerned. "This way."

He sprinted down a side corridor, not even turning to see if she was following him. Noin bit her lip, then broke into a run after him. It was escape or be killed, and she was not about to meet her end here in this prison.

She was going to live.

She was going to see Zechs.

Gunfire behind them, and bullets whistled over her head. She turned as she ran, returning fire, knowing that her aim was not near good enough to hit anything. A deterrence. 

"Where are we going?"

"There's an exit two floors down that we can take!" Etille called back. He did not even sound winded. "It's a maintenance entrance and not heavily guarded. If we hurry, we can make it before they close the emergency doors."

"Emergency doors? What-"

"Noin! Here!"

He jerked open a door and grabbed the rifle from her hands. "When you get down the stairs, the code to that door is A64H. Enter it twice and open the door while the light is green."

"How do you-"

"Trust me! Go!" He raised the rifle, returning fire, and Noin pounded down the stairs, questions whirling through her mind. How did Etille know this? How could she trust him?

A64H. A64H. The light was green and she grabbed the door handle, pulling it open. Etille was behind her.

"I locked the door on them. They're going to have to go around the long way. We have some time."

"Wait just a minute!"

He turned, surprised. "What?"

"I'm not going anywhere with you until you tell me exactly what's going on." She placed her hands on her hips and planted herself in the middle of the hallway. "I don't know if I can trust you. How do I know this isn't all a trick?"

"If this were a trick," Etille said wearily, "I would have captured you by now."

"You could be trying to lead me somewhere."

"Why would I?"

"I don't know!" she burst out, frustrated. "I don't even know you! Talking with you through the wall for two nights in tapcode does not make us friends, or even acquaintances. I won't trust someone who won't tell me his plans!"

"I'm who I said I was," Etille said, hefting the rifle to one shoulder. "I was an OZ soldier. Then a member of White Fang during the war. After the war I came here. I was a mine operator, then a manager, then they hired me for my military abilities. I was the security chief in this compound a few years back, which is why I know the codes. Those are permanent codes programmed into the hardware in case of emergency. That's all I know. I'm not a spy. I wish I knew more. All I know is that our pursuers are coming the back way, and we need to leave NOW."

"What are you-" she said, but he was already running, and she forced her tired legs to keep up with him as they raced down the hallway. Alarms were blaring at all intervals along the wall now, and she could hear shouts of pursuit.

"They're here," Etille said, "but so are we." Skidding to a halt at the end of the hall, he punched in a code to the blinking panel and the heavy metal door slid open.

"This is a tunnel. Watch your step. The ceiling gets low sometimes."

He slapped the door panel closed after motioning her into the tunnel, diving in just before it slammed shut. "It's locked now," he said grimly. "They'll have a hard time following us."

Bullets pinged against the door and then the wall shook, as if someone were trying to break it down, but Etille was already running. The ceiling of the tunnel was lined with electric wire and what looked like gas and water pipes. Insulation muffled their footsteps.

"This is an old building, isn't it?" Noin said breathlessly.

"Yes it is. I helped build it."

"What?"

"Save your questions for later," he said deftly, coming to an abrupt halt, and she barely managed to stop herself before she slammed into his back. There was a wall in front of them, with another blinking panel, and Etille performed the same procedure. The door slid open.

The hangar into which they emerged was larger than most planetside hangars. Obviously built for freight, there were only a few freight vehicles and transports against the walls. But the hangar was not empty.

There were mobile suits. Hundreds of them, standing in neat rows. They were new. She could smell the newness of them in the air, the freshly tightened bolts, the clean grease, the smooth, gleaming paint. Aries, Tauruses, Leos.

"Shit," Noin said.

"I was afraid of this," Etille said. His eyes were hard. "We need to get out of here. I assume you still remember how to pilot a mobile suit?"

She nodded, afraid to speak. The situation was worse than they had feared. She had to contact the Preventers. She had to-

"Good. We're going to go on a little adventure."

She watched him take off across the floor of the hangar before she realized that he meant for her to follow him once again. Catching up to him, she waited until he turned to her.

"I am not good in a Taurus, but I heard you took part in testing them."

"I'll take a Taurus," she said. "Aries are not hard to pilot. Have you piloted before?"

"A bit," he said, looking up at the towering machines. "Anything I don't know, I can figure out."

She did not answer, scrambling up to the Taurus' ingress hatch. As she expected, it was locked, but the security systems on the things were not as good as their creators would like to think. A few keystrokes of the keypad and she was in. Looking over, she saw that Etille had managed to break into his mobile suit as well.

Gunfire.

"They're here," Etille's voice came over her comm, and she settled herself down into her seat, strapping in quickly and powering up. Bullets sprayed against the mobile suit, but bullets were no match for a machine built for space combat.

"I see them. Where are we going?"

"Out," he said vaguely, and she did not have time to answer before the Aries was blasting its way across the hangar.

"Damn you!" she hissed over the comm before jerking the stick of the Taurus forward. For a moment she was in the hangar of the testing facility, with Zechs in the mobile suit beside her, and then the opening of the hangar had passed and she was out on the flightline. Etille's Aries was in front of her…no…behind her…

"They've gotten quick," Etille remarked, and it was only then she realized that it was not Etille's Aries. There was more than one. The enemy's mobile suits.

"Where are we going?"

"Down the road, through the guard gate. Go!"

It was not the first time she wished that mobile suits had flight capability, but it was just as well. The pilots of the A007 mobile suits were no match for her piloting skills, and it was only with a few scratches that she met Etille by the guard gate. The guard tower was smoldering in a heap of twisted metal, and the Aries' gun was smoking slightly.

"Good work, Noin," he said. He sounded pleased.

"I'm not done with you yet!" she snapped. Her hands were shaking on the controls. "What is going on?"

"I'll explain on the way."

"Etille!" Frustrated, Noin slapped the control panel and the Taurus jerked into an unsteady walk.

"I'm sorry." He sounded genuinely sorry. "Everything I told you was true. I wish I could explain now, but our communications might be monitored. I suggest you turn off everything and just follow me. Besides, when we reach….where we're going, you'll understand. Everything."

"I'd better!" she snapped, but only a crackle of static met her ears, and she scowled, slumping back in her seat.

She was exhausted, she realized. She had not slept well last night, and the added tension of running and the adrenaline had not done her body any more good. She could not fall asleep. She had to keep her eyes on the road.

Zechs. She pictured him in her mind. She was going to see Zechs. She had made it this far and she was not going to fail now.

_I'm not a weakling, Zechs._

In essence, her life was in Etille's hands now, whether she wanted to trust him or not. She had been trusting him, but she had always been too trusting, and she had been hurt.

_Humans are creatures of habit._

When she saw Zechs, she was going to ask him about Etille, and the enemy's new mobile suits, and when he had joined the Preventers, and how could he have come back from the dead. When. Not if. Zechs was alive. They were a team. She would not let him fight by himself.

If there was going to be a war, there would not be one without her.

  
[Act IV Part III][1] | [Act V Part II][2] | [Back to Sainan no Kekka][3]

   [1]: act4-3.html
   [2]: act5-2.html
   [3]: /gundam/sainan/



	18. Dead Soldiers with Unmarked Graves

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT V, PART II

** Tashika ni kanjiteru  
Kyou o iki nuite yuku  
Ashita o kataru hodo  
Name cha inai sa**

Chi no hate made kizutsuitemo  
Tatakau dake sa  
Shinjiru nara motomeru nara  
Tsukamitoru dake  
Toi kaketemo toi kaketemo  
Kuzurenai nara  
Sore ga seigi da  


** I feel secure  
I keep on living today  
Speaking of tomorrow  
I am not a fool**

Even if I'm hurt I will fight  
Until the end of the world  
If I believe If I ask  
I will grasp it alone  
If it is not destroyed  
When it is questioned  
That is justice  


**--Gundam Wing, _Shinjitsu o Tsukamitore_  
[_Grasp the Truth_, Chang Wufei image song]**  


  
  
**Scene V: Code Name: Heero Yuy**

  


_"If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman?  
If I'm alive and well, will you be there holding my hand?"  
--Three Doors Down, Kryptonite_

  
The night was the same as always, with the crickets chirping in the grass outside and the brook bubbling in its natural course, and the full moon bright in the sky.

He couldn't sleep.

He didn't know why. He had gotten hardly any sleep the night before, staying up to translate a particularly hard chapter of a twentieth-century English novel into Chinese. He was not doing this for any sort of repayment, but there were words that begged to be written out, pored over, analyzed. It was his own project. The text fascinated him. Who could have thought that so much could be written in such a few pages?

_Ulysses_, the novel was called, probably one of the most controversial novels of the twentieth century, and on the surface a jumble of confused thought. But there was so much more than that inside the words, if one read deeper. He looked forward to that part of the day after dinner when all the mundane work was done, the meditation finished, when he could put down everything and immerse himself in that book. He forced himself to, every evening. It was a way to forget.

He had translated his usual few pages tonight, his brush making the soft, soothing scratching noises on the sheet of parchment, and he had closed the book, turned out the lights, and lay down. But something kept him awake.

He sat up, pushing back the blankets with one hand. His soft mattress was at the far corner of the bedroom. The moonlight wavered brightly at the other side of the room, by the door, and he considered getting up, lighting a candle, and translating another page. He was not going to get any sleep anyway, so he might as well get some work done.

Pushing himself to his feet, he padded to the door and opened it soundlessly. His bedroom led directly into the study, and he scrabbled for some matches on the writing table, struck one and lit the candle stub at the corner of the desk. The weak light flared to life, highlighting the unfinished characters on the parchment, the tattered paperbound book, the black ink inside the inkwell, and throwing everything else into shadow. The shadows were deep and thick tonight.

He dipped his brush into the ink and carefully made the first stroke of the next character. The ink flowed dripping, like water. Black water. Like blood. The words on the page swimming like the depths of the ocean.

_-History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake._

Something moved.

He paused, lifting up his head, eyes scanning the shadows. He had not had problems with rodents in the past, but one never knew. Or maybe it was some night creature from outside which had mistakenly ventured in. That did happen from time to time.

He waited for a moment, but the noise did not repeat itself, and he turned his attention back to the book. Scratch. Scratch.

_All history moves toward one great goal, the manifestation of God._

The movement again. This time he put down his brush and stared hard into the darkness. There had been no noise that time, but he was sure something had moved. No matter how hard he wanted to forget, some things never changed, and possessing the instincts of a trained assassin was one of them.

Animal? Human?

"Who's there?" he said sharply. His voice sounded strange in his own ears. He had not spoken…since his journey to Beijing.

Nothing. The candle's flame flickered.

Maybe he was jumping at shadows. Maybe he really was insane, and had spent all his time trying to convince himself otherwise. Maybe…maybe the war had not happened and everything was a dream.

He turned to sit down again, and there was no warning, just a splintering sound as the wooden slats of the window crashed down and something was grappling at his throat. Instinctively, his hands went up, but he was already on the ground, hitting his head hard. His vision swam for a moment even as he realized that there were hands around his neck, squeezing.

_I will not die like this!_

He brought his hand up hard, and his attacker's grip loosened just a bit, but enough for him to jerk his neck out of the other's grasp and roll into a crouching position. The face of the other was shadowed in the dim candlelight, but he could tell by the black outfit and the trained, smooth, fluid gestures that this was no ordinary killer.

One trained assassin, for another.

This was his penance.

The assassin came at him again, and he dodged smoothly, wishing he had his sword. That would be the quickest way. The beautiful weapon, sunk in the depths of the ocean along with his Gundam.

The assassin made another pass and this time he caught a glimpse of the face. Everything except for the eyes was wrapped in black, but the skin around them was dark. He wondered who had sent the assassin. He wondered how they had found him.

There was no noise, only a grunt as the assassin came at him a third time, and before he could dodge he felt a viselike grip around his abdomen and he was lifted high into the air, kicking, then flung towards the ground. He broke his fall as best as he could, but felt a sharp pain in his ankle as he stumbled, fell.

A muffled curse escaped his lips and he rolled to his feet awkwardly. He would not go down without a fight. There were two of them now, at opposite corners of the room, watching warily. He wondered if this was more difficult than they had expected. Did they know who he was?

"Who are you?" he demanded.

Neither of them answered, but the one on the right moved to guard the doorway back to the bedroom. The one on the left rushed at him, but he saw it coming and rolled to one side. The attacker jumped to the ground to meet him, and he heard a snick, felt the blade of the dagger coming before he saw it. It was aimed for his neck, but he twisted his head and it thudded into the ground next to his ear. He slammed a fist into the assassin's collarbone, heard running footsteps as the other's partner came close.

There was no time to be subtle.

He kicked out, freed himself from the other's hold with ease, landed on his feet. The assassin had rescued his knife and rolled to his feet, crouching warily. He almost missed the imperceptible nod that passed between the two before the other one moved, jumped. He tried to dodge, but one hand had grasped his upper arm, and he gasped before he could stop himself. This one was strong.

And better trained, too, he realized as he was flung to the ground. Another snick of a dagger and again he tried to dodge, almost succeeded as the tip of it grazed his shoulder and he felt a sting as it drew blood. And again. Two cuts.

No, this one was not only better. Far better. He was gasping for breath and no longer trying to gain the upper hand, but just trying to stay alive, one step ahead of the other in this deadly game. He could sense the assassin's partner standing above them, but there was no way that a third person could join this fight without it becoming messy.

So these two liked to keep their work clean, did they? Well, he would give them clean.

He couldn't see this one's face. Everything had been wrapped except for the twin holes where the eyes would be, and the light was too dim for him to see anything. 

"Who…are you?" he gasped again, but again there was no answer. He did not expect any. A fist slammed into his nose, and he fell back, grasping at something, anything, to stop his head from cracking open on the hard floor, and he felt soft cloth beneath his hand. Pulled. Heard it rip as the head cloth came free.

He heard an intake of breath. Obviously, the assassin had not expected this. So much the better. He felt hands trying to loosen his hold, but he held on tightly, pulling with all his might, trying to drag his attacker down to the ground with him. The cloth came loose in his hand.

Dark hair. A scar cutting the naked face clean in half. Hard cobalt blue eyes.

He heard himself gasp, heard the cloth fall to the floor. Heard the whispers of a remembered conversation.

_You're not our leader anymore._

Was I ever?

"You-!"

The other's face twisted in a sheer mask of desperate hatred.

"Die, you bastard!"

That voice.

"You!" He cried, lashing out, fear and fury and sheer, raw shock coursing through his body. It couldn't be. It simply could not be. "What are you doing?"

The dagger came at his head again and he felt it graze his cheek this time, by his eye. 

"Stop! Heero!"

He saw the other's partner freeze at the name, but the unmasked one did not waver.

There was no doubt about it. That face…that voice. It was Heero Yuy's. Longer hair, several years older, bony and drawn, but it was Heero.

"Heero Yuy!" he shouted again desperately, and this time he saw his attacker come to a halt. "Stop it! Don't you know me? Heero!"

There was confusion in the other's voice, then anger. "Who…shut up!"

He sprinted forward, grasped the other's shoulders before he could attack, twisted his arm, clawing to knock the dagger out of his grasp. Looked into the blue eyes as they struggled desperately.

"Heero! Listen to me. Heero! Stop! Damn you, don't do this!"

I thought you were my friend, he wanted to say, but that would be the ramblings of a madman. Heero Yuy had no friends. Heero Yuy was the perfect soldier.

But if the boy in front of him was Heero Yuy…

He suddenly realized that the other had stopped struggling, was standing silent in the middle of the room with the dagger raised on one hand, eyes no longer looking into his but staring into the shadows beyond. The arm was trembling, and the dagger dropped to the floor. He watched it fall as if in slow motion, glittering in the candlelight.

"Who are you?" The voice was hoarse. The partner was crouching, wary, by the door. He was still masked.

"Don't you recognize me?" He swallowed. This was madness. Madness. How had… "Heero."

"Who…who are you?"

"My name is Chang Wufei."

His name. Chang Wufei. It was strange, after all this time, to speak his name out loud. After all this time. "You don't remember me?"

Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps he had the wrong person. Perhaps this was only someone who looked like Heero, who was really trying to kill him for the crimes he had committed. He was a killer.

"I…" The blue eyes were haunted, now, swinging back and forth between him and the partner in the corner of the room, like the eyes of a caged animal. "Heero Yuy."

"Heero," he said. "Heero, what happened to you?"

"Heero Yuy." That voice, speaking that name. He saw the throat swallow convulsively, the hands grasp at nothing. "Heero Yuy. I…I am…"

He was running forward before the boy had begun to fall to his knees, a small sob loosening from his throat, and he was holding him up as the eyes moved over his features, confused and frightened and lost. He saw them widen and the recognition come into them. The whites were showing around the dark irises.

"I…You are…" 

"What's going on?" The harsh voice of his partner.

"I…My name…is…" A spasm through the thin frame, and then without warning, he jerked against Wufei, stumbling back, into the wall, eyes wide with horror, as if he had seen a ghost.

"What am I doing?"

"Heero?"

There were tears rolling down his cheeks, glimmering in the candlelight. "Oh my God." A stunned whisper. "Oh my God. What am I doing?"

"Heero?" Wufei said again, reaching out one hand, suddenly seeing the room through a golden haze, as if he was within the workings of the Zero System once more. "Heero? Do you remember me?"

"What have I done?" came the whispered voice again. "What am I doing? Oh God…"

Wufei took one step towards Heero, and the boy flinched away from him.

"Leave me alone!"

He withdrew his hand, staring at the tears on the other's cheeks, wondering what had happened to the pilot, the perfect soldier, the one who never wept for the fallen. Wondering how he had ended up here, of all places. Wondering why he was trying to kill him.

"What have I done?" The strained whisper. "I…Wufei."

"Heero."

He could see Heero's thin shoulders convulsing, watched as the boy buried his face in his hands. He was so thin. How had he gotten so thin?

One year. It had been one year, and already they were strangers. It was too much.

Without thinking, he reached out and gathered the boy to himself, fiercely, letting him sob against his chest, all fears of human contact forgotten. The memories came rushing back, suddenly. Of the war. Of his friends. For so long he had been haunted by the dead, he had forgotten his friends. They were all haunted, he realized. All of them.

_Quatre._

Trowa.

Duo.

Heero.

Heero pushed away from him and Wufei let him go, watching his stunned partner out of the corner of his eye. This wasn't over yet.

"Wufei." The voice was low. "I…I'm sorry. I didn't…I didn't know what-"

"Forget it," he said. "It's been a long time."

Heero swallowed. "Yes."

The partner took a step forward. "What's going on?" he demanded again, harshly. "What's the meaning of this? Wing?" He looked at Heero when he said this.

Wing?

"I'm sorry, Darkflight," Heero said softly.

Darkflight?

The dark-skinned boy reached up and pulled off his cloth mask. His features were darkly handsome and well-defined in the candlelight. His tone was that of a leader. It was how Heero had sounded, one year ago.

"Wing. I'm waiting."

"I…I am. I was." Heero swallowed. "My name is Heero Yuy."

Darkflight blinked. "What?"

"You heard me," Heero said harshly. "Heero Yuy. I was a Gundam pilot. In the war."

Darkflight didn't move, simply stared at Heero, who turned away from him, staring into the darkness of the room. "You're joking."

No answer. Wufei felt the need to reach out, pick up the fallen knife and cut through the tension of the room with it. 

"Damn it, Wing." Darkflight sounded defeated, bewildered. "Why didn't you ever tell me? Why?" A thud as he threw his own knife to the ground. "Damn you, _why?_"

"I'm sorry," Heero said again. "I couldn't…remember…"

He couldn't remember?

Wufei suddenly felt a deep sorrow for the boy who stood in front of him, the boy that was only a shadow of what Heero Yuy had been. He reached out a hand again, but Heero made no move to take it, did not move forward, did not move back. He simply stood silent and still, the tears still rolling down his cheeks, lost in the depths of some memory.

"Wing…" Darkflight said, the hurt in his voice coming through audibly. He turned abruptly and walked to the door. "Fuck you, Wing. Fuck you."

The door slammed shut behind him, and then it was only he and Heero in the candlelit room. Heero made no move to speak, and Wufei did not either, even though he wanted to, wanted to ask what had happened to him after all this time, and who was Darkflight, and how had he gotten the scar, and how he could have forgotten, and why. But he simply reached out and touched Heero's shoulder, tentatively, hoping that the other could hear all that he could not put into words.

"Welcome home," he said.

  


* * *

  
**Scene VI: Twenty-four Hours a Day**

  


_"The dead have come to claim a debt from thee;  
They stand outside your door."  
--If I Should Fall From Grace with God, Irish Folk Song_

  
An hour after Relena had departed to collect her bags from the hotel she had checked into, Une was looking at Gils-Reve, who was now a Captain. She had jumped him clear over the rank of First Lieutenant to give him the power he would need to issue orders in her name, and so far, he had worked very hard to prove to her that she hadn't made a mistake. She was rather pleased with his performance- he was the best aide she'd ever had. She would hate to lose him when he got promoted again, and something told her that that would happen quickly and often.

Pierre Gils-Reve was a natural diplomat. He was able to soothe many of the feathers Une ruffled, and turn her harsh statements into more tactful orders. His paperwork was flawless, he had a quick wit, and like Major Li had promised, he knew when to keep his mouth shut. Gils-Reve had even had the forethought to replace all the breakable objects in her office with cheaper (and more easily replaced) versions for when she lost her temper. The amount of coffee cups and paper weights she had gone through in the last few weeks was simply unbelievable. At the moment, though, he was trying every ounce of her self control.

It wasn't his fault, Une recognized intellectually, yet there was always the temptation to shoot the messenger who carried the bad news. And it WAS bad news. She hadn't had any GOOD news in weeks. She was starting to get tired of it. Just once she would like to be told the situation was getting better, rather then worse.

"Please repeat what you just said," she requested in a dangerously level voice.

Gils-Reve hadn't been around Une that long, but he recognized the signs of an imminent fit of rage. Her eyes were narrowed, her cheeks were stained with a faint flush, and she was clenching a fist so tightly her knuckles were white. He mentally reviewed a dozen different ways to rephrase his rather blunt report, but rejected them all. Une wouldn't appreciate his temporization, and he wanted to make sure she had little reason to get even more upset. Watching her had made him seriously start to wonder exactly how much a person could take before they snapped.

He chided himself internal for his wandering thoughts, and decided to deliver the same honest news that he had just learned. "Ma'am, Quatre Raberba Winner has been placed under arrest and is being extradited to Geneva." He braced himself for the inevitable explosion of temper.

It didn't come. She had been standing up, leaning against her desk, and reviewing a hardcopy of a report when he had entered. With deceptive calm, she walked around and perched on her chair, like a bird ready to take flight. "Under whose authority was the arrest made?" she asked, still speaking in her quiet, reasonable tones.

_This isn't good,_ Gils-Reve thought, barely refraining from slipping a hand up to loosen his collar so he could breathe more easily. Such a show of weakness would not be viewed well, and he was finally beginning to earn her respect and trust. It wouldn't do to have all his hard work undermined by a few tense moments. "Under the authority of the World Nation, a small investigative task force was created yesterday, led by Fatima bint Narish. Someone leaked Quatre's location to her, and she sent a man named Jose Martina to place him under arrest."

She shut her eyes slowly, then remarkably enough, she started to laugh. Her laughter was almost painful in its self derision, and he winced. _This isn't good,_ he thought for the second time in less then a minute. "Ma'am?" he asked.

No answer was forthcoming from her, and he saw tears start to form at the corners of her eyes. She raised an elegant hand to brush them away, and Gils-Reve began to wonder who he should contact- what was the proper procedure to follow when the commanding officer of the military went insane before your very eyes? Greatly daring he said, "My Lady? Can I do something for you?" Perhaps he was out of line using her other title, but he simply couldn't reconcile the General with the woman who was falling apart in front of him.

She choked back her laughter, shaking her head. "I'm sorry for scaring you like that, Captain. But you must admit the situation is rather amusing, in a masochistic sort of way." Then Une picked up one of the paperweights on her desk. It was an interesting work of blown glass, pretty but not too expensive. Then she smiled at him coldly. "You might want to go into your office for a few minutes," she advised.

Gils Reve almost tripped over his feet in his eagerness. As he shut the door, he heard something shattered with resounding force. He sighed tiredly, and made a mental note to call a maid in to clean.

Five minutes passed before she called for him to enter. He carefully averted his eyes from the pile of glass that was all that was left of the paperweight and coffee cup that had been on her desk. "Okay, I believe I can discuss this reasonably now," she informed him, though her color was still running slightly high.

"First things first. I want you to put Major Carrington on getting Quatre into our custody- the World Nation doesn't have the jurisdiction to arrest someone, and there's no way I'm going to let them get away with it. They're walking on MY turf, and there's no way they're going to get away with it. The World Nation is playing in MY backyard, and its going to be by my rules.

"Next, contact Li and tell her to expedite- I don't care WHAT means she uses, but I want the rest of the pilots. There's no way anyone else is going to get their hands on them- by the end of this week, I want all the pilots accounted for, and if possible, I want them on base, under guard.

"Third, get our lawyers ready. It looks like we're going to have to fight the World Nation, and I want them prepped. Inform them to look into international law, particularly past precedents on War Crimes Tribunals. See about hiring extra lawyers if need be- I want a full staff on this twenty-four, seven. Cost is not a concern- if I'm right, Quatre Winner will foot the bill, as he'll be up against a full tribunal shortly."

Gils-Reve made mental notes and started to lay a game plan. "Is that all, ma'am?" he asked politely.

"No. I'll need a few minutes to think, but I'm going to have matters firmly in hand shortly. There's no way anyone is getting the better of me."

Gils-Reve nodded and left, and Une sat down again. "I'm tired," she whispered softly. "Treize, I'm so sorry I couldn't do my job right. If I had, none of this would have happened." She gave herself the brief luxury of wallowing in self-recrimination, then shook it off. "No time for self-pity," she muttered.

A hand came up and started to pull at the pins which had held the hair away from her face. The bun had gotten messy, and one of the pins was digging into her scalp in a most uncomfortable fashion.

The problem with the World Nation was that no one was exactly sure what it was. Less then two years old, the government had been put in place by the countries who had survived Operation Meteor and the resulting chaos. They formed a strong Confederation aimed at establishing free trade and opening relations with the colonies.

Each country had to sign the charter before it would receive any of the advantages the World Nation granted- and those advantages were well worth it, to most nations' thinking. So far around eighty percent of the world had ratified the treaty, and the remaining twenty percent were still debating the merits of membership. Une was under no illusions; within five years, the entire world would belong.

She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. It was a pleasure to see Treize's ideals being followed, seeing everyone working together towards peace, but she recognized that few of those in power believed in the actual peace- no, they wanted power. Right now the world wanted peace, an end to war, and that's what the clever politicians would give them. Une was under no illusions; the moment peace went out of style, the politicians would do an about face.

With a sigh, she began to move through reports on her desk, mentally considering what strategies she could employ to get ahead of the World Nation.

The Preventers were the only legal international military force, and were loosely connected with the World Nation. Une had been lucky enough to form the force right before the charter of the World Nation was created, and had used all of her influence to ensure that her group would remain independent, yet affiliated with the new government. The charter hadn't quite defined what rights her force had, but now was the time to figure it out- she was going to fight every inch of the way to protect the pilots.

_Why can't anyone understand what they did for us?_ she wondered. _Why must we put another burden on them? Didn't they suffer enough? The pilots aren't the one to blame for the war- the blame, if we must attribute it to someone, is for those who let the Federation become a monster. If anything, the pilots deserve our thanks._

She remembered her words before the war had concluded, during the final battle between Epyon and Wing Zero:

_This battle doesn't hold any meaning for those on the colonies or the earth, but this is a battle which MUST be fought because it is on the parts of both to protect the colonies. AC 195... The curtain endeavors to fall upon the history of wars; but these two MUST fight or peace will not be accomplished. Do you feel it? The grief of this fight? Do you see it? The peace that extends behind this? This is the enigma of peace which must be addressed by everyone!_

She had been so naïve then. She had believed that the Eve Wars would truly be the last battle- she, like Dorothy Catalonia, had thought the war too horrific for people to ever want to see another. Yet here it was, less then two years after "the war to end all wars" and already the world was moving back towards tension- and tension could create another war.

Une wondered where her faith in humanity had gone. _Treize-sama, is there something wrong with me? Why am I forgetting what you stood for? Can you forgive me for my lack of faith?_ She stared at her plans, wondering why she now had to fight another battle- hadn't the world been satisfied by the sacrifices of the Eve Wars?

Une looked up from her notes in surprise as Captain Gils-Reve walked into the office with a staff sergeant at his side.

She tilted her head. "Yes?" she asked politely.

"Ma'am, this is Staff Sergeant Takamura. He's in our personnel department."

Une nodded. "It's a pleasure, Sergeant," she said. Her expression was slightly puzzled as she looked at her aide. Didn't Gils-Reve realize that she had more important matters to deal with then personnel problems? It was Sally's department, not hers.

"I realize you have a lot of concerns, but Takamura has some important information to relay," Gils-Reve said politely.

"Yes? My time is limited, gentlemen," she said with barely concealed impatience.

The staff sergeant nodded and began to speak hastily, clearly uneasy about being in the presence of so much rank. "Well, I'm one of those whose been sorting through the people who've been applying to see you or get onto base for some reason, especially since the news of the pilots broke. Most of them are no one of import, but someone interesting came through."

"Yes?" Une asked, wondering exactly what was up.

"I even did DNA tests to cross-check, but… we have a Catherine Bloom waiting to meet you. She's Trowa Barton's sister." The staff sergeant seemed almost embarrassed. "She's in my office- I've never actually referred anyone to you, so I contacted your aide."

Une felt like someone had hit her upside the head. Now this was something she hadn't been counting on. "Catherine Bloom?" she asked. "I've heard of her, but I thought she was still with the circus." She shut her eyes, trying to run through the implications. Perhaps Trowa had sent his sister to her with a message? she thought hopefully. Trowa had always been a favorite of hers, and it would be a relief to have him on her side once again. Someone she could trust, someone who would understand the incredible pressure she was under, and someone who might actually be able to help. She felt her spirits begin to lift. This might be the much-awaited good news she had been praying for. It was about time, after all.

"Can you bring her to me at once?" she asked, keeping her voice under control through much effort.

"Yes, Ma'am," the sergeant said, leaving with dignified haste.

Une's hands began to fidget with the papers on her desk as she stacked the plans into a neat pile. "See that these are filed in your office? I'll need them later, so make sure they're ready in a second."

Her aide accepted the documents and left the room, carefully shutting the door behind him. Une shut her eyes and started to count backwards from a hundred, a meditation technique she used to keep her composure. She hated waiting; she was a woman of action.

She had reached thirty seven for the second time when the alert button on her desk beeped. "Ma'am, Catherine Bloom is here to see you."

"Send her in," she said.

The door opened and a young woman walked in. Une quickly took her measure, and was surprised that she WAS surprised to find herself satisfied. She should have expected no less from Trowa's sister.

The woman moved with a fluid grace that was reminiscent of her younger brother's. She had short curly hair that brushed her shoulders, and sharp blue-gray eyes. Her body was trim and athletic, and though she looked slightly uncomfortable in her business suit (which looked painfully new), their was a confidence in her carriage that demanded respect.

The girl held out her hand, completely ignoring protocol. "Hello, Lady Une. My name is Catherine Bloom, and I'm Trowa Barton's older sister."

  


* * *

  
**Scene VII: Introducing Lilah Winner**

  


_"Don't give up on your faith  
Love comes to those who believe it  
And that's the way it is."  
--Celine Dion, That's the Way It Is_

  
She had put on her most presentable dress and hat for the occasion, but she didn't think it would really matter. No matter what she wore, when she looked in the mirror, all she could see was a whore. A dirty woman, a filthy woman.

They hadn't seemed to mind on the shuttle or at the airport. The only ticket she could afford was a fourth-class ticket back to Earth, and even that had cost her half of the money she had been saving up over so many years. Looking back, she couldn't remember why she had been saving the money. It was the same - the same as then, except she was alone on this ride, looking out the window bleakly at the blackness of space.

She had gotten off at the airport at Riyadh, clutching her single ragged suitcase and pulling her wrap around her in the midst of the crowds of well-dressed businessmen and wealthy women with designer sunglasses on their heads and highlights in their hair. The Islamic influence was subtly visible in the design of the building itself, but other than that, she might as well have been back on L1.

Quatre was no longer at home. She had read in the news, on the shuttle, about his subsequent disappearance soon after the news release, and she was not surprised. It wasn't his disappearance that was the problem.

There was a public communications booth a few blocks from the airport, and she ducked into it, hearing the rumble of the cars outside on the busy highway. The sun glared in through the frosted glass windows and she wiped the sweat from her forehead, placed her bag on the ground gently, rummaging through the front pockets for the spare change she had dumped in before leaving.

No, Quatre's disappearance was not a problem. The problem was the call she was about to make.

With trembling hands, she slipped the coins into the slot, one by one, hearing them clink as they dropped in. Every clink was a death knell, every coin one more log on her funeral pyre.

She took a deep breath and clutched at the vidscreen. The friendly automated voice startled her and she stepped back with a yelp before realizing it was a machine.

"Please enter the number you wish to call," it stated pleasantly, then proceeded to repeat the instructions in Japanese and Arabic. She licked her lips, raised her hand to punch in the code.

It was like slow motion. She watched as her fingers tapped in the code, the code which had been ingrained in her memory since she was a child. It was one of the luxuries of being wealthy, having an emergency network which could be answered from any location on planet if activated from a particular area.

_If you are ever separated from us…if you have this code…anywhere on Earth, we will answer._

She pushed the last number. The screen faded to black, and she twisted her hands together. She was sweating again. Why was that? The sunlight weighed down on her and her legs felt weak.

REDIRECTING, the screen said.

A flash.

"Who is this?" A tired voice. Her mind went blank, and she forced herself to take deep, even breaths, to remember to breathe.

She had forgotten how authoritative Jaffa could sound even when she was tired. The screen flickered on, and it was her sister who stood there, several years older than she remembered, but it was Jaffa. Her sister.

"Ja-Jaffa."

Jaffa narrowed her eyes. "Do I know you?" Her voice was low, bordering on the edge of suspicion.

"Jaffa, I…" She felt the tears forming at the corners of her eyes, and she turned away violently from the screen. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I know I haven't…I didn't…but I wanted to see if Quatre was all right, and I…"

There was silence from the direction of the viewscreen and she couldn't bear to look back. Jaffa had probably hung up in disgust, looking out from her side of the communications link and seeing only a foreign woman, a woman who was too dirty for words. It was on her soul. The tears dripped slowly down her cheeks, dripping on the concrete.

"Li-Lilah?"

She froze.

"Is that you?"

Jaffa's voice was breathless, almost incredulous, and she almost couldn't bear to face back to the screen, to face the sister she left behind so many years ago.

"I'm sorry, I-"

_"Lilah?"_

Jaffa's eyes were wide, the pupils shockingly dark, her face close to the screen as if she could reach through the comm channel just by the mere action. "Lilah! That…It _is_ you!"

She closed her eyes. "Jaffa, I-" Here it came. They didn't want her. They had never wanted her.

"You're alive! May Allah be praised…"

Her eyes flew open and she saw that Jaffa was crying. Her older sister, crying for her. Her hands went to her mouth, and she hesitantly touched the screen with one hand, unable to stop the flow of words as she babbled frantically, hoping it was not all a dream.

"Jaffa, I-I'm sorry, I didn't tell you where I'd gone and I thought you had forgotten all about me and I didn't mean it honestly I didn't mean it I-"

"Lilah," her sister whispered in amazement. "You're alive."

"I-I would have-"

"Where are you?" Jaffa demanded. She saw a whisper of movement in the background.

"Ri-Riyadh…just outside the airport…there's some public comm booths near the-"

"I know the place," Jaffa said crisply, all business again. "We're coming to get you."

"What? I-"

"See you there," she said, and the comm went dark.

She stood there for a second, feeling the blood rush back between her eyes and her temples, not even realizing she had not been breathing. Her knees buckled and she sat down hard on the concrete floor of the booth, cradling her head in her arms, and cried.

She must have fallen asleep, for the next thing she knew was someone was lifting her carefully in strong arms and she was being carried. _Danger!_ her mind screamed, and she began struggling, her cries muffled in the thick cloth of a shirt. Then there was a soothing voice in her ears, and the arms lowered her carefully as her eyes adjusted to the light. It was dusk. The lights of the city were pinpoints of stars, and the roar of the traffic had lessened somewhat.

"Lilah?" said a familiar voice, and she turned around and looked into the dark eyes and saw the long hair that had been wrapped into a bun, the trailing wisps making a halo around her head in the fading light, the dark circles under her eyes, and the uncertain smile.

"Jaffa," she said solemnly, feeling the butterflies in her stomach. How should one respond to a name one had not heard in more than seven years? How should one speak to a sister that one had willingly left behind?

And then Jaffa was enfolding her in warm arms and she felt the tears coming again. She had not cried this easily, in the Breaks.

In the Breaks, she had been nothing, but at least she was not the least of the nothings among the other empty nothings of that place. Here, she was truly nothing. She was a street waif in the arms of a princess.

"No," Jaffa murmured when she tried to pull away. "Let me…let me look at you. Lilah."

She flinched. Jaffa's sharp eyes missed nothing.

"Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head, turning away and picking up her bag. There was a tall, muscular Arab standing a few paces behind them, watching with impassive eyes. She slid her eyes away from his gaze.

"Come on," Jaffa said, putting one hand gently on her shoulder. "Let's…let's go home."

Numbly, she let herself be pushed into the backseat of the old brown vehicle that the Arab had apparently driven to Riyadh. Jaffa slid in beside her, and the Arab took the wheel, easing them out into the flow of traffic on the highway. Jaffa's eyes were on her again. It was awkward.

"Look," Jaffa finally said softly. She raised her eyes at that, met her sister's dark ones. Her sister…did she have any right to call her that? "I'm not going to ask where you've been. I'm not going to ask what you've done. You're a woman and you have a right to your privacy. But if you ever want to talk to me…I'll be here."

She nodded silently, wanting to open her mouth and tell Jaffa everything. About the Breaks. About the running. About the men and the hunger and about the fear. About the girls, all those girls trapped in that hellhole with nowhere to go, trapped for the rest of their lives, to die there. About how long the days were and how terrible the nights.

About Wing.

"How did you know?" she finally whispered, staring out the window at the shadowed sand. Riyadh was far behind them now, a mass of light in the distance.

"Know what?" Jaffa said gently.

"That…who I was."

"You look like Quatre," Jaffa murmured.

She closed her eyes. "What if…what if I'm an imposter? What if I'm out to get something from you? Why are you trusting me?"

"Lilah-"

"Stop calling me that!"

She hadn't meant for the words to come out so forcefully, in a fit of anger and between the sobs that were once more catching in her throat, but Jaffa simply sat silently until her shoulders had stopped trembling, then reached out and offered her a handkerchief.

"I won't call you that if you don't want me to."

_That's not my name. That's not...I'm not Lilah Winner. I'm not sure who I am, anymore._

She took the handkerchief hesitantly, glancing at her sister's face as she did so, feeling an inward twinge at the mixed joy and sorrow there, and the terrible tiredness. Jaffa was probably tired too, she realized, from the media bombardment and the events surrounding the news release.

"How is Quatre?" she asked at last.

Jaffa didn't answer for a long time, and she sat, her hands clenched tightly in her lap, preparing for the worst.

"They…arrested him," Jaffa said finally. "This morning. I don't know how they found us. All I know is that all of a sudden, they were knocking on our gate, demanding entrance, showing the official orders. Rashid," she gestured to the Arab driver, who nodded solemnly to her in the rearview mirror, "and Reeshya tried to stop them…but Quatre wouldn't let them. He walked away willingly with them."

"I'm too late then," she whispered. "Aren't I? I'm always too late…"

"No!" Jaffa grabbed her shoulders. "You're not too late. There's still hope, Li-there's still hope. There's always hope."

"Not where I come from," she said bitterly, turning back to the window, feeling a wave of hopelessness come over her, seeing a pair of beautiful, haunted blue eyes in her mind. Two pairs, one sky blue and one dark and pained. "Hope doesn't exist there."

She heard Jaffa sigh. "Don't give up. We'll make it. We have to make it."

Without thinking, she placed her hand on her sister's shoulder, trying to smile. "I'm sorry…I don't mean to-"

"I'm glad to have you back with us," Jaffa said firmly, placing her own hand over the one resting awkwardly on her shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. "Very glad."

She removed her hand without a word, watching the desert go by, the roar of the engine in her ears and the night moon just rising. It was getting cold. She had forgotten how cold it got here at night.

"We're here," Jaffa said, and the suddenness of the words amidst the silence made her jump. In the distance she could see faint walls rising out of the sand, a wide gate, lights. A city?

"Where is this?"

"This," Jaffa said, with a note of pride in her voice, "is the Magunac compound. Rashid and his men live here. They're generously offering us their hospitality in time of crises."

"We serve Quatre-sama," Rashid said, in a deep rumbling voice that mirrored the rumbling of the engine. The gates began to open as the vehicle neared, and Jaffa turned towards her with a questioning look.

"How…should we address you?"

She gazed back into the black desert for a minute, then settled back in her seat, hugging her suitcase. Some things changed, and yet some things never did. Life was funny like that.

"You can call me Atsuki."

  


* * *

  
**Scene VIII: The Siren Song of Zero**

  


_"Feeling the pain cutting right to your soul  
Goodbye no, you're caught in his spell."  
--Black Sabbath, Master of Insanity_

  
The quick, sharp sound of her breathing seemed to be all there was in the world. There was nothing else left, aside from the faint memory of Duo- who was he? She had loved him, hadn't she?

_But what was this idea of love?_

In, out, in, out.

The sounds of breathing.

The feel of her heart pounding rapidly against her ribcage.

Hilde had never felt so alone in her life- she had done this for Duo, risking her very sanity, yet she was so very lonely.

_Did he understand?_

Would he understand?

Her pupils dilated, and suddenly she was aware of so much more. It was like she had been wearing blinders her entire life, and suddenly they had been ripped away. It was like her entire life she had been blind, or deaf, or missing some other vital sense, and all the sudden it had come flooding back to her, new and waiting to be touched, waiting to be utilized.

_Lean back into the sensation of everything._

Be one with the universe.

Know the truth- I can show you.

She blinked, and her memory was flooded with knowledge. She could see ahead of her, behind her, and what was coming.

Behind her... there was something there. She hit the dial on the sensor that would bring up a visual.

Deathscythe Hell flew behind her, still wearing the wounds of its last battle. It was battered and she knew that it wasn't running at 100%- blinking, she suddenly knew that it was at 68% maximum operating capacity. "How did I know that?" she whispered, and shivered uneasily. Her voice was echoing oddly in the cockpit, reminding her just how alone she was.

Deathscythe was moving closer, and suddenly she was in comm range. "HILDE!" Duo's frantic voice came over the system. "Hilde, answer me!"

She raised a trembling hand to hit the reply, but hesitated. "He's going to be so angry with me." He hand continued to move, but she hit the other button instead of the one to open the comm channel. She was suddenly bereft of him as all communications went out. "I'm sorry, Duo," she said.

Her fingers began to plot her course. She hadn't had time to lay in the instructions earlier, because she had...appropriated Wing Zero rather rudely. "Be honest, Hilde. You stole it," she said, laughing a little. The sound of her voice was her only entertainment.

She wasn't that good of an navigator- dealing with three dimensions was difficult at the best of times, and when you considered that space had no "up" and "down", matters were made even worse. She had to do this, though, since Zero, like Deathscythe, had been damaged. Unlike Deathscythe, its final plunge into the atmosphere of Earth had caused much more damage, including some to its operating systems. Duo had fixed them enough to bring it out to L2, but he had done the piloting from within Deathscythe. The nav computer had been shot to hell.

Hilde hadn't known that the auto-pilot and nav computer were part of the systems that had been damaged. She had to input all the data manually, and it wasn't a fun task. Even better, she was constantly having to check on the Gundam to make minor course corrections. Still, her hands just seemed to trip over the keys as she entered her specifications.

She knew this- she had been born to do this.

Whispering voices, promising truth.

_Sink back into me, trust me._

I can show you your dreams. I can show you the past, the future, the present. Do you want to know? Come- prove yourself. You're a girl, but you're as good a pilot as any of the others. Now you can show that- prove to them -to him- that you are worthy of love. Worthy of calling yourself a soldier.

She struggled to avoid it. She knew it was the Zero system, heard stories about it from Duo after he had woken up in the middle on the night, tangled in their blankets, and sweating. Usually he would speak to her about what caused them, and often times he'd speak of the voices of the Zero system. He usually wouldn't tell her what had happened exactly, but she could guess. Then he would make love to her with a frightening thoroughness, almost as though he was reassuring himself that he was still alive.

"Anyone who tried to use the Zero system went mad- no one mastered it," she whispered.

_But weren't all of them men? What if a woman was to fly? Perhaps... perhaps.... perhaps..._

Such a tempting idea... too tempting. The idea wasn't -couldn't- be her own. Dammit, it was the Zero system, working on her.

_Insidious contraction_, she thought. She wouldn't fall under the monster's spell. She would be strong. For herself, for... what had his name been?

_You're a soldier_, she thought. _That's all you need to know._

Hilde blinked, and suddenly the memories of her training began to surface.

She had signed up with Oz during the middle of the war. Her family had been against it, but she had been adamant. Someone had to protect the Colonies, and she would be proud to do it. It was true that males outnumbered females by a 5:1 ratio, but that didn't bother her. It was true there was an unseen glass ceiling that no female had yet smashed through, as evidenced by the lack of female Generals, but she could live with that as well. What mattered was that she was doing something she believed in, something that mattered.

Her family had been against her.

_Yes, remember? Remember your mother?_

"Hilde, if you walked out that door, you won't be coming back!" Her mother's voice had been high and full of anger, but Hilde knew well enough to detect the undercurrent of fear.

Hilde met her mother's eyes, eyes that were so much like her own. "I'm sorry, mother, but sometimes we have to stand up for what we believe in. Peace- Oz offers us a chance at peace. The Colonies have been at war for decades, and now there's a chance that we may find I'm going," she said. She stepped towards her to give her a hug, but Greta Schbeiker was having none of that. "Leave," she said.

Her daughter nodded, compliant for the last time, as she left. Greta was killed in one of the uprisings against Oz a week later.

Hilde wished, more then anything, that she had had a final hug.

_Well… if you can fly the Zero system, master it, you can show your mother that you made the right choice._

She growled and mentally pushed the thought aside. _Damn contraption. If I have my way, I'm going to be making it into a Ferris Wheel when this mess is done with,_ she said, speaking to the machine as though it was alive to respond to her thoughts. As if it would care.

Hilde drifted in and out of consciousness as she took short naps, waking every now and then to make minor course adjustments. The fifth time she awakened from a doze, her eyes fastened on the welcome sight of Earth. "We're here!" she said.

She looked at the Earth, and smiled. It was so very beautiful- a beautiful blue sphere suspended in ebony darkness. It looked almost like a ball- she felt as though she could reach out and touch it.

"Hey, Hil?"

She jerked, surprised. She was positive she had turned the communications system off, but Duo was talking to her, speaking in his warm voice. She blinked, and then she saw him. He was holding the beautiful Earth in his hands, cradling it close to his chest. He was stunning in his beauty, a fey creature that was so far above her that she had to shade her eyes from the glistening boy who had once been her lover. "Duo?" she asked in amazement. How could he be here... hadn't she been flying?

Or had that been a dream?

His wink convinced her that it was no other. "Wanna play a game of catch?" he said, holding the ball out to throw it.

"No!" she yelled, horrified. She wasn't sure what would happen if she missed catching the ball, but was sure it would be a Very Bad Thing.

He gave her his hurt-puppy expression. "Ah, Hilde... you know me better then that. I was just teasing." He held the ball out, and stared into its depths, a smile on his face. "It's so beautiful." Then his expression perked up, as though he was hearing something she could.

"Duo?" she asked, curiously.

He ignored her, half turning to a shadowy figure. Hilde couldn't make out any features, but Duo obviously recognize the person. "Oi! Glad to see ya!" he said, speaking to the newcomer. "We're in trouble, some people want to-" he was cut off by a brilliant flash of silver that jammed into his stomach.

Hilde let out a silent scream. _What's happening?!_ His shoulders blocked her view of who he was talking to, but it had been a friend. Duo wouldn't have been that relaxed if it hadn't been.

Duo's purple eyes were wide in shock and betrayal. She watched helplessly as he started to lose his grip on the orb he had been hold. "But I thought we were friends," he whispered in pained surprised. His blood-coated fingers went entirely limp, and the globe slipped.

Hilde was suddenly able to move, and found herself face with three choices: she could catch the sphere, catch Duo, or catch the perpetrator. She lunged forward, making her choice.

_"But I thought we were friends...."_

Tears stained her eyes as she grabbed the ball, hugging it close to her chest. "I'm so sorry, Duo, sorry, sorry..."

He collapsed backwards, and she suddenly saw that he had been stabbed by a silver knife. "Kitto OK, babe... you did what you had to." Duo's eyes lost their light, and soon there was a blank emptiness in his face, an emptiness that was all the more disturbing due to Duo's usual effervescent nature.

_"But I thought we were friends...."_

She clung to the globe, her eyes full of tears. "Duo.... DUO!" she yelled, feeling agonized. She knew she had made the right chose, but why did it hurt so much?

Hilde suddenly was aware of a beeping.

Beep.... beep... beep....

Harsh breathing, breath that was her own.

The fading golden light.

_"But I thought we were friends...."_

Her numb fingertips hit the button that was begging for attention. Yes, she was going to earth.

Wing Zero, the most feared of all Gundams, shifted slowly into the form of an aircraft. In a moment that was eerily similar to one from two years before, the battered craft began its rapid descent towards the Pacific Ocean.

  
Act V Part I | Act V Part III | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	19. Dead Soldiers with Unmarked Graves

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING **

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT V, PART III 

**Yuuki da to ka ai o  
Kotoba de tsutaeru nara  
Akirame ni mo iiwake dekiru **

Tamerai koso osore koso ga  
Yamiyo o tsukuru  
Ichibyo sae inochi tori no  
Kiwadoi shoubu  
Ore no naka ni senshi no chi ga  
Nagareru kagiri  
Ore wa chiranai  


**If I can speak  
Strength and love in words  
Resignation is an excuse **

Hesitation and fear  
Produce darkness  
Even one second  
In this dangerous fight is fatal  
As long as the soldier's blood  
Flows within me  
I will never die   


**--Gundam Wing, _Shinjitsu o Tsukamitore_  
[_Grasp the Truth_, Chang Wufei image song]**  


  
  
**Scene IX: The Fated Hand of the Returning Past**

  


_"Can you take me higher  
To a place where blind men see?"  
--Creed, Higher_

  
Outside, the sky was beginning to lighten, the pitch blackness of night giving way to a sort of pale, pre-dawn non-colored sky, but darkness and daylight held no meaning at the moment. All that was real was the wall behind his back, the floor beneath his feet, the ceiling above his head, him. 

No, not even he was real. 

Wufei had gone off somewhere. Wufei. Chang Wufei, the achingly familiar name with which came a dread feeling of darkness and death and blood. When he had heard it that first time, in the Beijing alleyway, he should have known. Why hadn't he recognized it? 

He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes, fighting nausea. His head ached and his eyes hurt, and when Wufei had left the room, murmuring that he'd be back, he had staggered to the wall, slid to the floor, and simply lain there and shook. He couldn't cry anymore, so he just shook, silently, trembling, curled up in a tight ball of fear and remorse and guilt. 

_Chang Wufei. _

I am- 

You are- 

He remembered who he had been, now, as if he had never forgotten. Heero Yuy. Gundam pilot. He had been a killing machine, a single-minded assassin, the perfect soldier. He had killed thousands. He was guilty. 

They were all guilty. 

He couldn't remember much more than that. 

It was easier not to think, because if he thought anymore than he would start shaking again, so he simply let his mind blank. It was just like being drunk, except the clouds in his mind were not the alcohol-fogged vapors that he had become so accustomed to, but clear and lucid clouds of smoke, like burning water. 

How could he…how could he face Darkflight? How could he face Wufei, who of all people would hold it against him that he had left them and forgotten…made himself forget…who he had been? He would ask about the scar. Unconsciously, his fingers moved upwards to touch the hard ridge of tissue. How had he gotten the scar? Wufei would want to know, and he still couldn't remember. His brain shied away from any possible scenarios of a conversation between him and the Chinese pilot - former pilot - and he let himself drift in a gray fog of nothingness. 

He heard the door open but did not respond, laying on his back with his eyes closed. The soft voice spoke above him, out of the clouds of his past. 

"Heero?" 

"Are you God?" he whispered. 

A pause, then the mere whisper of a breath and a thud as something - someone? - dropped down on the mat beside him. 

"I'm not God. Just…a messenger." 

Unwillingly, he opened his eyes and pushed himself to a sitting position, locking gazes with the hard, brown, almond one he found in front of him, which was maybe not as hard as he remembered. 

"I'm not the person you used to know." 

"Neither am I," Wufei replied, as if he had conversations on a daily basis with ghosts returned to life. He felt something pushed into his hand. "Here. Eat. You look like you haven't eaten in a week." 

"I…haven't," he said, not meaning to speak the words aloud, but Wufei's head turned sharply. 

He waited for the other boy to say something, anything, but instead the silence between them turned uncomfortable and he was the first to break it, looking down at the thing in his hand, a mess of sticky rice on a plate of leaves. 

"What's this?" 

"Something Chinese." Wufei's voice was curt and his hand movements jerky as he handed over a pair of chopsticks. "Eat it all." 

"I-" 

"Eat, dammit!" 

He bent his head obediently and ate, and he could still feel Wufei staring at the top of his bent head, as if wondering how their roles had been reversed. 

When he finished, Wufei handed him a cup of water, which he drank in a single gulp. "It's good," he said. "Do you have a well?" 

"A stream. Outside." A slight tilt of the head towards the back of the house. "Where's your friend?" 

He shrugged. "I don't know." Digging in his pocket, he pulled out the box of cigarettes and the lighter, opened the box. 

"Don't smoke in my house." 

He hesitated a moment, then shrugged again and put the box and lighter back in his pocket. The silence was uncomfortable again, and he shifted. He'd never had problems with uncomfortable silences before, he being, most of the time, the one who had held the upper hand. Uncomfortable silences were ones in which you held the gun to someone's head, or paused to give the final barking command. 

"What happened to you? Heero?" 

He felt his hand clenched automatically at the name, at the question asked almost hesitantly, shyly, forced himself to relax. 

"I…" he said, then took a deep breath and let it out. "I wanted to…I wanted to forget." 

"I'm sorry," Wufei said. He sounded genuine. 

"What for?" 

"This. Everything. I didn't know that you-" 

"I was sent to kill you, you know." 

"I figured that out," Wufei said, almost sarcastically, grabbing the chopsticks and the cup out of his limp hands and pushing them behind him. "Look, Heero-" 

"I'm not the person you knew," he said, hoarsely. "I'm not-" 

"Look at me!" 

As if guided by that voice, he swung his gaze around to meet the hard almond one once more. 

"It's not your fault that the war happened," Wufei said, in a low voice. "It's not your fault that people died. But you did this to yourself and you're going to have to face the consequences. I-" he broke off, turning away. "I was there, at Tiananmen…at the riots. I thought the war was over. I thought I could run away. But…" 

"But," he whispered, finishing the unfinished sentence as if it had been his own, "I couldn't run forever." 

"No," Wufei said. "Did you…" He folded his hands in front of him. "How much do you remember?" 

"Not much," he said truthfully, trying to think without thinking. "I remember…Zechs Merquise. And Treize Khushrenada. Treize…you killed him." 

A muscles on the side of Wufei's face twitched, but the boy showed no other emotion. "Yes. I did." 

"I remember…leaving the Peacemillion. Rele…Relena didn't want me to go. She tried to come after me…I wouldn't let her. I left her." A bird twittered in the morning stillness, but the silence was no long uncomfortable, only full of things unspoken. "I went back to L1. I don't know why I did that. I guess…I guess I thought I could go home? But Doctor J was dead, and they didn't want me anymore. Their creation, their pet, their monster. They threw me out. I was a mistake." 

"You're not a mistake," Wufei said. "Or if you are, then we are all mistakes." 

"I wandered the streets…I met Darkflight. He didn't ask, and I didn't ask. I liked it that way." 

"So you teamed up." 

He nodded slowly. "There's blank spots even after that…I…" 

"You're a drug addict," Wufei said bluntly, and he stiffened. 

"How did you-" 

"I can see, can't I?" the other boy said dryly. "You're too thin, even for someone who hasn't been eating. Your eyes are bloodshot, not just from lack of sleep, there are scars up and down your arms, and people don't just forget sixteen years of their lives by sheer wanting." 

So Wufei knew. "I can't change who I am in a day," he said. "I can't go back to…who I was. You know that more than anyone. The drugs…are a part of me. I can't help it." His hand was beginning to shake, and not just from fatigue. He hadn't had a needle in a day and a half. He watched it distractedly, knew Wufei was watching it too. 

"Don't blame yourself," Wufei said. 

"I'm not sure who I hate more," he murmured. The bit of flesh under the knuckle throbbed to his words. "The boy who I was then…or the one I am now." 

"You're no boy. None of us. Human, maybe…but not much more than that. " 

"What have you been doing?" he said, moving his hand so that he was sitting on it, so at least the shaking was not visible. 

"Nothing." Wufei laughed, a short mirthless bark. "I call myself a scholar, but in reality it's nothing but moping around and feeling sorry for myself. I'm good at that, you know?" 

He almost smiled. "I remember." 

"I'm glad you came." 

"What?" he said, startled. "I came to kill you, remember?" 

"I know. But instead…you…made me realize that there's something more that I have to do." 

"What's that?" he said, but Wufei was gathering up the sticky leaves and the chopsticks and the cup and standing up. 

"I'm going to go put these away." 

He stood up cautiously, not trusting his legs, but they held under him. Wufei held the door open for him and he stood in the alcove of the small kitchen while the other boy dropped the utensils in a bucket of water. 

"Heard anything about…the others?" 

"I'm sure it's in the news or somewhere out there." A towel was flung his way. "Make yourself useful. But no, I'm not exactly the most informed person you'll see out in the Chinese countryside. I'd think you'd have heard something, living on L1." 

"I…no," he said, wiping the chopsticks and placing them in the open box offered to him. "I never followed the news either." 

"Trowa was in the circus, at the last I heard. Quatre was back on L4. Duo I know nothing about." 

Duo Maxwell. Why did something stir in his memory at the sound of that name? 

"Heero?" 

"It's nothing," he said, stepping back out of the doorway. It was almost fully light now. He wondered where Darkflight was, again, then decided that it was better if the other boy had decided not to come back. He had no idea how to explain himself to the one who knew him simply as the assassin Wing. 

Wing. Wing Zero. 

Duo had taken Wing Zero. He wondered if it was destroyed, though he didn't think Duo would have destroyed his Gundam without permission. Then again, he couldn't really remember what Duo Maxwell had been like, only that they had been friends. 

Had they? 

"What was Duo like?" he said to the air. 

There was no answer and for a moment he thought the other hadn't heard. "Wufei?" 

"I heard you," Wufei said, and he turned to find the Chinese boy staring at him. "It was just…" 

"What?" 

"If you don't remember Duo," he said, "how much more have you forgotten?" 

"Was he important to me?" 

Wufei was still staring at him. 

"Look," he said, jaw clenching. "I'm sorry if I'm offending you, but I remember next to nothing. Nothing! You can't expect me to draw all this information out of midair!" 

"I'm sorry," Wufei said abruptly. "I didn't mean - never mind." 

"Duo Maxwell." 

"Out of all of us…I think he was the closest to you." 

He couldn't think of a reply to that, so he simply walked to the window and opened it, staring out. He could faintly see the stream Wufei had mentioned through the low bushes and the few sparse trees. The sun was beginning to rise through the purple clouds, and he dug through his mind for any memory, any at all, of Duo Maxwell. 

A smile. A wink. The flash of a gun. The flip of a….braid? 

"Wufei? Did Duo have long hair?" 

"Yes. He had a braid." He felt the other boy come up beside him. "Do you remember something?" 

"I…I'm not sure." He pressed one hand to the edge of the window frame. "It's hard." 

"The sun's coming up," Wufei responded, turning away. 

"Wufei." 

"What is it?" 

"You said…earlier. That my coming here made you realize what you had to do. What was that?" 

There was a rustle of clothing as Wufei turned back towards him, and the memories suddenly spilled back in a jumbled rush, of a glittering sword and the roar of Shenlong and a hoarse cry for justice and the intense words and proud eyes of a warrior. In his memories, Wufei was dressed all in white. 

"I remember you," he said wonderingly, as if awakening from a dream. "You…" 

"I am going to win the war," Wufei said, and for the first time he could remember, the pilot of Shenlong smiled. 

"Heero Yuy, would you like to come with me?" 

  
_Go to Heero story Flowers in the Rain_

  


* * *

  
**Scene X: Anything for You**

  


_"I will protect you from all around you;  
I will be here, don't you cry."  
--Tarzan, You'll Be in My Heart_

  
Catherine Bloom shook her head, shining droplets of water beading on her face. _It would have to be raining,_ she thought with little amusement. _At least the weather suits my mood._

She pulled her collar up, trying to keep the water from running down her back. Catherine had spent her life traveling around with the circus, and even though she hadn't been to the historical Geneva, she wasn't all that impressed. It was a pretty city, but she preferred the ancient architecture of Rome or the stark newness of a Colony city. Besides, it was raining, she was getting wet, and that made her cranky. All in all, Geneva wasn't making that good of a first impression. Never mind that she had been stuck in the city for more then a week, filling out endless paperwork. 

Getting onto the Preventer's base was easier said then done. She'd tried to tell the guard at the gate that she simply must see Lady Une, claiming to have information on Trowa Barton, but the guard had merely raised an eyebrow with a tired look. Going into a nearby office building, he'd returned with a stack of forms five centimeters thick, requesting that she fill them out within a week as he took her name. 

Catherine wasn't deterred. She's returned to her hotel and started work immediately, sleeping only a few hours each night until she had finished work on the seemingly endless supply of legal jargon. Producing three forms of I.D. had been difficult, but a quick call to the ringmaster had him procuring her birth certificate. 

Hailing a taxi, she stepped into the street, sliding onto the battered seat. One of the seat's corners were so frayed that she could the yellowed stuffing poking out. "Where to?" the driver asked in French. 

Catherine smiled. The dialect was different then she was used to dealing with, but she would be able to make herself understood. "Preventers Headquarters," she requested politely. 

The driver, a grizzled old man in his sixties, raised an eyebrow as he started the meter. "You're not going to join those protesters, are you?" he asked in a tired voice. 

"I'm hoping to arrange a meeting with a Preventer," she said cautiously. _Never discuss politics with a stranger,_ she thought. _If anyone learns that Trowa is my younger brother, I'll be in physical danger._

The cab driver snorted. "Good luck. They're slightly busy at the moment, and if you think you have the right to start yelling at them, I suggest you rethink it." 

"What?" she asked in surprised. She hadn't been expecting that. 

"The pilots aren't the bad guys of the piece- neither was Oz." The taxi turned onto a wide street and she could see tall buildings in the distance. The base. "The bad guys are the ones who did nothing, and were content to let society degrade just to fulfill their own ambition." 

"Yes," Catherine said softly. 

"I remember the Eve Wars. I remember that pilot- he would have been Heero Yuy, that was the guy who flew the one that looked like a bird, right? I remember how that bit of Libra was going to fall on Earth, and how he put himself between us and a new ice age. He didn't have to- hell, chances were that he would get killed. But he did it anyway, cause it was the right thing to do. It was one of the most glorious meteor showers I've ever seen." He smiled, and his grizzled face was suddenly welcoming. 

Catherine felt her spirit lift. She had been questioning the worth of it all, why Trowa had laid his life on the line for these people, for the people who hated him for standing up while they cowered in their corners, afraid. "Thank you," she said. 

"Thank you?" he parroted, unable to understand what the lovely young woman in the back of his cab was refering to. 

"For reminding me why we bother," she said, and then she pulled out her wallet, starting to count out the money she would need to pay him. 

The cabdriver gratefully accepted the rather large tip she handed over, and then wasn't able to keep from smiling when she grinned so her cheeks dimpled at him. It was rare that an attractive young woman gave him any attention whatsoever. 

"I don't know why you're here," he called out the open window as she closed the door of the cab, "but I hope you get what you're looking for." 

She waved at him as he drove away and then shivering slightly, glanced up at the gray skies. She wished it'd just let loose and rain, rather then this indecisive trickle that slowly soaked into her clothes and left her feeling ragged and unclean. Well, there was no use in standing and watching the clouds. Clutching her purse firmly with one hand, she headed towards the gates of the base. 

The pedestrian gates were slightly smaller than the vehicle entrance gates, but no less imposing. There were marks on the sidewalk, for order if a line needed to be formed, she supposed, but there was no line today. The uniformed guard leaned out of the booth, looking bored and superior at the same time. 

"Papers?" he said, and she dug in her purse, handed him the neatly folded papers. He riffed through them briefly, handed her back all of them except the bottom one. 

"You need to head straight when you get through the gate and then take a left on Liberty Avenue. Go in the front door of the first building on your left and they'll tell you where to go from there." 

"I see. Thank you," she said politely, putting the papers back in her purse. The guard simply waved her on through the opening gate and she walked quickly through. 

The Preventers base sprawled out in front of her, and the white sidewalk seemed unending. A trickle of military vehicles roared past her on the smooth, paved roads, but aside from that, the base was quiet. She supposed the weather was keeping everyone inside, or perhaps paperwork involved in the Winner trial. She had seen the news on television, about Quatre's capture. The thought of that innocent boy in captivity made her walk faster. The same thing could happen to Trowa. If she was not careful. 

The base itself was square. That was the only word she could think of to describe the neat, packaged look of the buildings, the streets, even the greenery. The trees looked like they had come straight out of a plant fashion magazine, and the streets were as clean as if someone had scrubbed them with a toothbrush every evening after retreat. Catherine knew that the base was only two years old, having been constructed after the war ended, but this sort of manufactured atmosphere only served to heighten her anxiety. She had never been on any sort of military base before last week, and the beautiful white buildings looked like they hid more than they revealed. 

She followed the directions the guard had given her and pushed open the door to the building that looked much like all the other ones she had seen on base. "Visitor's Check-in," the sign on the counter read. The inside looked like a waiting area, with rows of chairs. Almost all of them were filled. 

Catherine swallowed and walked up to the counter, where a brusque woman with technical sergeant ranks on her sleeves was busy typing away on a computer and chatting on a phone at the same time. 

"Excuse me," she began, and the woman turned to her, cutting off Catherine's words. 

"You have papers?" 

Catherine dug the papers out of her purse again and the woman took them, grabbing a pencil and making little marks on the sides of the pages. Catherine waited, glancing around the room. It was well-lit, with plants by the one hallway that led out of it. She couldn't see past the wall to see where the hallway led. Offices, probably. 

"Please wait here," the sergeant said, stuffing the papers back into Catherine's hand. 

She sat down gingerly in one of the chairs, shuffling her feet and trying not to appear self-conscious. There was very little noise in the room besides the clacking of the sergeant's computer keyboard and her muffled phone conversation. Most of the people sitting in the chairs seemed as ill at ease as she, and she looked around, trying to scan the crowd without being conspicuously nosy. 

Most of the people in the room were older men and women. Many of them looked worried and sat with their eyes on the floor and their hands in their laps. There were a few teenagers. Applicants to join the Preventers, maybe? They were brave souls…she couldn't think of a single reason to join now, with the Gundam crisis in such motion. 

A dark-haired, bulky sergeant appeared in the doorway, scanning the room. "Mr. Ching?" 

The Asian man in the corner stood, taking a deep breath. The sergeant nodded to him and Mr. Ching disappeared around the corner into the hallway beyond. Catherine forced herself to relax. The elevator music from the ceiling speakers soothed her nerves somewhat, but her mind kept going back to the same scenarios. If they didn't accept her papers. If Lady Une was busy. If- 

"Catherine Bloom?" 

She blinked, startled. The man waiting in the hallway was the security officer from last week who had given her the paperwork. Takamura, his nametag read. He glanced at her as she came up to him, and gestured for her to follow him. 

Takamura's office was small and bare and the air conditioning was turned on at least twenty degrees too low. Catherine shivered as he made a waving motion at chair next to his desk. 

"I see you have your papers in order," he said, flipping through the documents. Catherine nodded uncertainly. 

"It's a large claim, you know." 

"What is?" she ventured. 

"Being Trowa Barton's sister, of course," he said. She couldn't tell, but it seemed like he was laughing at her. She sighed inwardly, reminding herself to keep calm. It didn't matter what this man thought; he was a low-level lackey, without access to secure information. It only mattered what Une thought of her. If she was ever allowed to see her, that was. 

"I sent your request to General Une when you visited. The general gets hundreds of requests like this a day, you know. She doesn't have time to see common folk." 

Catherine's heart sank. They had refused her request. She wasn't going to get in. She was- 

"But surprisingly enough, when your name and information came up, you were one of the few the general decided to see. Whenever you came back, she said. And I suppose since you're here, now is a good time?" 

Catherine nodded, her heart beating fast, and was Takamura smirking at her again? It didn't matter. 

"Follow me, then." 

The main Preventers Headquarters was another white building, a few stories higher than most of those around it, and very official-looking. It was still raining, but Takamura had commandeered a military jeep. At least she would be dry when she met the general. 

She followed the sergeant into the building and into the elevator, then into another waiting area. Takamura went up to the counter and spoke with the guard there, then walked over to her. 

"The general will see you in a few minutes." 

He disappeared into the elevator and Catherine was alone once more. The waiting area was much like the one at the visitor's center, except very empty. She glanced around at the inspirational posters and quotes mounted on the wall, walking around the room slowly. 

_Fortitude_, the caption under one picture read. _The strength to persist, the courage to endure._ The picture she recognized: a very old statue of United States Marines raising the American flag on the island of Iwo Jima during the second world war. It was strange how lessons learned in one era still applied in the next. 

The last quote was a simple plaque, silver letters on a black polished wood background. 

_Even if you take away all weapons, you won't stop war. You must change the hearts of the people._

"Ms. Bloom? The general is ready to see you now." 

Catherine jumped, then realized her name had been called. The guard motioned her down a wide side hallway, stopping in front of a polished wooden door. "You may go in." 

When she pushed open the door, Une was waiting for her. 

Catherine took in the former Lady, surprised. Une was prettier then she'd been expecting- and shorter. For some reason, she'd been expecting a woman who towered over her, but that wasn't what Une was. Une was slender and attractive, and looked like she would have been better suited to a society bash then a battlefield. 

Catherine offered her hand to the General, who was accessing her with sharp brown eyes. "Hello, Lady Une. My name is Catherine Bloom, and I'm Trowa Barton's older sister." 

Une was apparently pleased to see her, and clasped her hand firmly, though not bruisingly so. "I know that. What surprised me was that you passed the genetic ID. We compared it to the samples we had taken when he was in Oz, and that proved that you were, indeed, his full-blooded sister. However, I had been under the impression that the relationship wasn't a blood one- that you had adopted him during the war." 

Catherine smiled. "That's actually a rather interesting tale, but I don't have time for it right now." She stared at Une, who stood a good three inches taller then she, as though she could see the answer. "Lady -General- Une, where is my brother?" 

Une's eyes lost a bit of their glimmer. "I was hoping you'd tell me... or had a message for me from him," Une confessed slowly. 

Catherine felt herself deflate slightly. She'd wasted a week on a dead lead. Her instincts, which she trusted, told her that Une was telling the truth. "No. He left the day the news broke without speaking to me," she said. Her voice was hard and angry, but even if Une was the head of the Preventers, she wasn't about to hide her true feelings on the situation. 

"That sounds like Trowa... he always did things on his own. Catherine, I hate to ask you this, but how did you pass the genetic tests? I need to know so I can put further measures in place." 

Catherine gave her a weak smile. "You're acting under the impression that Trowa isn't my biological brother and I had to fake it. That isn't true- he IS my sibling." 

Une blinked slowly. "According to my data-" 

"Your data is wrong. May I sit?" 

"Please," Une said gesturing to a chair across to her. That Trowa and Catherine were actually related by blood- was certainly news to her. She was fascinated in spite of herself. 

"It would have been around sixteen years ago. My family has always been a circus family, for centuries at least. Anyway, the circus was touring Europe during one of the periods of civil unrest that were so frequent. It got caught in the crossfire. My parents were killed." 

"I'm sorry," Une said sympathetically. Catherine shrugged. 

"It was a long time ago and I was young. I don't remember much. When I got older, the ringmaster at the circus told me about it, about how my little brother Triton had died along with the rest of my family. I asked him if he had proof, and he admitted he didn't. I never gave up hope that my brother was still alive. It was a girl's fantasy…but…" 

"And so?" Une prompted. 

"And so," Catherine said wearily, "when I met Trowa during the war, I knew something about him was familiar…but I didn't know what." 

"How did you know that he was your brother, then? Surely you didn't have genetic testing at the circus." 

Catherine laughed weakly. "Nothing like that. My brother fell off a circus wagon when he was very young…six months, I believe. The subsequent surgery left a scar on his left shoulder. I was very small at the time, but I remember rushing to the nearest hospital with him…my parents were frantic…" she trailed off. The child memories were blurring in her mind. "But I'm wasting your time, aren't I?" She smiled wanly at Une. "You don't know where Trowa is. I'd better go. I'm sorry for the bother." 

"No," Une said suddenly, standing and placing one hand on Catherine's shoulder. "Stay." 

Catherine blinked at her. "Excuse me?" 

"I believe your story." Une looked her squarely in the face and again she was struck by the general's eyes. "The problem is, so might others." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Your genetic records are supposedly secure at the base…but then, so were the files of the Gundam pilots. I don't know who could get ahold of those files, and if someone does, you'll be just as wanted as your brother is right now." 

"I…see…" Catherine said warily. "So what should I do, do you think?" 

"Stay here. At the base. Our visiting officers' quarters are very empty now, for obvious reasons. I can set up a room for you, free of charge." 

Catherine started to protest, but Une cut her off with a wave of her hand. "By coming here, you put yourself in danger, Catherine. I couldn't protect the pilots…I couldn't protect Trowa. Let me make it up to you." 

Catherine nodded slowly. Why not? "I suppose I could stay…thank you for being so kind." 

"Don't mention it," Une said briskly, reaching for the phone, then pausing. "Oh, and Catherine? I have a slight request in return." 

More paperwork? Another meeting with Takamura? "Yes?" 

"There's someone I'd like you to meet." 

  


* * *

  
**Scene XI: Power and Glory and Memory**

  


_"Oh how I love you so, lost in those memories  
And now you've gone…"  
--Cowboy Bebop, Adieu_

  
Milliard's voice was a crackle of static in her ears, but Dorothy had learned to adjust the frequency so that the white noise wasn't quite as painful a pressure on her eardrums. She had also learned to guide the mobile suit where she wanted it to go, more or less, though occasionally on the first few tries she had fallen more than once. It hadn't taken her too many falls before she realized that piloting a mobile suit was nothing like piloting mobile dolls. 

For one thing, one wasn't actually in the mobile doll as one piloted it. That was the first and most important lesson. In the mobile suit, every shot, every clank and groan of the metal and joints around her was a reminder that she was in the middle of something very dangerous. Mobile doll operators did not die if a craft exploded. Mobile suit pilots, however, did. 

Dorothy wasn't quite sure she liked that concept. Exploding in a mobile suit was not one of the ways she planned to end her life, and she voiced that opinion to Milliard quite clearly after the end of the first practice session. He had laughed. 

_I'm not trying to kill you, Dorothy. This is for your own good. _

Yeah, a hell of a lot of good it's doing me, she snapped. 

Looking back, she'd been acting like a child, but she had always hated being taught new things. If she was going to learn something, she would take it up herself, without anyone's help, mastering it or at least becoming decent enough with it that she would not embarrass herself in front of anyone. Unfortunately, mobile suit piloting didn't seem to come with that option. 

She was quite sure that at least some of her suboordinates had had a good laugh or two at her expense during the crash course that Milliard took her through, but as the days went on, it became second nature to her to tune her frequency as soon as she buckled into her seat, to flip the warm-up switches to on and to charge the main guns. She hadn't thought that calluses could appear so fast on her hands in the spots where the control buttons rubbed against her fingers. There had been blisters the first few days. 

_Did you ever have blisters, Milliard? _

No, but I also had four years to learn to pilot a mobile suit. You have about four days. 

It wasn't just her in the pilot trainee class. She had Milliard had stayed up that night after the raid, going through the files of qualified soldiers and picking out the ones who would be most likely to succeed as a mobile suit pilot. 

_After this is over,_ Milliard had said, _maybe some of them will want to consider a piloting career in the Preventers. _

If they survive. 

She had added the last three words silently, but in the flickering of the faulty electric lamp, she knew he heard them as clearly as if she had said them aloud. 

The ones they had picked were smart, quick, and fearless. Dorothy didn't blame them for being fearless. Many of Milliard's troops had been soldiers in the war, OZ, rebel, Federation, or White Fang, most of them low level troops who knew of the war as blips on a computer screen. None of them had been mobile suit pilots. Only a few of them had seen combat after the war, only a handful had been at the mobile suit yard raid the other night, and both soldiers who had died had been colony rebels. Death was something remote, something that had happened two years ago and could no longer touch them because they had survived the fire. 

To the Preventers troops, the war was over. 

She'd seen this attitude when she had arrived at the camp, the almost belligerent, bored attitude of troops that had seen their glory days, and it had not subsided. Her arrival had not helped any. She was the War Queen, the advocate of war, the ultimate figurehead of war as a glorious cause, and the troops had rallied around her. 

She didn't like that. 

_Don't complain,_ Milliard had told her. _Morale is high. There's nothing to worry about. _

That's what you think, she had retorted, then stormed off with him calling to her retreating back, asking her to come back and explain herself. There was no explaining to be done. 

There was no explaining to be done now, either, as Milliard's face blinked onto her screen and she released the control lever. 

"That's it for today," he said, looking stern. Then again, when did he not? "I've taught you everything you need to know. The next time you pilot these suits, it will be in combat." 

"You think that's wise?" she said, as she caught up next to him, trying to match his long strides as they wound their way back towards the camp. 

"I don't have a choice," he said. The sun was setting, the red-gold rays creating a halo of white around his hair. He looked like a god. "We're running out of time." 

She didn't respond, just walked with him until the camp came into view. The tan waterproof canvas tents were orangy blobs fading into the background of red rock and wilting shrubbery, and the camouflaged trucks were visible against the rocks. A few soldiers were fixing transmissions. 

So peaceful. 

"After the war," she said, "I think I want to buy a nice little house next to the ocean." 

He looked bemused. "Why is that?" 

Dorothy shrugged. "I don't know." 

"How do you feel about the mobile suit? You seem to be doing fine…I was thinking about putting you in command of one of the units." 

The command tent was full of junk that needed to be thrown away, except that both of them were too busy and forgetful to do so, and no one else came in here nearly as frequently as they did. Milliard turned on the light, going to the map table, but she stood in the doorway, holding the tent flap open with her hand, feeling the fading sunlight on the back of her neck. 

"Dorothy?" He looked at her from across the table. 

"This is going nowhere, Milliard." 

She saw his head drop, his shoulders tense. He looked defeated. 

"You think I don't know that?" 

"Une sent you out here to die," she said. Her voice sounded harsh in her ears. Too harsh. But it needed to be said. "This is stupid." 

"Dorothy-" 

"Milliard. Give it up. Forget about the mobile suits. Let's pack and go back to Earth. You can't do anything more here. It's a rebellion you can't win." 

In the light of the lamp, his eyes were almost golden-blue, faraway. "I lost one rebellion," he said softly. "I won't lose another one." 

"Milliard-" 

"I'm tired," he said, almost conversationally. "You know? I'm so tired of…of being used." 

"So don't." Dorothy let the flap fall, crossed the tent. Her boots crunched on the rock floor. "Milliard…stand up for yourself. Don't let them do this to you. We've been here for weeks…we've gotten nothing done. We've learned to pilot mobile suits. I could have learned that back home…not to mention that mobile suits are being phased out of the Preventers right now and that skill is going to do these soldiers no good if any of them make it back." 

"I know that. But…" 

"There's no but," she said firmly. "We're wasting our time." 

The wind was picking up and she could hear it whistling through the cracks in the tent. The sun's glow was almost gone now. Gustavson had not been to the camp today to check up on progress. Perhaps he was giving up on them too. 

"I wonder…how Relena's doing." 

Dorothy blinked. "I'm sure she's fine. Why?" 

"I tried to give her everything that she would need to survive…everything that I didn't have. She'll make a better leader than I ever was." 

"Don't say that," Dorothy protested weakly. "Milliard, you-" 

He smiled wanly. There were dark circles under his eyes. She knew he hadn't slept last night, and he had hardly slept the night before. "I what?" 

"Why are we - you - still here?" 

There was a silence in which the wind tugged at the tent corners and the lamp flickered. 

"For once in my life," he said, "I wanted to do something right." 

She said nothing. 

Milliard stirred, turned on the map, looking over its contents. Taking a deep breath, he took the light-pen, traced several routes and erasing them, then circled in new coordinates. 

"Our next target is this building. We'll move out tomorrow. Inform the commanders as soon as possible. I'll have a talk with Gustavson, see what time is best for troop movement." 

The conversation was over. Dorothy crossed back to the door, stopped with one foot through the opening. "Milliard?" 

"Yes?" 

"You…really love her. Don't you?" 

She saw him stiffen, but he didn't answer, and after a moment she stepped through the door and left him staring at the lighted map. The moon was a thin sliver in the sky. 

"I don't think I can handle command of a unit," she said to the wind, but the wind simply blew the hair away from her face and skittered the pebbles along the rock faces. 

Making her slow way back to her small tent, she radioed the field commanders, notifying them of the orders change. It was pointless, this pretending. All pretending. 

She rubbed one finger absently along the callus on her thumb. It had gotten to the point where she was dreaming about piloting at night, eyes tracking laser beams while HUD displays flickered before her dream eyes like demonic faces that would not let her alone even in sleep. One week of training, and already it was getting to her. 

Many of those young pilots would not survive. One week of mobile suit pilot training was no more than a crash course to stave off the inevitable. Gustavson had received spy reports two days ago that the colony had indeed acquired the resources to make its own mobile suits, and the factories were working overtime. 

Mobile suits were the symbols of an era gone by, an era which she supposed could be classified as glorious by some but to her had been an era better left forgotten. She missed the war. And she was sick of war. She wanted to go home, back to her comfortable, meaningless existence, living off her mother and her inheritance like she was meant to do, waiting for nothing to happen. 

She remembered when Une had asked her to join the Preventers. She had refused, and now here she was, fighting for something in which she had no part, a stranger on strange soil, putting down a rebellion which to her had no meaning. Why was she here, anyway? 

_Because Milliard asked, that's why. _

No, because Zechs asked. 

But Zechs Merquise was gone. She was in love with Zechs Merquise, not Milliard Peacecraft, and the man she had spent all this time in the desert with was but a reflection of who he had been. 

"Damn you," she muttered, turning from the door of her tent and walking aimlessly, kicking at the pebbles under her feet. She didn't have to be in love with anyone…she was independent. Or so she had liked to think. 

All she really wanted now was a hot bath and a good meal and a warm bed to sleep in, to wake up to the sunshine coming through her window and to know that the day ahead of her would be filled with nothing. She had hated it for so long and suddenly she was homesick for it, for the indulgent lifestyle she'd been running from. Dorothy Catalonia, filthy rich and spoiled heiress. 

She reached the low ridge that overlooked the grounds on which they hid the mobile suits, scrambled over the rocky ground until she reached the bottom of the slope. Pulling back the camouflage netting that semi-hid her own mobile suit, she raised one hand to touch the metal foot. It was still slightly warm from the sun and from use, and on a whim, she lifted herself up to a seat on the metal perch. The stars were coming out. She could see them through the netting. 

_Grandfather? What should I do now?_

Dermail was gone, his legacy only a forgotten memory, and again she was alone. She'd believed in his ideals, though she'd had her own ways of accomplishing them. He shouldn't have died. 

Treize shouldn't have died. 

"It's your fault, you know?" She felt a bit foolish talking to a dead cousin, sitting on the foot of a mobile suit, but at this time and place, there were no listening ears but her own. "Treize. I remember you…you had blue eyes." 

Like Zechs. 

Treize had died and Zechs had died. And she was as good as dead. She didn't know what she wanted. She was wasting her time. 

The thin rays of the moon pierced the canopy above and she closed her eyes, relaxed into the beam. It was quiet and peaceful, the heat of the day retreating, and she could fall asleep here. With some effort, she opened her eyes again and slid off the metal foot, heading back to camp. It would not be good for her to be in the middle of an enemy attack, if for some unknown reason the mobile suits were discovered. 

The camp was silent now and she paused outside her door to shake the sand out of her boot, froze when she heard approaching footsteps. 

"Where have you been?" 

Milliard's voice. She relaxed. "Nowhere. Thinking." 

"I'm sorry I had to make you go through all of this," he offered softly behind her. "It was my mistake, asking you to come with me." 

Remnants of a long ago conversation whispered in her ears. 

_I'd go anywhere with you._

"It was my own choice, after all," she murmured, turning to face him. He didn't look like a god anymore, but simply like a man who had been hunched over a light map for too long, who had gone for two days without a bath and had not slept. "Don't apologize." 

He smiled slightly. "Sleep well, Dorothy." 

She watched him go and entered her own tent with a sigh, laying down on the sleeping mat without bothering to undress. 

_You love her…don't you?_

She knew he loved Noin, had always loved her, but still somewhere inside of her there was that spark of hope that one day the Zechs Merquise she knew would return to her and they could somehow begin again, as if none of this had ever happened. 

The moon rose higher in the sky and her breathing evened, and she slept. 

  


* * *

  
**Scene XII: Sic Semper Tyrannis**

  


_"Listen to the stories, hear it in the songs.  
Angry men don't write the rules,  
And guns don't right the wrongs."  
--Assassins, The Ballad of Booth_

  
The sun crested over the mountains, and she stared directly into its light, half-hoping it would blind her. Tears began to stream down her face from the brightness, and not all of them were involuntary. It was a good excuse to cry. She didn't really need an excuse, but she didn't want to cry without reason. It seemed she'd spent most of her life crying. 

It was July the fourth. A century ago, the country would have been celebrating American Independence Day. There were still isolated celebrations in parts of town, banners hung outside windows, flags flown proudly. How ironic. 

Ilene Keets leaned against the window sill of her cheap hotel room, wondering. "So what now, James?" she asked, speaking to her dead brother. It had become a habit for her- whenever she was really confused, she would speak to James as though he was still there to advise her. She used to write letters and leave them on his grave, but after changing schools for one located across the country, that option wasn't there anymore. "My first love turns out to be one of the people who I hate most in the entire world. My friends are going to help him find the REST of the Gundam pilots, and… and the world is going to hell so quickly I don't have any idea what to do." 

Her long hair hung passed her waist, for once free of the pigtails which had become her trademark. She didn't feel like putting them up- that had been a style for a child, and she wasn't one- not today. Besides, HE had always teased her about them, playfully tugging on them, and she didn't want that memory. 

How could he? she wondered. How could a cold-blooded murderer go on with his life, pretending to be normal, while people like James, her sweet older brother who had actually had so much to offer the world, lay cold in the ground, murdered while he slept? How could he dare pretend to be her friend when he knew very well that she had lost a brother to his cruel actions? 

_How could he let me love him?_ she wondered. 

She had idolized her older brother. James had been three years older then her, but he'd always had time for her, something she had appreciated too late. It must have been annoying to have a younger sister trailing him wherever he went, but James had been tolerant, talking to her as though her opinions mattered to him. 

It had hurt to see him leave. 

James had wanted the military, and he had gotten it. His parents had been against the move, saying that he should let the "lower classes" do it. He had social status to uphold. 

Ilene knew her family was well off, but she had never considered them snobbish until then. She hadn't realized that her father's position as the American Coalition's finance minister gave them so much rank. The formal balls she had habitually attended as a youngster had never registered as part of high society; she had thought all little girls went to balls, formal dinners, lived in a big house and had pretty dresses. 

James had argued with them. He had said that he was not suited to a political life, but that he wanted to support the government in some other way. Something he was good at. He'd always tested high in the hard sciences and was naturally deft at anything he wanted to do. James had just been one of those talented people who everything came easily to. 

She remembered when he finally applied to the Lake Victoria Specials Academy and received acceptance. His admission hadn't been in question- he had very high grades, and the name Keets was well known enough that rejecting his application without a damn good reason could have created an incident. Still, the night he had told his parents that he was due to leave in a month… THAT had been a night. Her mother had been in tears, and her father had exploded, something that rarely happened. She had been forced from the room by a servant. Even from upstairs, she could hear them yell at each other. 

"You just got accepted into Cliffside Heights! You'll need to go there if you're going to build the connections you need to enter the political arena!" Her mother 's voice had been anguished. "There's no need to go harrying off on some whim!" 

"It's not a whim! I've been meaning to do this for ages- you know that! I've told you time and time again, but you never took me seriously. Well, this time, you're going to!" 

"You're only thirteen! You can't go until I sign the consent forms," their father had said dangerously, and Ilene heard the implied threat. 

"One year. If you want to make me wait that long, I will, but… I wouldn't advise it. If you do, I'll cut myself off from the family entirely as soon as I'm legal. This is something I believe in." 

Ilene had gasped. It was impossible to imagine life without James. 

"Is it that important? Would you cut Ilene out of your life as well?" 

"She would understand. She knows me, better then either of you do!" 

"Don't you realize you could die?" he father had thundered at him. 

Ilene had then blocked the rest of the conversation out by putting her pillow over her head. 

The next morning, they seemed to have come to resolution, but the atmosphere in the house was decidedly chilly for the next month, until her brother had left. She had cried, but she had been so proud of him. He was going to learn how to be a Mobile Suit pilot. 

_"Don't you realize you could die?"_ How those words had come back to haunt her father. 

Now she was an only child of a couple so lost in grief that they didn't remember her existence most of the time. She constantly received what she called "guilt gifts" and her allowance was excessive, even for a student of the wealthy Cliffside Heights. Still, she would have traded all of her material possessions in the world to hug her brother once more, or to hear her parents laugh without a trace of the sadness that permeated their voices. 

She wanted her old life back. 

Ilene rose to her feet, shaking herself mentally. Wallowing wasn't going to do her any good. 

It was time for payback. It was the least she could do. 

She left her hotel room, moving out onto the streets. Wearing a pair of jeans and a soft, baby blue bank top, she felt slightly uncomfortable. She had become so accustomed to the Cliffside uniform that it was almost disconcerting to wear anything else during a school day. She could feel eyes on her as she walked through the streets- she was a sweet young thing, and she knew that if she wasn't careful she could get into serious trouble. 

Still, she had resolved that she wouldn't sit back and take it lying down. She remembered passively cowering when that girl -her name had been Hilde- had held a gun to her head. Ilene doubted she'd ever work through the shame of cowardice. She had frozen, rather then scream; it was her fault that Duo had managed to escape from Cliffside. If she would have been brave enough to sound an alert, Duo would be dead. 

The thought of Duo dead gave her heart an unfamiliar twist. Could she really... accept that? He may have been a killer... but he was also her friend. 

She was torn. _Duo... were you ever my friend? Or was that an act? Was the real you the killer I saw after the massacre, or the laughing boy who I had a crush on?_

As she walked through Montpelier's streets, she looked around, feeling eyes on her back. She knew where she was going; before she had left school, the leader of some of the protests at Cliffside had informed her where the anti-Gundam group was gathering in this city. The Cat Scratch hardly sounded like the type of club she would frequent, but desperate times called for desperate measures. 

Ilene was a woman now, and a child no more. She would do what was right, rather then cower in a corner somewhere, afraid. She would stand up against the Gundam pilots- she would stand up against Duo and make him pay for his crimes. 

She could practically see the social groups as she walked through the streets. She had chosen to stay at the cheapest hotel she could find, knowing she would have to conserve her ready cash. By now her parents, if no one else, would be looking for her, and she decided that leaving financial records would be a rapid way for them to find her. 

She may be naive, but she wasn't outright stupid. Wandering through the seedier portions of town wasn't a bright move, but that was what she had to do if she joined the Resistance. 

She bit her lip as she entered the room. Immediately eyes turned to the young girl at the doorway. 

The room was dank and she could almost taste the stale chemicals in the air that lingered like a forgotten lover. All around were the remnants of human society, the dregs that no one wanted to acknowledge as being a friend, a lover, a family member. The voices were loud and violent, and tremors worked their way through her body. 

"Well, well- what's the pretty trinket we have here?" the bartender asked. 

She looked around, wondering which of these people -these bizarre creatures whom she'd never dreamt existed- was her contact. 

"Wanna join me for a drink, love?" a voice cooed at her from a corner. The speaker was a man old enough to be her father. He had teeth that were slightly purple, which she recognized as one of the tell-tale signs of a Kissmet addict. 

"Naw.... she'll join me," another person said, slipping up to her. To her horror, it was a woman in her late thirties, tattooed to the extreme.... and wearing little else aside from the macabre paint job. 

"No!" Ilene said hurriedly. "I'm here for Treize!" she announced, trying to hide the way her voice was quivering. That was the password. 

The room went dead. 

"Treize?" the bartender asked. His voice lost its earlier mocking note. "What do you want thirteen of?" 

That was the recognition, and she responded by giving him the second greeting. "Not thirteen- it's an unlucky number, you know." 

"Unlucky for who?" 

"The Preventers, of course," she answered. 

A man sitting on the edge of the bar turned and regarded her. He was in his mid-thirties and once might have been handsome, but one side of his face had been badly scarred by fire. He caught her staring. "New Edwards," he said, tilting his head so that the light hit it clearly. One of his eyes had been ruined and replaced with a prosthesis. She wondered why he hadn't had any plastic surgery done. Again, he seemed to read her mind. "I want to remember those bastards, and not give myself an excuse to forget," he said. 

She nodded slowly and approached him with caution. "Hello," she said softly. 

"How did a girl like you get down to these parts?" he demanded. "You're obviously not local. 

The bar burst into laughter at the very idea. 

"I was a student at Cliffside Heights until about two weeks ago," she said bitterly. 

"Cliffside?" the man said, his one good eye widening. It was brown, she noted distractedly. 

"Yes. One of my good friends happened to be named Duo Maxwell," she said, clenching her fists at her sides. "He neglected to inform me that he was a Gundam pilot... my brother died because of him, and he didn't have the courage to tell me the truth!" she burst out. 

The man tilted his head. "So why are you here?" he asked. "What can some little priss who's always had her nose wiped for her do for us? Tell me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you and get rid of you now." 

"Because you're a smart man. I have connections, and I can get into places you can't. Besides, Duo trusts me... the damn bastard! I will do whatever it takes... even if it kills me!" 

"It very well might. Or should I say he? Are you prepared to die?" 

"For the first time in my life, I'm prepared to live," she stated firmly. 

He considered her for a second longer before producing a gun. She remained ramrod straight and was rewarded as he turned it around so she could grasp the handle. 

"I'm Enjolras. Have you ever held a gun before?" he asked her. 

She shook her head, looking at him with wide eyes. "No," she answered. 

Enjolras smiled at her. "Then it's time you learned. What should I call you?" he asked. 

She blinked. "Enjolras comes from _Les Miserables_, doesn't it?" she asked. 

"Yes- Victor Hugo. Wonderful writer. Most of us choose names from books or history- something with significance, to remind us why we are fighting." He handed over the gun to her, which she took with clumsy hands. 

Ilene knew she was not naturally talented like her brother, but she resolved to master the weapon she cradled in soft, uncallused hands. She could do this. _I will do this for you, big brother. I will finish the battle you never had a chance to begin._

Closing her eyes briefly, she said, "Then call me Jamie." 

  
_Go to James story Duty_

  
Act V Part II | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	20. Dead Soldiers with Unmarked Graves

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING **

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT V, PART IV 

**Kagayaku mono wa kono mune no uchi  
Kokoro no yaiba furikazasu **

Chi no hate made kizutsuitemo  
Tatakau dake sa  
Shinjiru nara motomeru nara  
Tsukamitoru dake  
Toi kaketemo toi kaketemo  
Kuzurenai nara  
Sore ga seigi da  


**There's something shining in my heart  
I'll raise the sword of my soul **

Even if I'm hurt I will fight  
Until the end of the world  
If I believe If I ask  
I will grasp it alone  
If it is not destroyed  
When it is questioned  
That is justice  


**--Gundam Wing, _Shinjitsu o Tsukamitore_  
[_Grasp the Truth_, Chang Wufei image song]**  


  
  
**Scene XIII: The Tangled Webs We Weave**

  


_"Why are we keeping secrets?  
Why don't we both come clean and begin?"  
--Christine McVie, Keeping Secrets_

  
Sally had arranged for a meeting with Brown as soon as her flight touched down. She was tired, having had less then four hours of sleep, but that was nothing new. Sleep deprivation and long periods of concentration were something one got used to in the military, but she would have given a month's salary for a solid eight hours. She couldn't remember the last time that had happened, and it seemed like something too illusive to even wish for. 

The plane taxied down the runway, and she tapped her fingers on her armrest, waiting impatiently for the craft to come to a complete stop. They had been circling the airport for over an hour, and needless to say, even Sally was beginning to find the end of her considerable patience tested. She knew that she should expect delays; after all, since air travel had been invented, there had been problems. Delays and bad food being the prime ones. 

Still, she didn't have to like it. She was a brigadier general, for God's sake. Surely her rank was enough to pull some strings, but it obviously wasn't the case. Ah, air travel, she thought. The great invention that made equals of all men alike. 

Her aides scurried around her, in constant motion like bees. The five of them who were overseeing the current operations of the Preventers whispered into remote phones, carefully coordinating supply, personnel and other such trivials which technically were her responsibility. The only good thing about the crisis she'd been able to find was that she'd finally had an excuse to shrug all of the drudge work off onto her subordinates. 

Finally the plane came to a complete stop, and she rose to her feet almost immediately without waiting for the lights to come on and the seatbelt sign to turn off. Pushing her way through the drones, she almost leapt off the plane, taking the ramp three steps at a time. 

To her dismay, it was raining. The wind whipped at her, tugging on her neatly plaited hair. Cursing softly, she pulled the short skirt of her uniform down. The weather, when she had left Burlington, had been good in Geneva, but apparently an unexpected storm had come in. Vaguely she wondered how she could have missed the turbulence it must have caused the plane. 

She hurried the rest of the way across the flightline to where her ride was waiting, and collapsed into the limo with a sigh of relief. At least her rank permitted her this luxury; rather then racing to the terminal with the rest of her staff, she would have a warm car waiting for her, ready to chauffeur her straight to Preventers HQ. 

"Nippy out there, isn't it?" an amused voice asked her. 

Sally was jolted out of her semi-daze. "General Brown?" she asked, surprised to see the intelligence agent in the car with her. Mentally she cursed her wearied reflexes as she realized that she had been completely unaware of his presence. Fatigue was no excuse for sloppiness. What if he's been an assassin? She shuddered to think of what disasters would strike if she was removed from the equation at this point in the game. 

He chuckled low in his throat as he handed her a cup of steaming coffee with two sugars. He had a fantastic memory for detail, such as how she liked her coffee. "You look like you need this," he commented as she gratefully wrapped her chilled hands around it. 

"It's just rain," she said. 

"But it seems to fit everyone's mood," the General said easily. "Oh, by the way, I just received some interesting news from Lady-General Une." He gave her a pointed look, leaving his statement dangling teasingly. 

"What?" she asked after sipping at the bitter liquid. He was quite capable of sitting there until the cows came home unless she played his game. 

"We've received two surprise visitors at HQ." 

"Oh? Relena finally show up?" 

He blinked slowly. "You heard that, then?" 

Sally laughed lightly. "No, but I know Relena. I was wondering how much longer she'd take. The Cinq Kingdom really isn't in the thick of things, and Relena can't stand not to be. She'd come to where ever the action was." 

"Are you saying she's a thrill seeker? None of my profiles seemed to suggest..." Brown said thoughtfully as he twisted his mustache. 

"No. She's just Relena. She had to feel like she's making a difference. Half the time, though, it'd be better if she stayed out of the way. And she's also dangerously infatuated with Heero Yuy. One of the worst crushes I've ever seen." 

"She loves him?" 

"She likes to think she does, but... I don't know if its possible to love Heero Yuy. How can you love someone who is incapable of loving you back? There's a reason why the hero in many Western movies rode out into the sunset... some people simply weren't meant to be touched." 

"I see," Brown said, and she could almost see him mentally file that information away for later usage. 

"So who's this other guest?" she asked curiously, tilting the cup back to finish the last of the coffee. It was quite a bit more bitter at the bottom than the rest of the cup had been, but coffee was coffee. At this point, she couldn't afford to be picky. 

"Don't you want to guess?" 

"I honestly haven't a clue," she confessed. 

"Does the name Catherine Bloom ring a bell?" 

Sally blinked once before her memory placed the name. "Trowa's sister! What's she doing here, of all places?" 

"Trying to find Barton. Apparently he left the circus the day the story broke, leaving no fowarding address or any clue to his destination. Big sister is rather unhappy with him." 

"I'll bet," Sally said, her voice at her driest. "But... what can she do?" 

"We don't know. Maybe nothing. But if -when- people realize that she's the blood-sibling of a Gundam pilot -the only one living save the Winner sisters, who are all heavily guarded- she's going to be in danger." 

"Most likely. Now, General, onto our next urgent matter. What can you tell me about Matsuura Shinobu? I have no cause to arrest him, and since he goes to Cliffside, that means he has some serious money backing him. As you know, serious money means serious lawyers, and the last thing we need at the moment is a suit about unlawful arrest." 

"Ah, now that is rather interesting. At first I though he might be a former agent of one of the factions, maybe just trying to get a new life going. However, he matches none of the profiles of my unaccounted for sneaks, and no one matches his genetic code. I then took his genetic code and put it through to see what ethnic background I'd get. Amazingly enough, my results came back twice the same. He's most likely a Colonist from L1- they're the only ones that have a certain mutation to the fourteenth that he carries the recessive gene for." 

"An L1 colonist at Cliffside?" Sally asked. "Could he have been planted there as a spy?" 

"No reason. He was there before the war broke out- I checked. No, he appears to be a normal student trying to leave behind a different life... which means..." 

"The Breaks," Sally said in disgust. 

"Bingo. I was unable to trace any specific records there, but records in the Breaks are non-existent. But there's only a few people with the money to send a kid to Cliffside, and all those people are members of various cartels." 

"Great. This is lovely. I wonder if Duo knew?" 

"Unlikely. Usually strict secrecy is kept about membership or affiliation with a cartel of the Breaks. They have long arms- rumor has it that one of the cartels managed to buy a few of the World Nation's leaders." 

"Wouldn't be a surprise," Sally said with an extremely soft sigh. She set down her now-empty cup as she stretched, feeling the joints in her shoulders pop. "Anything else?" 

"Actually, yes." He sighed and looked extremely depressed. "You know I have agents in just about everything?" 

"You're our intelligence officer- I would HOPE that'd be the case," she answered. 

"Well, I've recently come across some new information. In the last three days, I've intercepted several communications from Earth to A007, the mining colony that Peacecraft is on?" 

"Where Noin died, yes," Sally said, her eyes saddened as she remembered her friend. 

"Don't bury her until you've seen the body. Anyway, the rebels were asking for more ammunition, food, and medical supplies." 

Sally looked at General Brown in shock. "What are you saying?" she demanded. 

"A007 isn't just a random uprising, General Po. Someone is quite deliberately supplying the rebels and keeping them agitated, and they're doing it from Earth." 

"But why would anyone do that? Any idiot could tell you that revolution on the mining colony has no permanent chance of success. People are simply sick and tired of war." 

"Of course it doesn't stand a snowball's chance in hell," Brown said as he thoughtfully sat back. He took a sip of the coffee in front of him, his eyes bright with careful thought. "I think it's a distraction for something else, something to keep our attention away from the real problem." 

"And what would that be?" She tilted the coffee cup towards her mouth again, remembered it was empty. Damn. 

"That, my dear Sally, is the sixty-four thousand dollar question." 

  
_Go to Sally story Legacy_

  


* * *

  
**Scene XIV: The Golden Haze of Memory**

  


_"Call me the American nightmare  
Call me the American dream  
Call me your soul corrupted  
Call me everything you need."  
--Rob Zombie, The Great American Nightmare_

  
He watched as Zero plummeted towards the Pacific as he hit the communications button for the hundredth time. Hilde was in there; his sweet, brave Hilde, and he had no clue what was going on with her. She was in the Zero system and had cut off all methods of contact, and there was nothing he could do but wait and see what she was like when they both landed and she finally emerged from the cockpit. 

He hoped she'd still be sane. 

This waiting thing was the hardest thing he'd ever dealt with. He wasn't cut out for it. 

Duo remembered how he had yelled at her on the Peacemillion after she'd stolen the plans for the Libra. He had thought she was safely on L2, waiting like a good little woman for her man to return. He knew that was an incredibly chauvinistic attitude, but knowing Hilde was safe had been one great relief. 

He altered his course to match her trajectory, dialing the familiar keys with the experience of long familiarity. It was odd, but for some reason, he finally felt whole again. As if a part of his soul that he hadn't been aware was missing had returned. Still... he would gladly give up Deathscythe if that meant Hilde would be all right. 

He shut his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat. The worn padding was comfortable, yet something dug at the back of his neck. With a frown, he reached around and caught it in a pale hand, a hand that had lost most of it calluses due to a soft year of living. 

His cross. 

"How did that get there?" he wondered aloud, talking to himself. He always did that when he was alone with Deathscythe. The machine was almost an entity in its own right, and Duo respected it. "Did you have something to do with it?" he asked to the empty air, though he was really speaking to the ghost of a man who had long passed from the world. 

He didn't believe in God, but he believed in death. He still talked to the dead - Solo, Sisten Helen, Father Maxwell, even Professsor G- when he was in trouble. At Cliffside, he'd learned that some cultures worshipped their ancestors, and sometimes he wondered if that wasn't the way to go. 

_Father,_ he thought, conjuring forth memories of a kindly old man who had taken in a streetrat with long wild hair. _Watch out for her. I know I don't believe in your God, but if you save her... I will. I'll give anything to you, just as long as you save Hilde from the Zero System.... save her from herself._

Duo had only talked to Heero about the Zero system once. While Quatre was the one who had designed it, Heero was the only one who had mastered it. He had needed that talk. 

It had been during those few, dizzying hours when the Peacemillion was preparing for the final battle. So much had happened during that limited span of time; people had risen and fallen in the confusing kaleidoscope of time, perceptions had changed. Heero had been fixing Zero for its final flight as the flag of the Gundams. The others were preparing their Gundams in the same hanger, but Duo had only wanted to speak to Heero. 

He'd spent time alone with all the pilots before, but Heero was the one who had awakened feelings of kinship inside of him. Odd, that- it should have been Trowa, with his nameless background, or Quatre, with his loving personality, or even Wufei, with his fiery passion. Those were similar to him. But time and again he felt drawn back to the quietly charismatic Wing pilot, drawn to him like a moth to flame. It was as if somehow, in all the differences between them, Duo had found a part of him he had been missing. 

Duo had tapped Heero on the shoulder as the other pilot carefully was removing the Zero system files for some unknown reason. He recognized the cards that Quatre had removed from Sandrock Kai; and he wondered what Heero was doing as he plugged them into his laptop. "Oi, Heero, whaccha doin'?" he asked, slurring his words together abominably. He knew it drove the other pilot positively bonkers to hear Duo abuse language like that, so Duo went out of his way to do it at least once a day. Getting a reaction out of Heero was his primary goal- well, that and kicking ass as Shinigami. 

"Analyzing the data from Sandrock Zero," Heero said shortly. For some odd reason, Duo found the curt voice soothing to listen to. Heero was a constant in life, predictable and reliable as the next sunrise. Duo liked that, considering he'd never really had anything consistent before. 

"Why are you doing that?" Duo asked, trying to keep his voice level. The very mention of the... the thing gave him the willies. 

"Because I want to see the difference between Quatre's failure to use the system versus his success, and compare it to my own. I might figure out how to better master the system." 

"Heero... exactly what IS the Zero system?" 

Heero was quiet for a moment and for a second Duo thought that he had outlived the Wing Zero pilot's short temper, but then Heero shrugged. "As far as I can tell, it's a program designed to enhance pilot performance. A superior, experienced pilot in control of his emotions and abilities can use it for a more intense form of...mind control, I suppose you would call it. The Zero system works using the brainwaves of the pilot, and each pilot's experience is different according to brain patterns. It heightens brain activity." 

"Is that why everything was that gold color? Is that why I saw myself kill Hilde?" he whispered, speaking for the first time of his visions during the traumatic time he had when forced to pilot the monster. 

Heero had looked up at his with unreadable eyes, but there was a trace of sympathy showing in his normally impassive mouth. "The Zero system is specific to each pilot. Some people see the future- Zechs, Wufei, and myself are such examples. Other people see the past, like Trowa. Some people see the present- you and Quatre. It depends, and you have to remember that each experience is heightened by rather extreme brainwaves- nothing should be taken literally. It's dangerous, but if you can master the system, I believe it's worth the risk." 

"Nothing human can master that..." Duo said. 

"A human can't master himself? Don't you have faith in humanity, Duo?" 

"Do you?" 

Heero gave him the elusive half-smile he used all too rarely. "I wouldn't be a pilot if I wasn't able to believe in humanity." Sliding the cards out of his laptop, he began reinserting them into his Gundam, signalling the end of the conversation. "One day there won't be a need for people like you and me, Duo. I hope we both live to see that day." 

And they thought they had, with the war over. 

But it wasn't the truth. The truth was staring them straight in that face, but no one had been willing to acknowledge it. There would be no end to war- could be no end. War was something that no one understood but that fascinated everyone, an ends to wealth, or power, or prestige, or a noble line of duty in which many good people - soldiers - had died. It was a long, vicious cycle. 

He was only seventeen years old - only a child, by Earth standards - yet he felt he had been fighting for longer than he could remember. He felt so old. 

_Can't someone else fight, Father? I'm so tired... don't Hilde and I -and the others- deserve our rest? Can't someone else take up where we left off? This simply isn't fair..._

. Duo gave himself a mental clout upside the head. He didn't have the right to complain- as long as he lived, he would fight. He would fight until he could be satisfied with the world he'd live in. 

Deathscythe shuddered as the first wisps of Earth's atmosphere hit the metal hull. It reminded Duo of the first descent, during Operation Meteor. Earth had looked so beautiful to him then; he had wondered how the despots who cruelly ruled his much-loved colony could come from such a pretty place. 

"Hilde!" he called into the comm channel, his voice hoarse, already knowing there would be no reply. He hit the thrusters, hoping to catch up with her and maybe force her to land…or steer her away from possible dangerous landing sites, or…something. Anything. 

Hilde was as good a pilot as any, he noted with pride. She easily navigated the debris that littered space, and he almost smiled at the grace with which she moved the massive machine. Still, every time he looked at it, he was forced to remember that she was piloting Zero. And Zero was unpredictable, to say the least. 

The roar of the heat of the atmosphere finally faded and Wing Zero leveled out to skim the shoreline of one of the small Japanese islands, like the bird it resembled. Hilde seemed to have chosen one that seemed to be uninhabited, and Duo felt his heart leap. She still seemed to be thinking, so perhaps she was ok... maybe the system hadn't even engaged... after all, she hadn't been fighting. 

Together the two Gundams hit the ground in a rough landing, but he didn't even wait for Deathscythe to power down. His fingers were clumsy with eagerness as he fumbled with his safety harness. He hit the switch for the hatch and jumped out of the cockpit as the rays of sunlight streamed in. Mentally he thanked Deathscythe Hell for the ride, then he dashed over to Wing Zero. 

The craft was still in the form of a plane, and he wondered why Hilde hadn't climbed out. Possibilities flashed through his mind, none of them pleasant, and he fought down his panic. Biting his lip, he punched in an emergency code and listened at the cabin hissed as it depressurized. Then the hatch swung open, and he could see Hilde. 

She was still fastened securely, but her eyes were closed. He could see blood staining her right shoulder where she had apparently cut herself on the harness strap. 

"Hilde?" he said, shaking her. "Hilde?" 

Duo lowered his head to her chest, listening. She was breathing. With gentle hands he unhooked her, almost ready to scream as tears suddenly started running down her face. She looked up at him, large blue-gray eyes opening, and he kissed her forehead. Her eyes were confused, clouded. "Hilde, are you ok?" 

Hilde blinked as Duo pulled her close to him, and then collapsed into tears, her long, wrenching sobs seeming to tear at her body. 

  


* * *

  
**Scene XV: Do You Remember Love?**

  


_"Oboetimasu ka me to me ga atta toki o?  
Oboetimasu ka te to te ga fureatta toki?  
Mou hitoribotchi ja nai anata ga iru kara."  
_
_[Do you remember when our eyes first met?]  
[Do you remember when our hands first touched?]  
[I'm no longer alone, because you are here.]  
_
_--Macross, Ai Oboeteimasu ka [Do You Remember Love?]_  


  
He had disappointed her. He knew it as soon as she had stepped out of her mobile suit, knew it when she had refused to come into the tent, just stood there in the doorway with the setting sun streaming in behind her, her eyes accusing him. And she had every right. He hadn't given her what he had promised. 

Dorothy Catalonia was a soldier, and all he had offered her, in the end, were empty dreams. 

Milliard stepped out of the briefing tent, rubbing his eyes slightly, feeling the effects of three hours of sleep in two days wearing on his balance. His physical balance, anyway, if not his mental one. Behind him, several rebel commanders emerged from the tent, conferring in low voices. Gustavson was not among them. Doing more paperwork? 

The sun was just disappearing behind the cliffs in the distance, and the faint smell of something burning filled his nostrils. He was used to it. It had been burning…burning all day and night, ever since they had arrived at this position, because just beyond those cliffs was a fully operational mobile suit production facility. Brand new, the recon team had reported to him. Machines working nonstop. There were several new Aries out on the flightline already, and trucks running back and forth along the highway along with the regular shipments of ore and metal parts. Trucks…for the mobile suits? That would make sense, if the A007 government hadn't had time to train new pilots yet. 

That would be a great advantage. 

Gustavson hadn't heard anything from his contacts in the capital, but most of them had been captured already, and the odds were not high that he would hear anything anytime soon. 

So it was decided. 

They would attack tonight. 

Dorothy didn't like it, he knew, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He'd gone up to her the next day before they broke camp, offered her again the command of a mobile suit unit. She had refused. 

He just didn't understand women. 

If she thought he was comparing her to Noin, she was wrong. Noin was someone else entirely. Noin was not Dorothy, and Dorothy was not Noin. They were not interchangeable in his mind. Dorothy did not have the combat experience that Noin had: that was a fact. But at the same time, Dorothy was much more adept at adjusting the situation around her. She was charismatic in a way that Noin was not. Dorothy was... 

Milliard's head hurt, and it wasn't just from lack of sleep. 

"Colonel Peacecraft!" 

That would be his executive officer, the snappish young captain who more often than not got on everyone's nerves but managed to get the job done on time, and done well. He had wanted to pilot, but Milliard hadn't let him. _I need you here_, he said. _If anything happens to me, you know just as much about the situation as I do._

It was something that every soldier had to live with, this endless knowledge that every day might be his last, but death had never seemed as real to him as it did now. Perhaps it was because he was fighting for something he did not believe in on a planet that was not his home. Perhaps it was because his hopes for Noin's own survival had dimmed to practically none. Perhaps it was because for the first time, he was an outcast. 

All his life he had dreamed of fighting for something noble. A dream, that was all it ever had been. 

_Lady Une sent you out here to die._

"Colonel Peacecraft, the mobile suit units are standing by for your orders. Lady Dorothy also is requesting to speak to you." 

What did Dorothy want now? 

"I'll be there in a minute," he said, pulling on his hat and striding towards the briefing tent. Gustavson emerged from the opening just as he neared it, and he waved the rebel commander over. 

"How are your units looking?" 

Gustavson saluted, his face serious. "Standing by, sir." He paused. "Colonel Peacecraft, I-" 

"It's going to rain," Milliard said. The sky was midnight blue and pale rose as the last rays of the sun wavered on the horizon. 

"Sir?" 

He took a deep breath of the air, smelled the ozone that promised a thunderstorm and the burning that his nostrils had become accustomed to, let it out slowly. "Nothing. You were saying?" 

"Nothing." 

"Well," Milliard said. "This is it. Any final questions? Instructions? Advice? You know this territory better than I." 

Gustavson laughed. "And you're a better soldier than I am. Fair trade." 

"I wouldn't say that," he said, then stuck his hand out, on pure whim. "Commander. It has been an honor…fighting with you." 

Gustavson looked at the proffered hand, took it slowly. "I expect you to come out of this alive, you know. You're too good a soldier to die." 

Milliard smiled grimly, "It's time." 

He turned his back without waiting for Gustavson's reply, any last words, any last rites. There was no need. For some reason, the night air felt heavy and suddenly he felt stifled, choked. Was this what death smelled like? The endless perfume of fire? 

"Milliard, you look terrible." 

He hadn't heard Dorothy come up behind him. She was dressed in combat fatigues without a hat, looking at him with a frown. Her hair looked almost white in the rising moonlight. "Are you sure you're ok? I think you should lie down." 

"I'm fine," he said tersely, and he could feel the hurt rising off her, but he didn't care. His chest hurt. His head hurt. 

"You haven't gotten any sleep, Milliard. I don't think you should-" 

"Damn it, woman!" he roared, spinning on his heel, slapping her outstretched hand away from him. "My health is none of your concern!" 

"Don't speak that way to me!" she shot back. "I'm your second in command, and it is my job to-" 

"Who do you think you are? Noin?" 

He regretted the words as soon as they were spoken, but it was too late to take them back. He could see the shock in her face and turned before he could make any more mistakes, and ran. Spots formed before his eyes and the rocks on the trail dug into the bottoms of his boots, pebbles skittering under the soles and making the trail slippery, but he kept running. 

The thundering of his heartbeat filled the tiny cockpit of the mobile suit and he buckled himself in with shaking fingers, leaning his head against the back of the seat and taking deep breaths. 

_What's wrong with me tonight?_

He hadn't gotten enough sleep, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was that they - him - were fighting a futile operation. It was a hopeless exercise. It was like Dorothy had said. She was right, and he did not want to admit it, because he was too proud. His pride had always gotten the best of him. 

He hated being used, and he had willingly come out here, because… 

Because of… 

"C Leader to Alpha Leader." 

The voice from the comm crackled in his ear and he jumped before realizing that it was Gustavson. "This is Alpha Leader." Glanced down at the comm screen. It was a private channel. "Commander, are your units ready?" 

"Standing by for your lead, sir." 

He slapped the switch for unitwide communications. "All units, this is Alpha Leader. Prepare to move out on my lead. You have your orders. Good luck." 

The nightscape was dark on his infrared, little fluorescent green pinpoints dancing to an occult rhythm on the scopes, and he tensed in his chair. It was a risky plan, and if the timing was off by even seconds, it would be a disaster. The facility was heavily guarded, and Gustavson had cautioned him against any unnecessary tactics. 

_Straightforward will get you faster than anything. They have more soldiers crawling around the compound than any other facility of theirs I've ever seen…and I've seen too many._

The lights of the factories were bright in his infrared scope, and he imagined he could still smell the burning, even though the hull of the mobile suit was atmospherically sealed. 

_Why am I here?_

When the explosions started he didn't even flinch. It was the greenhorns, always the new ones that misheard instructions or panicked when the real thing was suddenly staring them in the face. He didn't blame them. He slapped the comm switch. 

"Alpha Leader to all units. I thought my instructions were clear! Fire only when I give the signal!" 

"Colonel, that's not us!" 

Gustavson's face appeared on the screen, voice tense. "There seem to be several mobile suits on the other side of the base, attacking. I can't detect an identification signal!" 

"Never mind that!" Milliard hit the infrared off switch. The familiar green of the HUD blinked onto his targeting screen. "All units, attack as ordered! Gustavson, get a reading on those ships as soon as you can!" 

"Yes sir!" 

The facility was protected by concrete walls, but that was no obstacle to a mobile suit. Round after round of rapid fire. The wall crumbled, broke. He could hear alarms ringing as he urged his unit forward. The enemy had been surprised. One goal accomplished. The automatic defense systems on the walls began firing as they roared into the yard, and he heard an explosion behind him as one of his own men went down. 

"A3! Are you all right?" 

"I'm hit in the right thruster control, sir, but I'll be fine." 

"Alpha leader, this is C Leader." 

"Report!" he snapped, jerking the control stick to the right. "Alpha Unit! The production facilities are to the right! Those are your primary targets!" 

"Roger that." 

"Colonel, the unknown mobile suits are-" 

There was a crackle and all he saw were blue sparks as something hot singed his skin. 

"Alpha Leader! Alpha Leader!" 

"I'm…fine…" he managed, before the three Aries surrounding him began to fire and he jerked the stick to the right, but the emergency life support systems light was flashing and there were alarms all around him. 

"Alpha unit! I'm hit! Go without me! Move!" 

"Colonel, I-" 

The comm buzzed. "Alpha Two! Didn't you hear what he said?" A woman's voice. "Can you not follow orders?" 

"Who-" Milliard managed, before something in the control panel sparked. The cockpit was filling with smoke, but through the gray fog he could see a flash as another mobile suit moved in front of him, shielding him. 

"Zechs! Get out of there now! Your mobile suit can't take the damage! ZECHS!" 

He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming, or else his Aries had been destroyed in battle and he was already dead, because his name was Milliard now, and the voice on the comm sounded like- 

"Noin!?" 

"Zechs, you'll be killed! Move!" 

"NOIN!" he yelled, lunging forward, bringing up his gun with one swift stroke of the Aries' arm, firing. The mobile suit creaked around him as he punched the controls in front of him, showing the CMD screen readout. Unidentified Aries fighter. No identification signal broadcasted. 

"Noin!" 

He saw the beam out of the corner of his eye and had his hand on the control just a split second too slow, as the laser beams hit. He watched, fascinated, the beautiful rays coming straight at him, felt the mobile suit shiver around him as the impact jolted him loose from his seat, throwing him against the cockpit window and he tasted blood. 

"ZECHS!" 

"Just…a little too…late," he managed to say, as something hit his mobile suit and it was airborne, flying, and he was in Epyon again staring at the wreckage of space around him, Noin's voice in his ears, begging him to listen, to understand. 

And then the Aries hit the ground and there was the shattering of glass. 

The part of his mind that was still conscious braced for the impact of landing, but felt something close around him instead, the rumbling of a machine and metal against his cheek. He tried to move his arm, but it wouldn't respond. Broken? The sounds of battle were fading in his ears and the world was growing dim and ragged at the edges of his vision. 

Something soft. Dull pain shooting up his fingers, but at least he had stopped moving. His vision was brightening and darkening all at once and he couldn't seem to breathe right anymore. 

"You idiot," someone said from far away. Something warm and wet dropped onto his cheek, and then…a hand? A face. Beautiful eyes. Crying? "You idiot. I go away for a while…and you can't take care of yourself. Zechs." 

He tried to reach up, touch her, but all he could do was lay there and gaze into her eyes as she cried and held his hand between hers. 

"I'll…be…all right…" he whispered, and in the distance, another Aries landing. The raid was over already? 

"Colonel?" 

Noin dropped his hand, and he coughed, tasting the blood. "He's injured! Radio base immediately…we need to get him back for medical attention!" 

"I…don't…" he began. 

"Don't talk, Zechs. You're in no condition to talk." 

"Noin," he said. "I-" 

"Don't you die on me, Zechs." Her eyes were angry. "I've fought…I've fought this hard to get back here, and you're not going to die. I won't let you!" 

Her hand brushed his face again and he closed his eyes. 

_Noin. I didn't realize how much I missed you…until now…_

He belonged here. With her. He knew that now. How was it suddenly so clear? Or perhaps he had been dreaming until this moment, and he had just awakened from a long, long sleep. 

"I'm glad…you're here…with me." 

And as the sweet nothingness took him, he knew that she, of all things he had seen tonight, was not a dream. 

  
**END SAINAN NO KEKKA ACT V**

Act V Part III | Act VI Part I | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	21. Scattering What's Left of the Light

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  


SNK HAS MOVED! http://www.midnightrevolution.org/gundam  


  
  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT VI, PART I

** Omezame wa itsudemo  
Kagayaku asa  
Doshafuri wa kono watashi niawanai no**

Kaaten wo aketara  
Aoi sora ga  
Watashi o sasoitasou ni matte iru wa

Sou yo suteki na mai nichi  
Watashi dake no dorama ga dakara  
Jiyuu ni tanoshimu no  


** When I open my eyes  
The morning is always bright  
Pouring rain doesn't suit me**

When I open the curtain  
The blue sky  
Is waiting in invitation for me

It's true, every day is wonderful  
It's my own drama  
So I enjoy it freely  


**--Gundam Wing, _Joy to My Life_  
[Dorothy Catalonia image song]**  


  
  
**Scene I: Story of a Girl**

  


_"This is the story of a girl  
Who cried a river and drowned the whole world,  
And while she looked so sad in photographs  
I absolutely love her, when she smiles."  
--Nine Days, Absolutely (Story of a Girl)_

  
Love hurt.

That was something Duo was learning; he'd always laughed at the maudlin songs about love, yet now he knew they contained truth. Watching Hilde quietly tear herself apart was like inflicting the same damage upon his rather abused soul.

He should have been more careful, he thought. He should have recognized Hilde's determination to "protect" him. He knew what an incredibly willful creature she was. He knew that she would do whatever she believed necessary to protect him. Time and again he brought the evidence of the Libra incident to his mind to chastise himself.

Hilde wasn't the cheerful girl he had fallen in love with anymore. True, she had always had a serious side to balance her ever-present optimism, but since she had climbed into Wing Zero, she hadn't smiled or laughed. He missed her smile.

He had barely been able to keep her fed. She would just lie there, in their temporary hideaway, staring at nothing. Every now and then, tears would roll down her face and she would start to whimper like a wounded animal. At night she would cling to him so tightly that he could scarcely breathe. He would hum and sing her the half-forgotten lullabies Sister Helen had sung to him, trying to figure out what he could possibly do to return her to herself.

His own nightmares of Zero had plagued him ever since he had been forced into the system, but Hilde's seemed to be worse. None of the others had ever really discussed their experiences with the System with him; it was something too personal. The system raped your mind, left your soul bare and did its best to twist you into something you were not, or perhaps even more frightening, distilled you to the essence of what you were. Of course they all had had nightmares about it.

Duo wished he had told Hilde what had transpired in those desperate hours he had had wires strapped to his skull as the psychotic military officer had made him a guinea pig. Then maybe she wouldn't have been so eager to jump into the pit of hell for him.

He missed playing around with her.

_"You're always wearing such concealing clothes. I wish I could see what you looked like in a bikini," Duo had teased._

Hilde had answered with a flirtatious wink. "I look very nice," she said sweetly, using a voice that told him butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

Now if he tried she likely would burst into tears. 

He looked over at her, where she sat staring up at the green canopy of leaves. "Hilde, I've got to go contact Helena. She needs to relay a message to Sally for us- hopefully Sally can get here and get us the hell off this island. Do you want to go with me?"

She didn't answer.

H sighed, and walked over to kiss her lips gently. "I'll be right back," he promised.

Still no answer.

He glanced back at her as he started to Deathscythe's hiding place. The Gundam was well hidden, and a patrol would have to practically sit down on top of it before they could find it.

Duo crawled into the cockpit, wishing the way he'd laid his Gundam under the thick foliage hadn't placed the pilot's seat flat on its back. While coming out of space, it hadn't seemed such a difficulty. Then again, he'd been thinking of a far more urgent problem.

Now, though, he had to lie down on the seat and stare at the new "ceiling" to engage the vid link. His fingers dialed from memory the code that would key to Helena's secure chanel, and waited impatiently for her to answer.

It took her about three minutes, which meant she had been close by and waiting for his call. Helena tended to be very active with school clubs and government, and was rarely anywhere near her room. He smiled at her half-heartedly.

"Hey, Helena," he said.

She blinked once or twice. "DUO!" she exclaimed. "I wasn't expecting you back for another few hours- the next window isn't till 6, Greenwich. I checked." She was referring to the lag between the spy satellites the World Nation had established to police entry into the Earth's atmosphere. The original plan had been for them to wait for a window to open where the descent couldn't be monitored, but Hilde, in her Zero-induced haze, had ignored that. They had been lucky no one had noticed the two meteors that had fallen.

He nodded slowly. "We ignored those. Something came up that made it imperative to just descend."

"What?" she asked curiously. "Was one of the Gundams damaged?"

His eyes shuttered, trying to conceal the pain. "I'd rather not discuss that on link. If you weren't waiting for me, who were you waiting for?"

"General Po. Shinobu's doing some digging and claims that he'll have a fix on Yuy's location within the next forty eight hours."

Duo blinked. "Let me get this straight. Shinobu, a school kid, has the resources to get the information just about everyone on and off planet is scrambling to find? Information that's worth a very large fortune? Isn't that a little unlikely?"

"I tried to point that out to him, but he just pretended he couldn't understand what I was saying, which is crap. He understands just perfectly, but I can't call him on it. He's hiding something."

Duo gave his braid a yank as he thought. Fidgeting was a good way to get rid of his nervous energy, and there really was very little room to move in the Gundam. It was one of the things he had hated most about being a pilot- the confinement. "Shit. That's exactly what I need- another complication."

"Don't you trust him?" Helena asked hesitantly.

He gave his braid another good tug. "I have to, don't I? He knows too much."

Helena bit her lip as she nodded. "Um, you aren't going to like what else I have to tell you."

Duo smiled at her, looking much older then his seventeen years. "Go ahead. I need to know the whole story."

"Ilene is missing."

"Did she go back to her family?" he wondered aloud, though he knew that was unlikely.

"Checked there. Her father's filed a missing person report. Thinks she might have been kidnapped because she was friends with you."

Duo groaned. Bad news always multiplied itself. On top of Hilde, another of his friends was in trouble. "Was there any sign of force?"

"No. Duo...I don't think she was kidnapped. I think she left. She was angry with you. I've never seen her that angry before. I tried to talk to her, but she felt betrayed that Shinobu and I would help you. She wouldn't even listen to Chris, and nobody hates him!"

"How is Chris?"

"He's mad at me, but he claims he understands. He doesn't believe in war- he and his family are big believers in Queen Relena's absolute pacifism."

"Helena, you don't have to help me anymore. I can contact Sally, and deal with Shinobu. If you want out, get out now."

Her eyes burned intensely, and the vid almost conveyed the heat of them to him across thousands of miles. "Duo... I never back down. I believe in you, and what you're doing. Chris is just going to have to learn to accept that. If he can't, then obviously we're not meant to be."

"I don't want to cause trouble..."

"You'll learn that all couples have their disagreements. Just because they don't see eye to eye on everything doesn't mean they don't love each other."

Her words echoed in his head, and he gave her the first sincere smile he had felt since Wing Zero had risen from its slumber. "Thanks, Helena," he said.

"Anytime," she said. "I'll let General Po know you contacted me- can I have your coordinates?"

He sent her them, then cut the transmission with a final farewell. Shutting his eyes, he took a deep breath, feeling it expand his lungs. He was lonely, and hearing Helena's voice made him realize how much he missed the company of others. Hilde had been very poor companionship lately.

Duo Maxwell needed to have people around him, needed to know that people were watching. As long as there were others for him to entertain, he didn't have to think too much. Thinking was something that led to remembering, and his memories would send him into fits of depression.

Finally he couldn't delay any longer. The cockpit was hot when the air conditioning wasn't on, and his clothes really weren't suited to the climate. He pulled himself out carefully, muttering as his braid got caught on the self-destruct unit. "It's finally decided it wants to destroy something after all," he muttered discontentedly, looking at his braid after retrieving it. Definitely more split ends.

Hilde was just where he had left her, staring at the waves. "Hil?" he said quietly, hoping not to startle her.

He wasn't expecting an answer, but he got one. "I once watched a movie. I don't remember what it was called, or what it was about. I was really young, maybe six. I just remember one scene from it. This girl was staring at the ocean after she'd lost her lover, and she looked so sad. She was wearing a really pretty dress, long and flowing. Then she stepped into the water and started to walk. She kept walking, ignoring the waves, but just going straight. Finally she was over her head, but she didn't stop. For some reason that image has stuck with me."

"Hilde?" he whispered, feeling fear in his heart. If she was actively suicidal, there was nothing he could do. He couldn't be on alert 24/7. If she wanted to kill herself, she would find a way.

She remained calm, rising to her feet with ghostly grace. Her face looked entirely too pale against her dark hair. "I wish I could do that. I wonder how it would feel to have the water was wash away the pain, knowing that nothing will ever hurt again."

He grabbed her waist, tucking her tightly against him. "Wait and ask Heero before you decide," he said. "Heero's died before."

Her eyes turned to him, sparkling for the first time. "It's about Heero, then?" she asked softly.

"It's always been about Heero," Duo answered.

  


* * *

  
**Scene II: Toy Soldiers**

  


_"Asked myself what it's all for  
You know the funny thing about it  
I couldn't answer."  
--Cowboy Bebop, Blue_

  
There had been a mobile suit exercise planned for that day, but it rained the night before and when Dorothy woke up that morning, it was still raining. The downpour had lessened to a bearable drizzle, but the skies were gray and clouds smothered the horizon in oppressive silence.

It rained all day and into the afternoon and into the evening. When nightfall came, it was still raining. If one could call it nightfall. The day had been one blur of wetness and dreary gray, and night was only a condensing of the two.

Milliard was resting. He had had emergency surgery the night before, performed by the Preventers medic team. It wasn't bad, the head medic said. A mild concussion, two broken ribs and a broken arm. The mobile suit had suffered the most damage. Dorothy had dared to inspect the wreckage after it had been salvaged and brought back to camp. The entire cockpit was shattered, pieces of wire still smoldering from the blast which had ripped through the canopy, smashed the control panel, torn off the Taurus' right arm, and dropped beams of red-hot metal directly onto the pilot.

It was a miracle, the medic said, that Milliard was still alive.

Dorothy wasn't surprised. It was Milliard Peacecraft, not any ordinary man, after all, who had been piloting that mobile suit. Any ordinary man would probably not survived the night, but Milliard Peacecraft was different. He had always been different. A petty accident like that would never kill him, try though it might. He had been semi-conscious, but coherent, when he had been dragged out of the cockpit by Noin.

Noin.

For some reason, she was not surprised that Lucrezia Noin was still alive. Noin was like Milliard, in a way. In Dorothy's mind at least, Noin was a superhero, someone larger than life, someone who had battled with the devil and lived to tell about it. The familiar voice over the comm in the middle of battle had not been entirely unexpected, was not as much of a shock as it was a signal. For some reason, it had been more like a jolt back into a world from which she had been living, suspended in time and space, ever since the war had ended.

She didn't like Noin.

Noin had held Milliard's hand during the surgery, while Dorothy was made to stand outside the tent, in the rain, left asking a runner for details about Milliard's condition. Noin had simply taken over as vice commander. Without a word to Dorothy, she had moved herself into the command tent, taken the liberty of searching the files for all the private documents that Dorothy had spent hours scraping together from scanty information reports. In a few hours, Noin had earned the trust and loyalty of the troops to whom Dorothy had spent months proving herself.

It wasn't fair.

_I think we're going to change the focus of this operation_, Noin had said calmly to her this afternoon, biting the cap of a pen between her teeth and looking like she hadn't slept in weeks. Perhaps she hadn't. _We're not looking at the correct targets here._

_Perhaps you should get some sleep first_, Dorothy suggested delicately. _I can handle things here._

Noin's violet gaze was cool and composed and utterly superior. _I was there. I know what's going on. Milliard trusts me._

Those had been the key words. Milliard. Milliard trusts me. Milliard didn't trust Dorothy. Oh, no. Dorothy was the young apprentice, the protégé, the commander-in-training. Dorothy couldn't handle a mobile suit if her life depended upon it. Dorothy was the rejected soldier, the spoiled heiress intruding into a world where she just didn't belong.

Noin, on the other hand, apparently could do no wrong. 

There were certain kinds of people in the world, her grandfather had told her when she was young, who have always been good at everything, and are entirely oblivious to the fact. There are other kinds of people who have always been good at nothing, and know it too well. Dorothy was one of the latter. Noin and Milliard, they were the former.

They belonged together. She could see it now. It made her angry.

No, perhaps angry wasn't the word. Hurt, maybe. That she had thrown in so much of her time and energy to this mission, to have it taken away in one night by a woman who she had thought to be dead. By a woman who, by all rights, should have died in the war. Noin was a good soldier, but she had none of Dorothy's political pull, her charm, her money, her sheer amount of resources.

So why was it that Noin always seemed to have the upper hand? What was she, Dorothy Catalonia, heir to the Dermail duchy and noble by birth and heritage, doing wrong?

She had joined the operation because of Milliard. Because she was in love with him, or so she thought she was. She wasn't quite sure if that was the term for it, still, but here she was and there was no way in hell she was going to back out of this while Noin was here trying to usurp the rightful place Dorothy had worked so hard to earn.

No way in hell.

If she couldn't have Milliard, Dorothy reasoned, no one would.

The entrance to the medical tent was closed, but when she tugged on it, it gave and she hesitantly crept through the opening. A single bare bulb burned in one corner and the lonely figure on the cot at the far end seemed to be asleep. Her boots crunched on the gravel and she felt like an intruder creeping towards a forbidden destination, her unwelcome presence breaking the peaceful silence. 

As she neared the side of the bed, the figure turned slightly.

"Oh…Dorothy."

Milliard sounded glad to see her, but she could tell that she wasn't the one he wanted to see. It was Noin that he had been waiting for, Noin that he wanted to talk to. Noin, Noin, Noin.

"How are you feeling?" she said softly, swallowing her own jealousy. There was no point in bringing it up to him now. It wouldn't mend things between them, and their relationship was already strained as it was.

"Better," he said. There were lines around his eyes and his face was haggard. He looked very old. A pause. "How are you?"

She shrugged. "As always. I'm trying to keep things running, but-"

"But?" he prodded, opening his eyes fully and looking at her through the thick curtain of golden bangs that had become forever entwined in her mind with memories of him. Even when he had cut his hair, the bangs remained.

"Never mind," she said.

He moved one arm out from under the covers. "Come on, Dorothy. Something's bothering you. I want to know."

"No you don't," she said shortly. "It's all right."

"Look, I want to listen. You're my second in command. I need you to be focused on the mission."

"Oh, is that it?" she bit out. "Focused on the mission. That's all. I see."

"Dorothy-"

She flung her arms over her head in a dramatic gesture of despair. "Why do you bother talking to me? I know you don't think much of me anyway. You don't have to pretend, all right?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Dorothy."

"Well," she spat, "maybe you should ask Noin!"

There was a stunned silence. When he spoke, his voice was hard. "I don't see how Noin has anything to do with this."

"Oh, you don't do you? Noin's your little protégé, isn't she? She can do no wrong. I know how you feel. Fine. Just spit it out to me. Don't lie to me. I'm sick of your lies, Milliard, sick of them!"

He pushed himself up on the bed. He was angry. He didn't have the angry look in his face, but she could tell. Beneath the bandages on his chest, his heart was beating fast. "When have I ever lied to you? Dorothy, I gave you this opportunity. I chose you to come with me."

"And that makes me special, I suppose," she sneered. "To be picked by you. I suppose I should grovel at your feet and worship you because out of the billions of people on this God-forsaken earth, you chose me to come with you!"

"You were the one who accepted!"

"Well, I was wrong, all right? Maybe I expected more out of this. Maybe I didn't expect to come on this operation and be treated like a second class enlisted member who can't even tie her own shoe. I'm an officer. I'm your second in command. I expect to be treated according to my rank. That's what I deserve."

"I've never treated you-"

Her hands twitched and she barely refrained from bringing up one hand and slapping him in the face, hearing that satisfying smack. "Oh, lie to me some more, Milliard. That's right. Lie to me! Lie to me as you sit here and try to convince me that I mean something while your little bitch Lucrezia Noin is fucking taking away everything that meant anything to me here!"

There was a horrible feeling bubbling up in her stomach as the words tumbled out of her mouth, but it was too late now to take them back, and as she saw the hurt in his eyes, she realized she had wounded him deeper than she had ever wanted to.

He didn't speak.

She curled her sweating palms to the side of her pants, rubbing them up and down the scratchy material. For one brief, insane moment, she envisioned her silk evening gown and silk gloves, imagined bringing one gloved hand down to her side and touching the gleaming material with one long finger. And then the image vanished and Milliard's eyes were staring at her, expressionless now.

"I wanted to fix things, Dorothy," he said. "I really did."

"Milliard-" she began desperately, hoping in some way to beg his forgiveness, but his sharp voice cut into her plea like a sword.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I believe our time together is over."

His voice was cold. Final.

"Milliard," she said, her voice cracking. "Milliard I didn't-"

"Get out."

"Milliard-"

"Get OUT!" he roared, lunging out of the bed at her, and she could see the burning fury in his features now. She stared at him, fear trickling down her spine. She had never seen him angry before. This was not Milliard Peacecraft. 

This was Zechs Merquise.

"Fine," she said quietly, backing away from the cot, putting a safe distance between him and her. Trying to keep her voice from quavering. "Fine. I'm leaving. I'm going to the nearest town. I'm taking the next transport for Earth. And I'm not coming back."

She didn't wait for his reply. She didn't want to. The air was cold and wet and she half ran, half stumbled out of the tent, not watching where she was going, not caring. She was crying, she realized. Dorothy Catalonia did not cry. She was not a weakling. Lucrezia Noin cried. Relena Peacecraft cried. She was stronger than then, better than them.

She had been stupid. She hadn't wanted to say that. She didn't like Noin, but there was a certain line of propriety that she had always been careful never to cross…but today somehow she had. And it had cost her a career.

A career, and a friend.

The look on Milliard's face, the completely horrified expression of disbelief and shame, of utter betrayal, loomed in her mind like the haunting figure of a ghost, his eyes burning into her. 

_I'm sorry. I believe our time together is over._

How could he say that, after-? After all they'd been through together? How could he simply desert her for Noin? In the blink of an eye. Dorothy Catalonia was not a woman. She was just a silly girl, irreponsible, easily replaceable.

She was just a toy soldier.

The wind picked up, blowing her hair into her eyes and she stumbled, fell, tripping over a loose rock. There was a flash of pain as her knee hit the ground but she didn't care, laying where she had fallen, staring up at the sky.

"It's going to rain," she whispered. The tears ran from the corner of her eyes down to the insides of her ears. She could feel the heat stream down her cheeks, hear the quiet ticks of water drip to the already wet ground.

She could take a mobile suit. Right now. Right there. Milliard would never know. She could leave the camp, go to the nearest town and hide the mobile suit, buy a shuttle ticket, and be home in a day. It was that simple. That easy.

It was that hard.

  


* * *

  
**Scene III: Always Two Steps Behind**

  


_"Sometimes, I feel the fear of uncertainty stinging clear  
And I can't help but ask myself  
How much I'll let the fear take the wheel and steer  
It's driven me before, and it seems to have a vague  
Haunting mass appeal."  
--Incubus, Drive_

  
Fatima bint Narish.

She was a woman whom Une had never liked. To put it frankly, Une considered her a world-class bitch. She knew that Fatima shared a similar opinion of her, but it really didn't concern her.

The two women -both among the most powerful people in the world- had met before, and it was a case of instant dislike. Both recognized that the other was a force to be reckoned with, and had declared an unspoken truce. Neither messed with the other, and life went on, just peachy dandy.

Until now.

Fatima had crossed that unseen line and ventured onto Une's turf, and Une would be damned if she was going to let her get away with it. Heads would roll, blood would be spilt, but whatever it took, Une fully intended on reminding Fatima -and everyone else- exactly what it was a bad idea to cross the woman who had been Treize's second in command.

She had selected Carrington to lean on the World Nation for one simple reason: she was a ball-breaker with the tenacity of a pit bull. Carrington was a career officer, and knew her stuff. Still, she had the brusque manner of one who had clawed her way up through sheer efficiency, one who saw little point in the niceties that most people took for granted. If she hadn't been so damn good at what she did, she never would have earned her commission.

Une sighed as she prepared to call her. Carrington wasn't a pleasant person to deal with on a good day, and Une certainly wasn't having one of those. The screen flicked on, and Une was treated to the sight of a woman in her mid-forties glaring back at her. "This had better be- oh, it's you."

Not many people would dare take such an exasperated tone with their superiors; fewer still were the ones who would take it with General Une. Carrington, though, didn't give it a second thought. Everything about her said that she didn't give a damn what others thought. Her hair looked like it had been hacked at randomly with a pair of scissors, her uniform had seen better days, and she'd tell you exactly what she thought of the situation. Her forthright manner was refreshing in a way. Une always appreciated it AFTER she was done dealing with her.

"Yes, Carrington. I need to know how you're doing on the Winner situation."

Carrington gave her a glare. "I'm on it. The answer hasn't changed since I submitted my report ten minutes ago."

Une shut her eyes, feeling like she was dealing with a bratty three year old. "Carrington, this is a bureaucracy. I'm not going to see your report for another two hours- it has to go through channels."

Carrington sighed. "Quite simply, Winner's arrest was illegal. His people should be able to spring him in a few hours- then WE arrest him. The World Nation doesn't have the authority to arrest people, but we do. I've selected some people who I think you should send- it's General Po's call, but the names are on your list. You could override her if it comes down to it."

"The last thing I need to do right now is alienate Sally by stepping on her toes. If you chose the right people -I'm sure you did- she'll most likely okay it as long as they aren't on assignment somewhere vital."

Carrington nodded. "I also included my own take on the situation. I know it wasn't asked for, but I think it might be useful to you."

"Oh?" 

"Winner's crimes, if they were crimes, took place before the founding of the World Nation. According to international law, he can't be found guilty under the Constitution, since it didn't exist when he destroyed those colonies. The only ones who MIGHT have the jurisdiction to prosecute is the L4 colony cluster, and we both know that the boy practically owns them. It'll be a lengthy legal process, but he should get away clean. No one is going to be able to make any of the charges stick."

Une's smile lit her tired face. "Carrington, I could kiss you. That's the first bit of good news I've had in ages. Did you run that by our lawyers, see if they agreed?"

"Ran it past Dallas, and he pretty much concurred. Thing is, bint Narish has to know that, too. She has her own legal experts. What I can't figure out is why she's doing this."

"I can," Une said darkly, her good mood destroyed. She hated politics. "Keep on the case, Carrington, until I tell you otherwise."

"Yes. ma'am." The vid screen flicked off.

Une rolled her eyes. Carrington had been remarkably polite, for Carrington.

"She's stalling," she murmured to the empty room, then walked towards her private washroom to get a drink. She hadn't been eating well, and had taken her belt in a notch. With a sigh she turned off the lights, fumbling around in the darkness. She didn't want to see herself in the mirror; she was positive she looked like a wreck, and certainly nowhere near the image of competency she wanted to project.

She splashed water onto her face, then retreated back to her office, trying to plan her next step. _Quatre is out of my hands at the moment,_ she thought. _I need to concentrate on the other pilots, see what I can do for them._

She keyed up Li's latest report on screen and frowned. There had been no signs of either Yuy or Chang, and Maxwell had practically vanished into thin air. Catherine had no clue where Barton had gone to, though Li reported there had been periodic sightings of the enigmatic young man across Europe, Asia, and the northern most parts of Africa. Trowa was either on the run or planning something, and Une was willing to wager that it was the second. 

She bit her lip, wondering how the hell they all managed to hide so well. Surely by now they would have slipped up! The rewards offered for information on their whereabouts were fantastic, and the entire world was looking for them! Tabloids, serious news sources, governments, vigilantes- everyone wanted their piece. Too bad there wasn't enough to go around.

Her screen flashed, beeping to signal that there was an incoming message. "Yes?" she asked.

Gils-Reve sounded slightly shaken. "Incoming transmission from A007. It's Major Noin."

She was on her feet in an instant, slamming her hands onto the flat surface of her desk. "WHAT?"

"Major Noin," Gils-Reve said. He looked stunned. "General, I-"

"I thought she was dead," Une whispered, not knowing whether she should laugh or cry, trying as best as she could to keep the warring emotions from her face. "I thought-"

Gils-Reve's expression was troubled, and his voice was hesitant when he spoke. "Should I-"

"Patch it through!" she ordered, clasping her hands together to keep them from shaking. Gils-Reve's face disappeared, leaving a blank screen and a blinking status bar that took entirely too long to load. 

A flicker, and a familiar face. The first thing that flashed through Une's mind was that Noin had lost weight. Her hair was a touch too long, and her uniform had seen better days, but aside from that, she looked exactly as Une had remembered her, aside from faint lines around her eyes. "Major Lucrezia Noin reports."

Une swallowed, unable to speak for a moment, feeling a wave of dizzy relief pass over her, then leaned towards the screen, unable to keep the tension from her voice. "Noin, can the formalities. Where in blazes have you been?"

Noin actually managed to smile. "Sorry to make you worry. I'm fine."

"FINE? Radio communication cut off for months, and you're FINE?"

"I was captured by the A007 military in a raid...my fault, really." Noin shrugged. "Doesn't really matter now. Dorothy told me that everyone assumed I was dead; I'm rather surprised, since I thought Commander Morgan would have tried to use me as a bargaining chip."

"Commander Morgan?"

"My kind…host while I was in captivity." Noin's voice was bitter.

Une's eyes widened. "My Lord, Noin, are you all right? Did they…" she couldn't bring herself to say the words.

Noin shook her head. "As I said, I'm fine. He threatened torture, but as I thought, didn't have the guts to actually carry it out." She snorted. "Spineless, all of them."

Despite her brave words, Une didn't have to be a mindreader to pick up the uneasiness in Noin's voice when she spoke of Morgan, or her captivity on A007. Even if anything had happened, Noin wouldn't tell her. She was a fighter, like all of them, but fighting was the last thing that would help her right now. "Noin, if anything happened to you, I need to know."

"Nothing happened." Noin smiled. Her eyes were honest. "Seriously. They didn't do anything to me. The base, or whatever it was, apparently wasn't equipped with anything remotely resembling a cell, so they stuck me in some guest room. It wasn't bad. I had my privacy."

'If you say so," Une said, still unconvinced, but it didn't matter right now. "I'm…I'm glad to see you, Noin."

"I am too," Noin said. Her smile broadened, and she looked surprised. "Damn. That's the first time I've smiled in…ages."

"How's your situation? I'm assuming you're reporting for Milliard as well?"

A nod. "We're a bit on the low morale side, but everything seems all right so far. Zec-Milliard was injured in the last battle-"

"INJURED?"

"Relax," Noin soothed. "He's all right. A few broken ribs, but he's doing better. I'm handling a lot of the work right now while he recovers, but according to the medic, he'll be out of bed in a few more days." She laughed. "I'm hoping they're right."

Une shook her head, trying to sort out strategies in her head, discarding one after the other. "I need to know…no, what I really need to know is, how far are we from capturing their main base? Or, how far are they from catching up to you?"

Noin didn't respond for a few seconds, thinking. "I believe…we're at a stalemate. You know we have some of their mobile suits, but capturing a few mobile suits doesn't mean that they've stopped producing them. I think there have been some new factories set up that our light map doesn't show."

"So…?" Une prodded.

"I don't think either of us is winning. I don't know what's going on. Zechs - Milliard - would be the one you need to ask, but he can't come to the vid right now, obviously."

"Can I ask you an opinion on something?"

"Sure," Noin said. She looked wary.

Une chewed her lip, trying to think of how to phrase the question. "Do you think…what do you think the A007 military is trying to get out of this?"

"Good question. I don't know. I was hoping you might."

Une heaved a sigh. "If our presence there is going to complicate things, I'd rather we just pull out. I don't know why the A007 military is acting the way it is, but it looks like we're not going to get any more information than we already have, and-"

"There's someone I'd like you to meet," Noin said suddenly, and before Une could ask her what was so important as to interrupt her sentence, Noin's face was gone and a man's face appeared in front of her, older, serious, very familiar.

"I know you!" she gasped. "You're-"

The man bowed slightly. "Dermand Etille, at your service. I was fortunate enough to have escaped from the A007 base with Major Noin. I'm glad to see that you Preventers have not neglected the old OZ training."

"Thank…you," she said warily. Dermand Etille had been one of the famous names at the Academy, one of the people every cadet was required to hear about in the boring lectures given by the professor of military history. It was a good thing she had paid attention in class.

"I heard you asking Noin about the motives of the A007 military. I believe though I can't answer that question, at least I can speculate, being a former member of that military."

Une blinked. "Really," she managed.

He nodded solemnly. "Really. I don't know what their goals are, but I am of the opinion that the A007 military uprising is not a single, isolated cause."

"Meaning," Une said carefully, "that someone provoked them?"

"Or that someone or something larger is behind them. People like Commander Morgan are young, idealistic officers. Fortunately or unfortunately, people like him are all that the A007 military has got at the top of their chain of command."

"So you're thinking that they're being influenced…bribed?"

"They might be. Again, I have no proof."

"What did you used to-" she began, but Etille cut her off.

"The floor is Major Noin's. I thank you for listening." And he was gone.

"Damn," she swore, and Noin's face was apologetic.

"That's all I could get out of him too. I don't think he wants to talk about what he used to do."

Une sighed. "I can't say I can let it go, but I can say I know how it feels. If I had a little more information, I could probably do a lot more for you over there. Unfortunately, our resources are stretched woefully thin, and then there's the pilot situation."

"Zechs told me," Noin said. "About that newspaper reporter."

Une nodded. "It's getting steadily worse. Quatre's been arrested."

"WHAT?" Noin demanded. "When?"

"About a day or so ago. Long story, but the short version is, he's probably going to be tried. It's bad, Noin, it's bad. Duo's gone missing as well…you know that he was at that school in the US. Cliffside? There was a riot…"

"He wasn't injured, was he?" Noin sounded alarmed.

"He's fine, but gone from Cliffside. Left that day right after the riots, I believe."

"He's probably hiding."

"Most likely. I have no clue where the rest of them are. Disappeared off the face of the earth."

"I go away for a month and it all goes to hell," Noin murmured. "Well, the best I can tell you is that we're trying our best over here…but in all honesty, I don't think we're going to be able to do much good."

"When you think you've done enough," Une said, "I'll pull you out of there. Just give me the word. I'm about to give the World Nation the finger on this matter and tell them to go screw themselves." She snorted at the surprised look Noin gave her at her crude language. "It's ridiculous to waste our resources on a backwater colony revolt when there are more pressing matters we need to deal with here."

"But what if Etille-"

"Even if he's right," Une said firmly, "I can't afford to be jumping at shadows. There's no time, Noin. You can understand that, right?"

Noin nodded and there was sympathy in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'd give anything to be there, to be helping you and the pilots…"

"I know. As I said, I'll pull you out of there if it gets any worse."

"Thanks," Noin said. "I have to go…there's work waiting."

"I'm glad to see you again," Une said, trying to smile. It was hard. "Give my regards to Milliard and Dorothy."

Noin nodded, saluting, then flickered off the screen. The room was silent, the hum of the air conditioning kicking in with a loud bang through the walls.

"Oh, it's gone to hell, Noin," she said, leaning back in her chair and trying to stretch tired muscles. She need another cup of coffee. She needed more headache medicine. She needed the world to go away and let her enjoy a long, deserved rest. "It's gone to hell…the problem is now figuring how we can get it back."

  


* * *

  
**Scene IV: Lament for Innocence Lost**

  


_"Don't ask no questions, it goes on without you,  
Leaving you behind if you can't stand the pace.  
The world keeps on spinning;  
You can't stop it, if you try to."  
--Des'ree, You Gotta Be_

Atsuki had forgotten what life with the family had been like.

Or perhaps she hadn't let herself remember. Everywhere there was splendor and the understated elegance that practically screamed MONEY! to her street-wise eyes. Carpets that would have kept her fed in the Breaks for months had she pawned them to the right person, priceless paintings that would have most of her old crowd drooling at the sight of them, rare, custom-made furniture found nowhere else in the world or the colonies. Even the bottle of shampoo she was using cost over ten thousand yen. She tried hard not to think of the girls she had left behind, knowing that, more likely then not, they would all be dead within a few years.

Life expectancy for a prostitute in the Breaks was short. Though all of them were careful as they could be, there was a limit to how careful a whore could be and still make enough money to survive. So they took risks. They had to. And a girl would almost invariably slip up and a perv would beat her to death, or do something even worse to get off. Atsuki had seen what had been left after one such incident. She had thought herself hardened to the reality of life, but the very memory still turned her stomach. 

Still, she was free. She realized now how foolish she had been to turn away from her family, especially after seeing Jaffa's heartfelt relief. But that was because Jaffa thought she was getting her sister Lilah back. 

Atsuki almost felt sorry for her. Lilah was dead, as dead as the autumn leaves. All that was left was a broken woman, a woman who didn't believe in happily-ever-afters.

No, she was lying to herself. Somewhere, deep inside, she must have stilled harbored the faint hope for a happily ever after. Jaffa was right; there always was hope. At least, for those with money.

She looked at the clothes the servant had laid out for her. None of the clothes she had left behind would have fit anymore, and one of the Winner Women wasn't about to be seen wearing the grubby outfit of a street prostitute. The clothes she had arrived with had been whisked away, probably to the nearest dumpster. Since the Maguanac compound, despite being stocked with many of Quatre's belongings, didn't have a large selection of woman's clothing, Reeshya was loaning her some.

Reeshya was a good four inches taller then she, and more curvaceous to boot. The long dress didn't fit right, and the shawl was awkward. When she had been Lilah, she had rarely worn the more traditional Arabian garments some of the sisters, like Reeshya, favored. It was hard to remember how everything should hang, and she'd found the veils too annoying to bother with. Part of her felt like making adjustments, but she couldn't do that to her sister's clothes.

The fine silk caught on her rough hands as she slipped it over her emaciated frame. She had to tie a scarf around her waist to take in some of the slack and keep it from dragging on the floor.

She heard laughter from behind her, and spun around. She didn't like having anyone at her back; like a war veteran, she wanted to keep her eyes focused on what was going on around her.

The again, she WAS a war veteran. She had survived the Breaks.

Reeshya walked in, wearing similar clothing in a deep maroon. She looked graceful and every inch the lady, something that made Atsuki want to cringe.

"Neesan!" she said joyfully, and all of the sudden Atsuki found her arms full, her younger sister clinging to her like a little leech. "I missed you so much!"

"I'm sure," Atsuki said, uncomfortable. Scorn she would have been able to handle, but she wasn't sure how to deal with affection. 

Reeshya looked at her, eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" she whispered.

"What?" 

"You're not Lilah," Reeshya said. The Arabian woman picked up her older sister's hand and entwined their fingers together. "You don't feel right."

It came to Atsuki then. It was another thing she had forgotten, the _kokoro no uchuu_. Only a few of the Winners had it, and she hadn't been one. The second sight, some would have called it. Knowing the heart of others, feeling their pain and happiness with them. Reeshya had it, apparently. She hadn't remembered. "I thought only Quatre, Talat and Qamar had the family legacy."

Reeshya's dark eyes locked on her older sister's. "They are the strongest, but about half of us have it to some extent. Don't skirt the issue, though. You don't feel like Lilah."

Atsuki winced. "That's because I'm not her. Only the shell remains."

Reeshya's fingers tightened, and Atsuki was surprised at how warm they had gotten. "What are you talking about?"

She hadn't told Jaffa. She had intended on not bringing up the past. She could lie to Jaffa, she could lie to herself, but she couldn't lie to Reeshya, for Reeshya would know she was lying. "My name is Atsuki."

"Atsuki? That's Japanese!" Reeshya said, sounding offended. The Winners had always been proud of their Arabian origins.

"So? I lived in the Breaks. Having a Japanese name was safer."

Reeshya paled. "The Breaks? What the Hell were you doing there?"

"Making a living."

Reeshya jerked away as though burned. Empaths were touch-sensitive, and the rolling waves of emotions her older sister was projecting made her feel sick to her stomach. "What did you do that was so horrible that it makes you hate yourself so much?"

She was so innocent, Atsuki realized. Reeshya, Jaffa, her sisters...they were all so innocent still. Even if they lived for a thousand years, even if they lived forever, none of them would ever experience the aching rawness, the harshness of life that she had lived while in the Breaks.

This - these clothes, these riches, this house, these lands - this was not life. This was merely a glittering reflection, an illusion, a play-stage on which those who believed in their innate superiority acted out their little fantasies, living and dying without even once experiencing reality.

She had been like that once.

For a moment she considered sparing Reeshya the harsh details, but if she couldn't tell her sisters, then who could she tell? "The question is, what DIDN'T I do?" Her lip twisted as she spoke her next words. "I was a whore. I slept with men -and a few women, for that matter- for money. I did drugs, I dealt them, and I even was a go-between for some of the assassins in Bourei no Basho. The only think I didn't do was kill anyone, and that was because I was too weak." She ignored the shocked look on her sister's face, pushing on relentlessly. "I'm not the sister you remember, Reeshya. I'm a slut and an junkie and I'll offer my services to the highest bidder. Can you handle that?"

"Neesan..."

Reeshya's voice was soft, sad, and for some reason that made her feel even angrier. Sympathy was one of the things she hated most. "Why am I even telling you this? You have no idea what my life was like!"

"Why don't you tell me?"

"Because you'd never understand."

Reeshya blinked and pressed her hands against her heart. "It hurts..." she whispered. Then she shook her head. "I'm sorry...Quatre is on the vid. He's talking to Jaffa right now, but if you hurry, you can at least say hello."

Atsuki nodded, and followed Reeshya out of the room. The conversation was over...for now.

Reeshya led her through a winding labyrinth of corridors, and all too soon she found herself outside of an office. "Go on in. I'll wait for you out here."

Jaffa was seated in one of the stuffed chairs behind a desk, listening to the young blonde man who was speaking on the vid. Atsuki walked forward, almost in a trance.

"Quatre?" she said, looking at him, and feeling her heart break. She had missed seven years of his life, seven years during which time had made him into a man. His eyes didn't shine with the same innocence anymore, but then again, neither did hers. Time was cruel.

He blinked once, and she could see he recognized her on sight, something that Jaffa, the sister who kept track of them all, hadn't been able to do. "Lilah?" he said, his face shocked. "You're.... alive?" His voice was full of disbelief, but then a smile dawned on his face that made her feel amazingly guilty. "It's so good to see you," he said, and she could practically feel the goodwill he was broadcasting. 

Not that she could. She wasn't one of the family with the extra sense. She used to be desperately jealous, but ever since becoming Atsuki, she had been glad of it. She would have committed suicide a hundred times over had she been able to feel the misery of the Breaks' residents. "I came back," she said, feeling the tears start in her eyes again. She'd spent so much time crying that she was amazed that her eyes hadn't dried to dust. "I came back," she whispered, remembering a late evening conversation so long ago, when both of them were innocent.

"Neechan...." he whispered. "You came back. I knew you would, I guess," he said, smiling. "Are you okay?"

It would have been easy to shrug him off with the 'I'm fine' most people would have expected. It was what people said after a long time apart. But she had had too much of lies- she wouldn't lie anymore. Not to him, not to herself. "No. But I think I will be."

His smile showed that he understood, that he was grateful for her honesty. "I can't talk to you for long, Lilah. I need to talk to Yaminah about my defense." He lowered his eyes, and she was struck by how much they looked alike. Looking at Quatre was like seeing how she would have been, had she been born male.

"It's okay," she reassured him. "It's just- nice to talk to you. I missed you."

She was surprised that that was the truth. Of all her family, he was the one she had missed most, the only one she had let herself worry about. She had always wondered if he would be able to escape their father's tyranny. Quatre had been the perfect son, and she had never been able to imagine him finding it within himself to rebel. 

And yet he, her own little brother, had become a Gundam pilot.

Yet another case of her lousy perception of people. If Quatre, one of those she knew best, had it within him to do something so drastically different then her pre-conceived notion of him, then who else had she misjudged?

She watched him kiss the fingertips of his right hand and press them to the screen. Without a thought, she echoed his movements, remembering how their father had done the same when they had been younger. "I can't be with you right now, my children, but here's a kiss you can keep until I see you again." Their father hadn't been a bad man; just controlling. They had loved him.

Yaminah gently touched her shoulder. "I need to talk to him now, love," she said. 

Atsuki nodded and rose to her feet, leaving the room without a backward glance.

  



	22. Scattering What's Left of the Light

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING **

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT VI, PART II 

**Yuuki to jounetsu ni sarawaretara  
Ichido ni suki ni naachau tokimeichau **

Omoitoori egaku yume naraba  
Omoitoori ni naru  
Daiji na mono wo mitsuketa nara  
Kakedashite iku dake  
Joy to my life  


**If I am touched by courage and passion  
At once I'll fall in love **

If it's a dream I'll paint it as I wish  
It will come true just like that  
If I find something precious  
I'll simply start running  
Joy to my life  


**--Gundam Wing, _Joy to My Life_  
[Dorothy Catalonia image song]**  


  
  
**Scene V: A Thousand Tales of Sorrow**

  


_"Douka kono inori o hane no nai  
Tenshi ga afureteru jidai de."  
_
_[I beg you, hear my prayer]  
[in an era full of wingless angels]  
_
_--Hamasaki Ayumi, Endless Sorrow_  


  
He awoke shivering. 

The cold dark-lightness of pre-dawn seeped in through the slats of the motel window blinds and he turned on his stomach, trying to open his eyes fully and failing. It was humid in the room, and he could feel the worn blankets of the bed twirled about his ankles, where he had probably kicked them off during the night. 

He hadn't been sleeping well the past few nights, but he had done his best to ignore it, because he had always been able to sleep through anything. It was probably anxiety, he told himself. Or maybe change of surroundings. Or a thousand other excuses that he ran over in his head when he was awake, to keep himself from admitting that the real problem was none of those. 

He had been a drug addict for two years, and his system was craving substances which he now had no ability to acquire. 

Oh, sure, he had gone without the drugs for days, even a week, once, when he was in the middle of a mission and couldn't feed his addiction. But that wasn't the problem now. 

On the other bed across the room, a figure sighed, turning on the bed before settling back down to sleep. He sat up, brushing the hair back from his face with an unsteady hand, tucking the long strands behind his ears and reaching for the leather band sitting on the nightstand next to him. His fingers shook and black spots swam in front of his eyes, but he managed to fasten the band around the mess of tangled hair. Pushing himself back up against the rusted metal headboard, he glanced over at the other sleeper. 

Wufei had asked him to come along like there had never been anything wrong between them. _I'm going to win the war_, he said. _We're going to Geneva. To the Preventers_. He'd tried to object. It was natural, that the one-time assassin would not want to join forces with his one-time target, but then he and Wufei were not the average assassin and target. 

_What can the Preventers do?_

_They can help us._ As if there had always been an us. 

He didn't remember much about Lady Une, only that she had been an enemy, an ally of Treize Khushrenada. Treize had been a great man. That he remembered. Wufei had killed him…in that last battle. Before everything had ended. Before Zechs had tried to kill him. 

Zechs Merquise, a man with long golden hair and bright blue eyes and a sense of tragic justice almost as painful as the thousands of people who had died because of him. Almost as painful as the billions of people who would have died if he - Heero Yuy - had not been there to stop him. 

Wufei called him Heero, still, but sometimes he still couldn't imagine that he and Heero Yuy had ever been the same person. 

It made his head ache if he tried to remember too much at once, and the dull ache lingered long after he had given up trying to dig up anything else about his past. Until he had surrendered to his own consciousness that it wasn't just the remembering that brought on the headaches. 

Wufei didn't really notice the sweating, because it was hot and humid in China and even stepping outside for a brief moment made water condense on the skin like dew. The redness around his eyes could be explained by lack of sleep, and the trembling of his muscles wasn't too visible yet. And Wufei knew about his drug habit, if worse came to worse. 

The old Heero Yuy would have shrugged it off and borne the tide. Perhaps the old Heero Yuy wouldn't have had any withdrawal symptoms at all. Or maybe the old Heero Yuy wouldn't have been stupid enough to swallow the brightly colored pills and shoot the needles into his arm anyway. 

But that was ridiculous, because it had been a choice. An easy way for him to forget, and he had taken it without question. The old Heero Yuy had done it, and he was suffering the consequences. 

Darkflight had come along with them, though he could see the dislike in the other boy's eyes whenever he so much as glanced at Wufei. It had been rather necessary that Darkflight come with them, since Wufei's face was plastered all over the newspapers and televisions of China, and he himself didn't want to take the chance of someone recognizing Heero Yuy even under the long hair and the scar. So it was Darkflight who checked in to the cheap motel, Darkflight who bought the shuttle passes, Darkflight who supplied them with food. They had rented a private shuttle, since it was the only sensible way to travel without being recognized, and Darkflight had put down the down payment on the craft with Wufei's money. By the time the shuttle owners realized that they weren't actually going to return the shuttle, the three of them would be well out of China. 

Other than that, Darkflight had not been around at all. Conversation between them was awkward, and at times he wondered if Darkflight even wanted to talk to him at all. He was uncomfortable around Wufei, and even the cheap motel was fancier than anything he had slept in in two years. It wasn't that he was not grateful to Wufei for his generosity…but he didn't belong here. He was a killer and a drug addict and one of the dregs of society, and he belonged back in the Breaks. 

The Preventers and the World Nation were looking for Heero Yuy. He was not Heero Yuy. 

_You don't have to come with us if you don't want to,_ he had said to Darkflight. 

_What choice do I have? _

You could go…back to the Breaks. He stopped, thinking. _Back home. This isn't your mission anymore. _

And leave you here? 

What else could you do? 

He knew Darkflight was angry, but when his partner turned to face him, he was surprised to see the hurt brimming above the anger. _Damn it, Wing. You've been my partner for two years, and now you're ditching me for some other guy? You think I'm going to take that? _

Wufei was my partner long before you were. 

Well, he's not anymore! You're not that pilot anymore! You don't belong here…you belong with us, with me, back where we came from. Stop shitting yourself, Wing. 

I'm sorry, he said. _I can't just…leave him. _

And I can't just leave you. So I'm going. And if you try to stop me, I'll kill you. 

Darkflight was what he had been two years ago, lost, confused, needing to forget. But there was only so much he could forget before it would come back to haunt him. Darkflight called him Wing and Wufei called him Heero, and somehow, some way, Wing and Heero had to meet, to come to terms with one another. That was what he was. Torn, adrift. 

He wanted the drugs. He _needed_ the drugs. 

He remembered Relena now. She had come up in a conversation between him and Wufei last night, just before they settled down to sleep, her name appearing in one of Wufei's cautious topic starters. He had already learned to recognize the tone of voice that the Chinese boy used when they were talking about something that he should know but Wufei wasn't sure if he remembered or not. The name sparked a flash of memory, of a voice. Of resolve. 

And then Atsuki's face would flash into his mind every time he tried to think further, and he would stop. Relena. Atsuki. Atsuki was not Relena. Atsuki was… 

Relena had loved him. Atsuki had not. At least, he didn't think so. 

He was pretty sure he had been shivering just a few minutes ago, but suddenly he felt hot, suffocating in the small crampness of the room, and he needed to get out. His muscles were shaking so badly he could barely get out of bed, and he fumbled to put on a pair of the worn slippers that Wufei had loaned him. Walked unsteadily to the door, managed to turn the knob quietly as to not wake the other boy. 

The door led outside to a small balcony and a rickety set of stairs. The air was cool and there was a slight breeze, but he still felt hot. He put a hand to his forehead. It was burning. He took a few steps towards the stairs, grasping the railing to steady himself. Every hesitant footstep made the stairs squeak, and to his fevered ears, each squeak sounded like a clap of thunder. 

He spoke enough Chinese to read the blinking neon signs along the street and to know that this was not a good part of town. It was heaven compared to the slums that he had called home for two years. But at the same time, it was hell enough that he knew all he had to do was hand over some cash before his feverish cravings would be satisfied. 

No matter where one went, there were some aspects of human nature that never changed. 

Getting the needle took longer than he expected, and by the time he was standing out on the street again, the sun was rising on the far horizon. He'd given himself one injection and it was a little better now. But his hands were still shaking and the road wavered in front of him and he needed the paradise that was in that one jab of the needle. Needed to stop and curl up in some forgotten alley somewhere and give himself injection after injection until the needle was empty and then curl up and sleep until the night came. 

But Wufei was an early riser, and if he woke to see the other bed empty, there would be questions. 

He had to get back. 

At a half-run, half-walk, he made it to the motel, climbed up the rickety stairs. He'd left the door unlocked, and he peered through the half-opening to see the figure of the other boy still asleep on the bed. It was all right, then. He would give himself another shot. Just one more. 

Shivering fingers clamped on the needle and as the metal tube gave its orgasmic hiss, he heard the door squeak open. 

"What are you doing?" 

A thousand possibilities flashed through his mind. He wanted to lie, but the needle was in his hand. He could brush the question off and ignore it. He could say that it wasn't any of anyone else's business. That he wasn't Heero Yuy, the boy that had saved the world two years ago. 

But it wasn't that easy. 

The day of accounting, it seemed, was here. 

"I'm keeping myself alive," he said. 

For a long moment there was silence behind him, as he finished injecting the rest of the drug into his vein, pulled the needle out, cleaned it with the edge of his shirt. He turned around. The look in Wufei's eyes was unreadable. 

"You're up early," the Chinese boy said at last. 

He gestured to the needle emotionlessly. "I couldn't sleep." 

Wufei didn't reply for another long moment, and when his lips finally moved, a flash of the hurt that had been hiding behind those inscrutable eyes shone through. Just for a moment. 

"Why?" 

That was another one of those questions that had a thousand possible answers, but instead he just laughed. "Why? Of all the things you could say…you ask why?" 

"I don't understand," Wufei said. "I don't…I thought you were going to put that behind you, Heero. I thought-" 

He felt something stir inside him before the rest of the words were out of Wufei's mouth, and he flung his arm in a wide arc. The needle flew from his hand in a sparkling line of rusted silver lit by the rising sun, skittered on the metal of the rickety balcony, bounced down two of the stairs, and then tumbled through the gap towards the ground. 

"What don't you understand? I'm sorry for not being the person you thought I was, but face it, Wufei, I'm not. I'm not Heero Yuy. I'm not your goddamn fucking noble Gundam pilot! All right? Get that through your head!" 

If his words made any impact on Wufei, the other boy didn't show it. "We were never noble, Heero, Anything but that." 

"I'm not Heero," he grated. "Don't call me that." 

"Yes you are." 

"No, I'm NOT!" One fist bunched at his side, his instincts warning him that there was a situation here, and the habits of long practice telling him that the only way to get out of this situation was to fight. To hurt someone. To kill someone. Because he was an assassin. No matter where he was now, he had always been an assassin. 

"You can deny it all you want," Wufei said calmly. How did he remain so calm? "But even if you've given up on yourself, I won't give up on you." 

"Fuck you," he said through gritted teeth, forcing his hand to relax. "I don't have to listen to you. I don't have to come with you. You think you can make me do what you want?" 

"I'm not trying to manipulate you," Wufei said. 

"Damn fucking right you're not! If this isn't manipulation, then what is it?" He took a deep breath. Relax. Relax. He's not the enemy. Not yet. "You tell me. I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't belong here. Darkflight was right. I belong back in the Breaks…" he trailed off, suddenly at a loss for words. Feeling incredibly alone. 

"No you DON'T," Wufei shot back, in the same calm, cold intensity with which he had taken in the needle in his hand, all in one glance. Something clicked inside his mind and he realized suddenly why this felt odd. Wufei, standing there, conversing with him calmly about life and death. Wufei had been many things, but he had never been calm. Wufei was like…he was like Duo. In a way. He was impulsive and outspoken and always ready to prove everything wrong. 

Which was why it was pointless to keep the argument up any longer, because Wufei's eerie calmness was wearing at his nerves. How Wufei was supposed to be, how he remembered Wufei to be, the other boy was not. There was no point in trying to merge reality with the ghost of a memory. It was all wrong. 

"Look…Heero. Whatever you call yourself now, I know you're there. You're still there inside somewhere, and I'm going to bring you back. You can't give up on yourself like this." The earnestness in the other boy's voice was the earnestness that made him think of innocence, the kind of innocence that characterized children growing up in the slums of the Breaks. Most of them knew that they would never have enough to eat, would never find out who their parents really were, would never live to become adults. But still they were innocent, because they still believed in God. And Santa Claus and the taneki and true love. And miracles. 

Wufei believed in miracles, just like he had, once. When he had been very young, two years ago. 

"There's nothing to give up on," he said. Hoping that the questions could just stop. Sick of philosophizing, because no matter how noble the ideal, there were things that Wufei could never understand. And life in the Breaks was one of them. "Look, I threw the needle away. It's gone, all right? You win this time. Get lost." 

"I'm not giving up on you," Wufei said again. "You've got a life left to live…you have a cause. Whether you believe it or not. You're going to show the world that being one of the Gundam pilots was more than just being a murderer." 

He laughed, more like a wheeze. His lungs burned. He needed a cigarette. "Funny you mention that, because that's what I am now. How do you expect me to explain that?" 

Wufei's face darkened, and for a moment he could almost see the hands reaching for the sword that wasn't there. The remnants of the Lone Dragon that still lived inside the shadow of those eyes. Wufei looked very old, he realized. Old and tired. For the first time, he wondered if Wufei had been running too, from the demons of his past. 

"I'm not going to try to argue with you," Wufei said. "It's never worked, and it won't work now. But I won't stop looking after you. The world needs you, Heero." Emphasizing the name. "We need you." Swallowing, then finishing in a quiet voice, "I need you." 

"Why don't you leave me alone?" he said wearily, slamming his elbows on the thin metal railing and burying his chin in his hands. "Just…fucking….leave me alone." 

For a moment he thought Wufei would come up to him and touch him, and he instinctively shied away. But the other boy didn't move. 

"I'm trying to save you from yourself. Heero." 

The name hurt. It stung. He hadn't admitted it to himself now, but hearing that name reopened wounds deep inside of him that he had closed when he had renounced the persona of Heero Yuy. When he had become Wing, the memories faded. It was a like a scar, like the long, ugly scar on his face. He couldn't rid himself of the memories, but at least he could hope that they scarred. 

"There's nothing to save," he said. "Heero Yuy doesn't exist anymore." Turning to look Wufei square in the face, and though the thought of what he was going to say twisted something inside of him that might have been his heart, he did not waver. "Even if you look, he won't be there. I'm the only thing that's left." 

  


* * *

  
**SceneVI: The Princess and the Pauper**

  


_"Desperate for changing, starving for truth   
I'm closer to where I started, I'm chasing after you."  
--Lifehouse, Hanging By A Moment_

  
Catherine really had no clue who Lady Une wanted her to see. Perhaps it was a special investigator, who had been on the pilots' trail? Someone who would interrogate her for knowledge that was locked away deep in her subconscious? Whom could it be? she wondered time and again. 

Takamura took her to a luxurious guest room, and told her to get some sleep, for the General would summon Catherine at her earliest possible convenience. Then he gave her a salute, clicking his heels briefly, and left her alone. 

Catherine couldn't resist exploring her accommodations. As a member of a circus troupe, she had been used to her trailer. On rare occasions, she'd stayed in hotels, but never anything this nice. 

Her trailer could have fit into the bathroom with room to spare, and that wasn't even going to being to cover it. The bed was the largest she'd ever seen, and had at least six luxuriously plump pillows strewn of it with the carelessness that spoke of a dedicated maid. The windows were decorated with sweeping drapes of a crimson velvet so dark that it was almost purple. The art of the walls was sedate, yet tasteful, and she recognized that none of them were prints, but the genuine article. Overall, it gave her the feel of being a crow in a gilded cage. 

Why had she rated such a wonderful room? she wondered, as she kicked off her shoes and shimmied out of her powersuit. She wished she had more formal clothes then the one simple blue suit, but she really hadn't expected to need it. The best she could hope for was to hang it in the bathroom and hope that the steam from the shower would serve to keep it reasonably presentable. 

She pulled a hanger out of the closet and slipped her suit over it, then headed to the bathroom. She needed a shower even more then she needed sleep. 

The hot water did wonders for her sore muscles, and she found herself humming by the time she turned to the bed. She tied her hair back in a French braid to avoid an unpleasant mess when she woke up, and almost immediately fell asleep. 

  
A knock sounded on the door, and she rolled over. "Yes?" she called out. 

"May I come in?" a soft voice said with a distinct upper-class accent. 

Catherine blinked, wondering who had awakened her from her slumber. "Give me a moment, please," she said, scrambling to her feet. She raced to the bathroom and shrugged into the blue outfit, relieved that the steam had served to straighten it out reasonably. She didn't have time to put her stockings back on, but ran a quick brush through her hair, which had been messed from slumber. She winced a few times as the bristles caught on a tangle, but continued ruthlessly. 

It took her less then two minutes to become presentable, and she felt each second hang heavy on her shoulders. Whoever was outside was obviously someone of importance, and part of her wondered if they would wait. She scampered to the door and swung it open, hoping she didn't seem too out of breath. 

"May I come in?" the Queen of the World asked. Catherine's jaw dropped as she stepped aside to allow Relena Peacecraft to enter, trailed by two guards. Relena flashed her a weary smile. "I left Cinq without guards, so Une assigned me Abbott and Costello." 

"Abbott and Costello?" Catherine found herself echoing. 

"American cultural reference, about three hundred years out of date. Ignore it- I got addicted to the old 2D skits during the war. They were so.... removed from my problems." She frowned at the guards. "Would you be so kind as to leave me here? I'm sure Ms. Bloom poses no threat." 

"We'll be right outside," the taller guard said. 

"I'm sure you will," Relena replied in a dry voice. 

"Yell if you need us," the other said quickly, his hard tones threatening. He cast a suspicious look at Catherine, on that made her curl slightly in on herself. His dark eyes promised mayhem should anything happen to Relena Peacecraft. Then the two men left, and Catherine found herself alone with one of the most powerful people in the world. 

It was true that she had spoken to Une recently, and Une herself was no lightweight when it cam to power, but Relena was different. Trowa had spoken of Une, and he had an odd affection for her. Not so of Relena. 

The few times Trowa had been drawn into discussion of the current political situation, he had expressed his fervent belief that Relena was something more then human. A girl who had survived the death of her kingdom, only to help it rise again when she was barely fifteen. A girl many people believed to be the incarnation of peace. A girl in whom Heero Yuy himself had faith. 

As with Une, Catherine was surprised by Relena's physical appearance. She knew mentally she shouldn't be but Relena both impressed and disappointed her on sight. The girl was younger then she was expecting. and seemed to be almost fragile. Even though she had seen her numerous times on the newsfeeds, she hadn't been prepared for the reality- much like Une. Her golden hair was starting to suffer from split ends, and there were circles forming underneath her clear eyes. There was strength in her bearing, but also a bone-deep weariness that seemed to permeate her. 

Relena was human. It was a shock. 

"Can I sit down?" Relena asked politely, taking a sat in the middle of a comfortable chaise at Catherine's nod. "I know I should have waited for Une to introduce us, but to be honest, I have very little patience. I've been wanting to meet you for a while." 

"Meet me, your Majesty?" Catherine asked. 

Relena sighed. "I'll make you a deal- you can call me Relena if I can call you Catherine. And yes, I've been wanting to talk to you... since the middle of the war, actually." She looked down at the hands she had folded on her lap. 

"Why?" It was beyond comprehension that she, Catherine Bloom, could hold any interest to someone as influential as Relena. 

A faint blush stained the other girl's cheeks. "It's really rather complicated." 

"I don't know Heero that well," Catherine said bluntly. 

Relena's head jerked upwards in surprise. "What?" she whispered. 

"I only met him during the war and we hardly spoke. I haven't seen him since." 

"Why do you automatically assume I want Heero?" Relena asked, sighing. Was her infatuation with Heero _that_ famous? 

Catherine blushed, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks. "Um, I'm sorry if I offended, but Trowa always said that you were close to Heero, and..." 

Relena started to giggle. Trowa's sister was clearly embarrassed over her faux pas. "Actually, you have me pegged pretty well," Relena confessed. "I knew Heero quite well during the war. I'm trying to find him now, so I can help him..." she whispered, a wistful expression on her face, one that she quickly suppressed behind the polite political smile Catherine had seen her using during her public engagements. The smile made her look pretty, but her blue eyes were lacking anything except sorrow. 

Catherine knew how that felt. Relena had the eyes of a survivor. 

"None of them want to be found. Trowa left to protect me- I'm sure Heero did the same." 

Relena's smile faded. "Most likely. He was always like that." 

"They all were." 

"Did you know many of them?" 

"I met them all at some point or another. I'd hardly say I know all of them, but we're acquaintances." 

"You're luckier then most. I hardly remember Trowa or Wufei." She twisted her hands together. "From what I understand, Wufei spend much of the war on his own, and Trowa..." 

"He was with me." 

"I know." 

Both girls sat together in companionable silence. "So Trowa left?" Relena said finally. 

"He didn't even bother to day good-bye. I'm going to smack him when I see him." 

"That's assuming you ever see him again," Relena said gloomily. 

"Watch what you say!" Catherine snapped, then flushed as soon as she realized whom she had just yelled at. "I'm sorry, your Majesty. I overstep myself." 

"Relena. And no, you don't. Don't let my pessimism get you down." 

"Relena, this situation will have to blow over eventually. Something will happen, you'll see. And when it does, Trowa and the others will be back, right as rain. They always come out on top." Catherine spoke with an authority she didn't feel. 

"I wish that were true." Relena sighed and climbed to her feet, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I'll let you get back to sleep. It was a pleasure to meet you," the Queen of the world said, nodding her head regally. She started towards the door, then turned around, a shy expression on her face. "If you would like, we can have breakfast together tomorrow." There was an uncertain set to her features. 

"It would be my honor, your Majesty," Catherine answered without thinking. 

"Relena," the other girl corrected. 

"Relena," Catherine repeated obediently, feeling horrible gauche. There was something wrong about calling the Queen of Cinq by her first name. 

Relena gave her a relieved smile and opened the door, only to regain her guards. "Have pleasant dreams! I'll send someone to pick you up around nine!" she said as she disappeared. Catherine watched as the door clicked close, then headed back over to her bed and crawled under the warm covers. 

Her thoughts were confused, though that was hardly a surprise. It wasn't ever day that the Queen of the World invited you to breakfast. She mused briefly on how Relena had casually assumed that she would be welcome, casually ordered around Preventer bodyguards, casually taken control of the room. Some people were born to power, and were unable to believe that they could be denied anything. She wondered what it would be like to unthinkingly have that kind of confidence, and was unable to. 

People had always been amazed at her knife throwing skills, and she supposed it was similar. Most people wouldn't think of throwing a sharp pointed object at another human being, but Catherine had been doing it as long as she could remember. She thrilled whenever a crowd held its breath, uncertain of her skill. She had confidence in herself. 

As did Relena, but Relena's confidence was different. She didn't play with the life of one person; she held responsibility for the life of nations. 

She stared up at the ceiling, wondering why the girl who had single-handedly rebuilt a kingdom wanted to know her. 

It was a long time before Catherine fell back asleep. 

  


* * *

  
**Scene VII: Memoirs of a Warrior**

  


_"Things have turned a deeper shade of blue.  
And images that might be real, maybe illusion,  
Keep flashing off and on."  
--Cowboy Bebop, Blue_

He'd been a soldier his whole life, but Dermand Etille could not remember a time when he had been so tired. 

He had seen engagements from the time he had been a fresh-faced lieutenant out of the Academy fighting the guerillas in the Gulf up through the riots on the Colonies just before the Great War. He'd served in OZ and in White Fang and on A007 as a military representative of the World Nation, and it was like war followed him wherever he went. He was, he decided, a cursed specimen of a soldier. 

Their next target would be the heart of the military operation itself. Gustavson had called a meeting last night, explained the situation gravely, and it was decided that it was time to go in for the crippling blow. Or so they hoped. Etille wasn't sure if what would be crippled was the A007 troops…or their own forces. 

Gustavson was commander, but Etille was the real mind behind the power. Gustavson was the rallying point, but it was Etille's strategy which had allowed them to advance to where they were now. It had always been like that, though, and he didn't mind behind the one standing behind the stage, pulling the curtains and dimming the lights while the actors bowed upon the stage. He was used to it. 

Milliard had been at the meeting, though swathed in bandages, with Lucrezia Noin by his side. Etille had been rather surprised when he saw her: a slight, petite female whose burning eyes betrayed the soldier in her blood. Pleasantly surprised. Major Noin knew what she was doing. He'd heard of her reputation at the Academy, but that had been distant news to an old hand like him. It was comforting to know that the Academy's offspring were carrying on the legacy. 

That is, the Academy which no longer existed. 

Etille understood that everything was ethereal in the grand span of things, but he had loved that Academy. It had taken him in when there was no one left, and it had given him a sense of purpose. Of dignity and of pride, and now it was only a memory, a smoking casualty of war. 

Dorothy Catalonia had not been at the meeting. He'd asked Milliard where she was, a question to which Milliard shrugged his shoulders and shook his head and looked everywhere but at Etille. Something had happened, Etille decided, between the battle and the meeting. He thought he could guess what. 

It had stopped raining. It had been drizzling on and off for the past two days, and the normally dusty ground was slimy and soft, with mud caking everything that had been remotely exposed to the moisture, including boots and weapons and mobile suits. The sky sagged above the clifflines, gray and dreary and altogether hopeless looking. 

It was about the way most of the troops felt. 

Etille pulled the flap of his tent shut, listening to the muddy slosh of his boots through the murk that had been sand just two days ago. The hydration pack which he wore on his back was once again pleasantly full, and he took a drink of the water through the drink tube as he passed through the entrance to the Preventers' camp. Milliard might not be awake, he realized as he made his way down one hill and up the other, hand clasped tightly around the notepad he held in his left hand. The Preventers commander had been tired at the meeting, and Noin had begged early leave, saying that she had to put him to bed. 

They made an odd couple, Peacecraft and Noin. Odd, but…right. 

Well, if Milliard wasn't awake, he would go see Noin, make sure that the calculations on his pad were correct before heading off to see Gustavson in another staff meeting. Staff meetings had grown, over the years, increasingly monotonous, but they were necessary evils, and Etille wasn't about to argue that in the situation of this gravity. 

He saw the figure standing motionless by the rock face before he realized who it was. Long, dark coat drawn over the slim figure, blond hair tucked away into a camouflage helmet, arms wrapped around herself as if warding away the cold. 

"Lady Dorothy." 

She jumped at his voice, and her head whipped towards him as if seeking an escape. He stopped in his tracks, regarding her with puzzlement. The dark circles under her eyes and the weariness in her face were not characteristic of the Dorothy he had known, and she looked like she had not slept in days, but somehow she looked noble still, beautiful. The echo of another face drifted in front of hers for a second, and he shook it away. He suddenly wondered again where she had been during the meeting last night. 

"Are you all right?" 

He winced at the cliché sound of the question, but surprisingly she didn't respond in kind, didn't nod back, didn't step around it and say yes, yes I'm fine. She didn't answer, staring out into the cloudy sky, and he came a few steps nearer. 

"Are you waiting for someone?" 

"No," she said, her voice laced with shivering anger and sarcasm. "No one at all. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm busy." 

He should have left. He should have taken the hint and moved on, left the girl to her own mutterings. Perhaps it was the father instinct in him missing the children he had never had. Perhaps it was that returning afterimage…of aching familiarity. "What happened, Dorothy?" 

"That's none of your damn business. Nothing. Nothing happened. Get lost." 

"It's Peacecraft, isn't it?" he said, never one for idle chatter. 

She stared at him like he had sprouted horns and a tail, then jerked her gaze away. 

"Who told you?" Her voice was dull, dead. 

"No one told me," Etille said, taking another step nearer. "What happened, Dorothy?" 

"He's a bastard," she muttered, kicking the wet ground. Mud spattered over her already dirty fatigues and she stared at it as if it were a live thing. "And she's a bitch." 

"You mean Lucrezia Noin." 

"Who else would I mean?" She paused a moment, flinging her gaze back to him. "Before you even start to defend her, don't bother. I know you two are all buddy-buddy, having broken out of that compound or whatever, and I don't need to hear again why she's a better soldier than me, or how she can managed troops better than I can, or how she's such a good person." 

"I wouldn't have said that," he said, aware that a wrong word would send her fleeing back into whatever shadowy corner of doubt from which she had emerged for a second. "I'm just here to listen to you talk." 

She didn't answer. 

"Or if you don't feel like sharing," he said gently, "I'll pass on." 

"How do you do it?" she asked suddenly. 

"Do what?" Etille said, curious. She looked so young, staring up at him, coat clutched around her shoulders like a shield. She looked like… 

"Survive," she murmured. "Just survive." 

For a moment he felt a wave of sympathy pass over him, and he moved over to one of the soggy rocks, leaned against it, conscious that his pants were being soaked through but not really caring. He brushed thick gray hair out of his vision, wondering what to say to this young woman who had obviously had her heart broken and her dreams shattered more times than she could remember. 

"I was the son of a rich family," he said. "Just like you." 

She looked uncertainly at him, wary of where the narrative was going, but he merely stared out into the gray fog and let his mind wander. 

"It was a long time ago, and hard for you to imagine, I'm sure, but I was young once." An odd attempt at humor, and he didn't expect her to laugh. She didn't. "When I entered the Academy, I was twelve years old. They only took thirteen years and up, but my father made a special…donation, and they accepted me. I think my family just wanted to get rid of me." 

"Sounds familiar," she muttered. 

"That was a while back, before all the war nonsense, and I was stationed at several places before the war actually began. You know what I did during the war. You served with me." 

"For about three days," she said. "At the end." 

"Yes," he murmured. "The end. The end for White Fang, I suppose, but for an old soldier like me, there had already been an end before the war even began." 

"How is that?" she asked sharply. 

Etille smiled. "Soldiering, Dorothy, takes the life out of you. You reach a certain age when you realize that all the ideals and all the things you fought for…just don't matter anymore. But you can't stop, because that's all you've ever known." 

She looked away for a moment. "I don't believe it ever stops mattering," she said. 

He cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?" 

"Causes don't stop mattering…people do." 

He stared at her, at the sadly beautiful profile, seeing that other face flit in front of his memory. "Long story short, I ended up on A007 because the World Nation didn't know where to put me. I had been with White Fang, but I had enough of a history with the Federation that they didn't consider me a war criminal. But they didn't trust me back on Earth, either. That's what A007 is…a colony for the undeclared enemies of the World Nation." 

"You don't like the World Nation, then?" 

"I wouldn't say that," he said. "They gave me a second chance. I had a good time on A007. I'm an engineer by trade…I helped construct the colony. That was two years ago. A lot of things have changed since then." 

"Yes, they have," Dorothy muttered. Her hands twisted together over her knees and she sighed. 

"If I'm boring you with my old folks' stories," he said, "I'll leave." 

"I just don't understand…" she said. "I don't…" 

He realized she was crying before the tears started running down her cheeks, and suddenly he wasn't the aging, cynical soldier, but a man not sure how to comfort a woman, awkwardly putting an arm around her shoulders after a pause, feeling her body shake with huge gulping sobs. 

"You're in love with him," he said softly. "Aren't you?" 

"I hate him," she managed over the tears. "I hate him!" 

"You hate him and you love him and you don't ever want to see him again, but you wish he was right here in my place. Don't you?" 

Dorothy wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, looking away. Etille wondered how the broken, dejected young woman in front of him could be the proud lady and commander of a few days ago. But then, she hadn't been the same since he had returned…with Noin. 

"I've known Milliard…it seems like forever. Well, known of him," she corrected herself. "I never knew him, not even when I was in White Fang." 

"Do you know him now?" 

"I don't know," she said. Biting her lip. "I think…" 

He waited, but she shook her head. "Or maybe it's not Milliard I know, but Zechs Merquise." 

Zechs Merquise. 

"I never married, you know," he said. "There was a young lady in my class at the Academy…I always admired her, but she seemed out of my reach. We were stationed at the same base before she even learned my name. That was…a long time ago." 

Dorothy had quieted beside him, sensing his hesitation. He clenched his hands in front of him. She had been beautiful…beautiful and sad. And so very lonely. "She was killed in the Middle East…seventeen years before the war began. She never told me goodbye. I don't know if she ever knew how I felt about her…there's always a hope, but she's dead now." 

"Who was she?" Dorothy questioned, her voice low. 

"Her name was…Alicia Catalonia." Didn't look at her as he spoke the name. "She had your father's hair. Your father's eyes. She was very beautiful." 

"My father's sister," Dorothy said. Her voice quavered. "I never knew my father. My mother said that my aunt had died before I was born…but she never said how." 

"I wouldn't expect her to." 

"You knew my father?" 

"We were acquaintances. He respected me more for knowing his sister than for being a soldier. Not that it matters now." He shrugged. "That was a long time ago." 

She regarded him intently. "Commander…do you enjoy what you do?" 

His lip twisted. "I did. Once. It doesn't matter anymore, does it?" 

"Causes don't stop mattering," she said again. "People do." 

In the silence that followed he could feel a raindrop spatter on his cheek, then another and another. "She used to say that," he said at last. "I could never understand it." 

"It's true," Dorothy said fiercely. Her eyes were bright again, and she seemed to have decided something in the few seconds in which he had mentioned Alicia's name. 

"Do you believe it?" 

A pause. Alicia's ghost flitted across his mind again as he watched her niece slowly step away from the rock, turn towards him, considering. 

"I have troops to take care of," she said. "Have a good day, Commander." 

He watched her go, standing straight and tall, striding down the hill with the stride of newfound confidence. 

_Causes don't stop mattering. People do._

He wondered when exactly Alicia had stopped mattering to him. Or, if she had just begun to matter again. He hadn't thought about her in years. Not until he had met Dorothy. 

Alicia Catalonia was from Spain, the very ideal of a Spanish beauty, elegant and seductive without realizing it, and she had intoxicated him. Before she died, he had given her his Academy class ring, and she had promised to keep it with her, her Spanish voice low and husky as she had held the ring with both hands, Spanish eyes glimmering in the dark with tears. He was French and she was Spanish, but that didn't matter. 

He had loved her. He didn't know if she had loved him. 

She had been a true soldier. 

It was after her death that everything had stopped mattering. 

He pushed himself up from the rock, slowly, following Dorothy's footsteps, stopping in front of the command tent. He knew Noin was in there, and when he pushed aside the heavy entrance flap, he saw her back hunched over the light map. The computer in the corner was on, the screen saver flickering. 

She looked up at his entrance. "Commander," she said, nodding. She looked even more tired than Dorothy had. "Nice of you to drop by." 

"Just some figures," he said. "Not a very pleasant visit." 

She rubbed her left eye wearily. "No problem. Let me take a look?" 

"Did you know," he said without preamble, "that Dorothy Catalonia is in love with Milliard Peacecraft?" 

It took a moment for his words to register, and he watched as she frowned, gaped, and then frowned at him again. 

"Where did you find that out?" 

"I'm an old man, Noin," he said. "Young people these days show their feelings more often than they should." 

Noin took the datapad from him, snatching it out of his hand. "Dorothy and Milliard," she snapped, "are none of your business." 

"So they aren't," he said. "I was just mentioning it." 

"What would you do?" she asked suddenly. 

"About-?" 

"If you were in love with someone, and you knew that someone knew, but did nothing…would you give up?" 

Alicia had been full-blooded Spanish, the tilt of her full lips and the gestures of her slim hands speaking of exotic beauty beyond his imagination. 

"I don't know," he said honestly. 

To his surprise, Noin uttered a tired laugh, placing the datapad down on the light map, hands splayed out over the holographic lines. "You're the experienced one, Commander. I'm asking your advice." 

"I have no advice," Etille answered, "I have only what I know, and what I am is a soldier." 

She was quiet. 

"What are you thinking, Noin?" 

"I wonder sometimes…" she said slowly, "if it's all worth it." 

In that moment, he heard Alicia's voice. 

"Someone I used to know once said to me…causes don't stop mattering. People do." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded, as he began walking to the door of the tent. 

"I'm not sure," he said. "I'll be the first to admit that." 

"Do you believe it?" 

He smiled back at her. "I'm not sure either." 

The rain was coming down in scattered drizzles outside, and he made the soggy trudge back up the hill towards the camp and the warmth of his own tent. He would have liked a daughter. They were such mysterious creatures, women, child-like and ancient wisdom at the same time, like fairies. 

_Did you know that Dorothy Catalonia is in love with Milliard Peacecraft?_

That had come out wrong. Because Dorothy Catalonia wasn't in love with Milliard Peacecraft at all, but just in those few minutes of conversations, she had bared her soul to the world. She was in love with a man who no longer existed, with someone who she could never have because he was dead and gone from this earth. 

Dorothy Catalonia loved Zechs Merquise. 

"Where did you go, Zechs Merquise?" Etille said, looking up into the weeping sky and letting the rain fall onto his closed eyelids. "What happened to you?" 

Alicia's face teased him from the insides of his eyes, and he pushed her image away, opened his eyes, forced himself to start walking. There was no time for the past here, not now, not ever, because the past was full of regrets. 

And Dermand Etille had too many regrets. 

  


* * *

  
**Scene VIII: Sins of the Father**

  


_"Nanibito mo kataru koto nashi  
Nanigoto mo kataru koto nashi  
Tada kinou to iu tozasareta kurayami ni."  
_
_[No one has anything to tell]  
[There is nothing to be told]  
[Only in the sealed darkness known as yesterday.]  
_
_--Shoujo Kakumei Utena, Nanibito mo Kataru Koto Nashi_  


  
From birth, if there was one thing Shinobu had learned, it was that nothing came for free. Everything cost something, whether it be time, or money, or even blood. 

Asking for his grandfather's help had been an intensely desperate move, but he had promised the Preventer general he would find Heero Yuy. And if there was one thing Shinobu had sworn, it was he'd never break a promise. He'd seen too many of them broken in his short life, and he refused to ever let that happen. His word was his life. 

Still, that didn't make this any easier. For Duo's sake, he had re-entered a world he had sworn to abandon, and he wasn't sure exactly why. Duo had been a good friend to him, but friendship only went so far. 

He looked down at his hands, noting how he had bitten his nails to the quick. It had always been a nervous habit of his, and it had resurfaced recently. No bets on why that had happened. He stared at his cuticles, noticing how one of them was starting to bleed. Perhaps he should- 

His thoughts were interrupted by a stick of chalk rebounding off his head, and the titters of his classmates. He jerked upright in his seat as a scowling Professor Wood stalked towards him. 

Tension at the school had never been higher. Guards were stationed all over the campus, and Shinobu had noticed one Preventer agent shadowing him constantly. It was reasonable, he supposed, when one considered that Duo had been one of his friends. Add to that the fact that he was a foreigner, and the entire student body was aligned against him. 

He hated to think of what they would do if they knew who he really was or what he was up to lately. 

Professor Wood stalked over, following the stick of chalk he had just pegged at Shinobu. The boy didn't even blink as the sensei leaned in close and began ranting at him. He was used to it. 

If someone had asked him to describe Professor Wood in one word, the immediate answer would be "xenophobic." The teacher hated him with a passion, all on account of his being Japanese. The school was supposedly open-minded to other races and cultures, but sadly the truth was far different from the policy. And Shinobu, through no fault of his own, had become the favorite whipping boy of the history teacher. 

The other students watched quietly as their teacher lit into Shinobu for being lazy, stupid, not paying attention, and having poor judgment. He had heard it so much that he usually tuned it out, but today he had finally reached the end of his rope. Without a word, he packed his bookbag, rose to his feet, and left without saying a word, while Wood-sensei continued to threaten him. He didn't trust himself to speak. 

He walked out of the humanities building towards his dorm, clutching his bag to his chest thoughtfully. He was burning his bridges, but school seemed so... unimportant in the scheme of things. He was a confidant of Duo Maxwell, working for the Preventer General Sally Po, and was likely going to have the location of Heero Yuy in his possession in less then a day. 

"Shin!" a voice called, and he tensed. Chris had been in the same history class, and apparently had decided to follow him. 

"Yes, Chris-san?" he said. 

Chris panted heavily to catch his breath, tucking some of his bangs behind his ears. "Are you ok?" he asked. His wide green eyes expressed concern. 

He was an innocent. 

"I am fine," he said harshly. 

"Really? Old Hickory is gonna get you thrown out of school- you know he hates you. Why give him more ammunition?" 

"School is the last thing on my mind." 

"It shouldn't be," Chris said softly. "You're going to have to let go." 

"Just because you are angry with Helena, do not take it out on me." 

Chris blinked. "Why do you think I'm mad at her?" 

"You have not talked to her about General Po." 

Chris' lips tightened. "The General had no right to solicit your help, Shin. You're just a teenager." 

"So is Duo." 

Chris's eyes narrowed. He was clearly unhappy. "I'd rather not talk about that. Duo... is a special case." 

The two young men walked towards the dorm. "I am going to see Helena later," Shinobu said. He considered it polite to let his friend know, since Helena WAS his girlfriend. 

Chris nodded stiffly. "I don't want to know." 

"She is your girlfriend. I thought you said you were not mad at her." 

Chris said nothing. 

"You are not going to be able to keep her if you do not show that you love her." 

Chris still remained quiet. 

"Chris, are you trying to make her break up with you first?" 

"No!" Chris finally said vehemently. "It's just... it may come to that. I won't -can't- do anything to support a war. It's just not in me. I don't see how you and Helena can do it- honestly I can't." They reached the stairs of the dorm at that, and Chris turned the other way, taking off at a fast walk. Shin took the stairs to his second floor room, and unlocked the door. 

Half the room was bare. His roommate, an Australian exchange student, had been pulled out of the school by his parents the day after the riots. The school wasn't taking anymore students at the moment (for obvious reasons) so Shinobu had the luxury of a single. It was very nice, especially considering his clandestine activities. He would have hated to have to explain what he was doing to Ian. 

Checking his clock, he realized he had another three hours before his scheduled contact time with his grandfather. He didn't feel like going onto campus to be harassed by other students, didn't want to do his homework, and Helena was still in class. With a sigh he decided that his homework was the lesser of all evils, and cracked open his biology text. 

Sometimes he thought that the school's homework really wasn't fair to him. No matter what subject he was working on, he had to translate the text or assignment first into his native language. He wasn't to the point that he could think in English, which led to the careful pauses before he spoke. His skills were much better then they had been before he moved down to Earth, but he still had a long way before he would be completely fluent.. 

He was just moving into the second chapter when his instincts, well honed by life on L1, alerted him to the presence of someone else watching him. 

Helena leaned against the doorway, staring into his room. "Have any luck?" she wanted to know. 

He looked at her, surprised at how much older she seemed. Her cheeks had a gaunt, hollow look to them, but her eyes were blazing sapphire gems. "Should you not be in class?" he asked. 

She shrugged. "I'm too nervous. I cut. Professor Haseltine won't care as long as I do the work." 

"Are you not worried about your grade point average suffering?" he asked carefully. He knew she was in the race for valedictorian, which was an honor she wanted with a passion. She was ambitious. 

She gave me a level stare. "Shinobu, at times like this, the trivial things don't matter." 

"But we should continue our lives." 

Helena gave him a sad smile. "We gave that up when we agreed to help General Po." 

_I never had a life anyway,_ he thought, but didn't say anything. 

"Anyway, stop trying to distract me. Shinobu, have you made any progress?" she asked again. 

"I will be making contact with my source soon. They should have something for me." 

"Can I stay?" she asked curiously, moving to take a seat on the bed. 

His breath caught. "That would be most unwise. My sources... aren't exactly good company. It is better they know nothing of you." _I'd hate to think of what grandfather would do if he somehow gets his hands on her. She's the daughter of some very influential people._

She looked worried. "Shinobu, you're not doing anything.... illegal, are you?" 

Shinobu's laughter had a strangled quality to it. "I am trying to track down a Gundam pilot. My sources are questionable, but... we do have the permission of the Preventers, so that should count for something." 

Helena nodded. "Be careful. I've lost Duo and Ilene- I don't need to lose another friend." 

"I am always careful." 

Two hours later found him still in his room, though this time he was by himself. Helena had been forced out of the room, which he had quickly secured. He pulled out the jammer he had acquired from one of his grandfather's Yakuza contacts, and switched it on to block the bugs which had been planted in his room. At last count he had found three, all from apparent different sources, but he wasn't willing to bet that there were more. He was better then average, but the people he was dealing with were professionals, something he was not. 

He dialed the connection to his grandfather's humble abode, then sat back taking deep breaths. I'm insane to be doing this.... 

The harsh face of his grandfather appeared on the screen. "Hello, _ojiisan_." 

"Hello, Takeru. I trust you are well?" 

"As well as can be expected," he answered. "Have you had any luck?" 

His grandfather's eyes were hard and shuttered. "Yes. I've located him." 

"Really? Can you tell me?" 

"Tell you?" 

Shinobu sighed. _Everything has a price,_ he thought. "What will it cost me?" 

The old man's lips spread in a grotesque smile, the same smile that the devil wore before dragging another soul to hell. "I want you." 

"What?!" he exclaimed. 

"Your father is dead, I have no other children, and your older brother is, to be quite frank, a hopeless idiot who's going to get himself killed- if I don't kill him myself first. I need to pass the business on through the family, and I don't want to use one of my nephews. That leaves you." 

"What about my sister?" Shinobu's sister was brilliant and politically minded, and would love being in charge of the Black Diamond. 

"She is a woman." 

_Stupid chauvinistic attitude_, Shinobu thought resentfully. "So if you let me know, I have to come to you after this business is done to be your successor?" 

"You come to me immediately." 

"After," Shinobu said insistently. "And you give me whatever other information you can." 

His grandfather laughed. "As long as it doesn't interfere with business here," Seki countered. 

Shinobu sighed. "I agree," he said softly, hoping he wasn't making a mistake. 

"Takeru, I want you to seriously think this over. Once I tell you, there's no going back." 

He was surprised; his grandfather sounded genuinely concerned. "Grandfather..." 

His grandfather sighed. "I wanted to get you into the family business, but not like this. You're playing with fire, boy, and if you're not careful, you're going to get burned." 

"Tell me. I need to know." 

"Heero Yuy has spent the last year living in the Breaks." 

Shinobu wasn't surprised. "It's logical. Best place to hide." 

"He was part of the assassin group Shadowwing." 

He shut his eyes slowly, feeling the blood pound. His heartbeat quickened and he mentally thought a stream of curious that would have made Duo proud. "So I'm going to try to get an assassin down here. Won't that look lovely on my school transcripts." 

"Takeru...." 

"Hai, hai.... so can you contact him for me? Do you have one of your associates near him?" 

Seki Hikaru looked at his offspring with narrowed eyes. "No. You didn't let me finish. Currently Shadowwing is under contract to kill Chang Wufei, and is in some part of China." 

"Shit!" 

"Takeru!" 

"I'm very sorry, _ojiisan_. I spoke without thinking. I don't suppose you know who put the contract on Chang, do you?" 

The old man smiled wickedly, and Shinobu's breath caught. The man looking out at him wasn't just his grandfather, but the most dangerous man in The Breaks. 

"I did." 

  
Act VI Part I | Act VI Part III | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	23. Scattering What's Left of the Light

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING **

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT VI, PART III 

**Sou yo watashi no haato wa  
Tokubetsu na koi o suru no yo  
Tatoeba ano hito to... **

Kakaekirenai hodo yume o mite  
Minna kanaeru no  
Sono tabi-goto ni chigau yume o  
Oikaketa to shite mo  
Ii ja nai  


**Yes, my heart  
Feels a special kind of love  
Just like with him... **

I have so many dreams that I can't hold them all  
They will all come true  
If along the way a different dream  
I decide to follow  
There's nothing wrong with that  


**--Gundam Wing, _Joy to My Life_  
[Dorothy Catalonia image song]**  


  
  
**Scene IX: Shattering the Cavern of Sleep**

  


_"Strap on the wings and push me over and watch me sink.  
Maybe tonight I'll get it right finally."  
--Oblivion Dust, Plastic Wings_

  
_You left me alone._

The sun was setting as Darkflight stared out the entrance of the alleyway, hands in his pockets. The wind was cool, drying the sweat on the back of his neck, rustling his tattered jacket and long hair. His bangs tickled the corners of his eyes. 

They were at the border of Russia, about to cross into the European state, and the flickering neon signs were conglomerations of English and Russian mixed with a little French. Across the street was yet another cheap hotel, yet another spur-of-the-moment location where that…that boy Wufei had decreed that they should spend the night. And of course, instead of arguing, instead of using his instinct and the skills that Darkflight knew he possessed, Wing had agreed. Wing always agreed now, with a kind of calm acceptance in his voice that Darkflight had never heard before. 

It frightened him. 

He had thought he knew Wing, but with the intrusion of Wufei into his world, that assumption was shattered. The Chinese boy knew things about his partner that Darkflight had never even imagined, was able to pull Wing's deepest feelings from their core the way Darkflight had never been able to do. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. 

_Or,_ the little voice whispered inside his mind, _you're jealous. Because Wing is part of something larger than you'll ever be, and you want what he has. Because all said and done, you're just a murderer. And he is a warrior._

He scuffed his shoe into the dirt, a rough jerking motion. It didn't matter. Once Wufei found out what kind of person Wing had become, he wouldn't want to hang around. Wufei would leave, turn away in disgust, dismiss his former partner in rage and disgust, and go try to win his private little war by himself. And it would be all right again. 

"I'm not giving up on you, Wing," he whispered fiercely. "You don't belong with them. You belong in the Breaks. We're alike, you and I." 

The stairs up to the room were creaky and the rusted iron railing was missing screws in more places than he could count. He twisted the door handle, expecting Wufei to be sitting up on his bed or at the table writing something, glaring at him with those almond eyes that were so like and yet unlike Wing's and even his own. Saying, what are you doing here? Get out. You don't belong with us, you scum. 

Wufei had never vocalized his feelings, but Darkflight could see it in the Chinese boy's eyes. 

_You're not like us._

But Wufei was not there, and at first he thought the room was empty. The window was partly open, the cheap curtains fluttering in the evening breeze, and then Darkflight saw the lump in the sheets, the erratic breathing coming from the second bed, and he moved closer. Wing was wrapped up in the sheets, hair tousled, sweat running down his neck and bare chest. One arm was flung out, wrapped around the dirty pillow, as if warding off some nightmare. 

He was sleeping quietly now, but Darkflight guessed he had had some sort of nightmare. They had both woken up nights to the sounds of each others' nightmares. He wondered what this one had been. 

Wufei would never understand. 

"Wing?" he said softly. 

The eyelids fluttered, slowly opened, then his partner - former partner - jolted upright in bed, his posture tense. 

"Darkflight," Wing said. 

For a long moment he struggled with words, trying to think of something, anything, to say. "How are you feeling?" he finally said, mentally cursing himself as the words came out of his mouth. 

"Cut the shit," Wing said. There was a gust of wind from the open window and Wing pulled the covers back, padded over, slammed the window shut. Wufei's papers on the desk beside the door rustled slightly. 

"What are you doing here?" 

"I brought you some stuff," Darkflight said. "If you want it. If you still want it." 

He held out the needle and the pouch with one hand, watching the Japanese boy's profile, watching as one hand slowly closed into a fist, opened, closed again. Like a heart beating. 

"I don't want your help," Wing said. 

"I'm not asking for you to take it," Darkflight snarled, his temper breaking, dumping the needle and the pouch on the bed, where Wing's feet made a shadowy outline of bumps under the tattered bedspread. "It's not a choice. This is yours." 

"Darkflight," Wing said again, and Darkflight paused, turned slightly towards the doorway. 

"What?" 

"Go home," Wing said. And as Darkflight turned back around to glance at his partner, he caught the faintest glimpse of sadness on the scarred face, a nameless emotion of longing and fear and hope, before it flickered away behind the blank eyes. "Go home, Darkflight." 

"Damn you to hell," he shot back. His hands were shaking. "We've had this conversation before. We have it every fucking night. I'm not going home. I'm not leaving you here." 

He expected a muttered "whatever," a familiar growl before Wing kicked him out of the room, as usual. But there was none of that, and he blinked in surprise before he saw the shadow of the corner of his eye and realized that Wing was getting out of bed. Walking towards him. Stopping. 

"I'm a Gundam pilot," Wing said. 

"No you're not!" Darkflight whirled, for some reason feeling cornered even though Wing was half a room away from him, standing relaxed with hands at his sides, staring toward the floor. "Wing, if I hear that out of you one more time, I swear I'll-" 

"I'm a Gundam pilot," Wing said. When he raised his head, his eyes were clear. "I was raised to be a Gundam pilot." 

Darkflight swallowed. "I was lying in bed today and I was thinking about something." Wing paused. "You know, it's not everyone who can be as lucky as I am. I've had a shitty life, Darkflight, but you know what? I've had great people around me." 

Darkflight blinked, frowning, feeling frightened but not knowing why. "Wing, I think you need some rest," he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. 

"I've had great people around me," Wing repeated. Watching him, reflecting. "Duo. Trowa. Quatre and Wufei. Relena." His voice broke a little on the last word, as if the very mention of that name was hard for him. "You and Atsuki. I couldn't have made it this far…without you. Darkflight. You know that." 

"Cut the shit," Darkflight whispered. "I know you, Wing. I know-" 

"No you don't. You don't know me…How could you know me, when I don't know myself?" 

"Wing?" 

"Stop lying to yourself, Darkflight," Wing said. Turning away to face the rising moon. "I remember…I remember Treize's death. Did you see it, Darkflight? Did you see the way the sword cut through the mobile suit like it was water? Did you hear Wufei screaming?" 

Goosebumps prickled on his skin and he felt something terrible clawing at the back of his brain. "Wing, I-" 

"The scar on my face. It was a gift, you know." Fingers tracing it, running up and down its gnarled length. "A gift…from the man who called himself Zechs Merquise. I remember that now." 

"What?" 

"He killed me," Wing said, as if it was the most common thing in the world. "He killed me, or at least I thought he did. But I was the one who killed myself." 

Wing's voice was calm, serene. He suddenly remembered that night he had gone home to break the news of their next target, heard Wing laughing, that mad insane, frenzied laughter and the eerie calmness in its wake. This was not that kind of calmness. This was the voice of a man who had had a revelation. 

And for the first time, he realized, truly realized, that the boy standing before him was someone he did not know. 

For two years, Wing had been the stability in his life, the one he had shared life and death with, fears and triumphs. Because they were alike. Because neither he nor Wing had pasts, and so they had to create their own. 

Wing had a past. There was no Wing anymore. He was someone else. 

"I get the point," Darkflight said dully. "I'm not wanted. I'll leave." 

"It's not you, you know," Wing said. Padding back to the bed but not moving to get back in it, staring at the shining needle on the blanket. "It's me. We're different, you and I. You've always known that, haven't you?" 

No, he wanted to say. "What's so different about us?" 

"The things they did to me…you wouldn't understand. I was changed. Warped. I don't deserve…" 

The shaking was stronger in his hands now, in his legs, and he had to get out of the room or he would go mad, stumbling down the stairs into the open air. Heard Wing shouting his name in question behind him, not caring. Running away, away from the lighted buildings to some semblance of darkness that he welcomed more than he did the light. Falling against the sagging metal railing a few blocks away from the motel, panting. 

_The things they did to me…you wouldn't understand._

He had a pounding headache, but he had just had an injection and wouldn't need one for a few hours yet. When Wing had spoken those words he had suddenly seen a flash inside his mind, a memory. 

Of something. 

He'd had flashes before, starting back before the time he had met Wing, before he had established his group as the leader of assassin groups in the Breaks, when his father was still alive. He'd had glimpses of memory that he couldn't place, events that triggered something inside him, nights when he would wake up thrashing, gasping for air, calling the name of someone he didn't know. 

_Niisan,_ he would scream, _niisan!_

And then if someone was there, and that someone was usually Wing, would shake him and say wake up, Darkflight, are you all right? You're going to wake up the neighbors, and you don't want them to get mad and come barging in with a gun to shut you up. 

And he would say, it's just a nightmare. 

He had known for a long time that it was not just a nightmare. 

He remembered hands grasping at him, voices out of the air. He had been young. It was like looking into the middle of a thick fog, a blood red fog, and then darkness. 

The memories had grown more intense as time as passed, as he forced himself to think about them, to sharpen them in his mind, and he remembered that room, the room full of clean, polished medical equipment, the men in white coats staring down at him, his arms tied behind his back. 

There had been times he had not known if it was a real memory. 

He raised his head suddenly at the sound of footsteps, and before he could turn and run, he saw the familiar scarred face rounding the corner, the long tail of black hair. Wing was still dressed in only a pair of loose pants, but at the sight of him, Darkflight could have sworn that the other boy looked relieved. He didn't move as Wing pounded to a stop in front of him, shoulders heaving, barely sweating in the cool night air. 

"Are you all right?" 

"Yes," he said curtly. "Leave me alone." 

"Hey…I'm sorry. If I said anything…" Wing trailed off, looking down at his feet. "I didn't mean…" 

Darkflight found himself thrown for a loop the second time tonight. Wing apologizing? Wing feeling sorry? 

"Wing…" he said, and the other boy's head shot up. The cobalt eyes were strangely compassionate in the moonlight. 

"What happened to you?" 

The double meaning of the question didn't catch him until it was out of his mouth, and he watched his one-time partner, wondering what meaning he would take. If he would take the easy way out, or if he would delve deep into the past and release that knowledge which both of them were afraid to hear. 

Actually, when one thought about it long enough, there was no easy answer. 

"I can't ever go back to being Heero Yuy," Wing said, "so I thought I'd just try to become a better person." 

"That's not what I meant," Darkflight said. Not giving him a choice. _You tell me what you were talking about back there, that thing which hit me and made me remember._

"What?" 

"You said…." He stumbled over his words. "That you're different. That…I wouldn't understand." 

"Doctor J," Wing said. 

"Who?" 

"Doctor J. He was the one who…took me in. I'm not sure what happened…" he trailed off. "They did…things to me." 

"Wing?" 

"I can't really remember," Wing snapped. "Stop asking me about it. Genetic experiments. Tampering with the human mind. Call it what you want. I'm not normal. I'm a freak." Rounding on him. "Is that what you want to hear?" 

He didn't even remember himself falling, hands letting go of the iron railing, only remember the moon rushing up at him and Wing's voice again in his ears, calling his name. 

Except it wasn't Wing's voice, and the moon was gone and there were bright lights, blinding him as a hand was torn from his grasp and he reached out his arms, trying to touch…something. Someone. Someone who was calling…calling…calling… 

_Hideki!_

And he heard himself responding _niisan! Niisan! _

Don't leave me, niisan! 

And then a sharp pain at the back of his head and the world fled away in a shower of stars. 

  
_Go to Darkflight side Penumbra_

  


* * *

  
**Scene X: Fear of Dying**

  


_"Free…I want to be free  
And move among the stars  
You know, they really aren't so far."  
--Cowboy Bebop, Blue_

  
The electric light on the bedside table was on its lowest setting, but somehow, looking at it through the canvas of the tent, Noin still felt that it was too bright. She'd turned it on earlier when the rain had finally stopped and the sun had started going down behind the bleak cliffs, when she'd brought Milliard his dinner. He had been sitting up in bed, staring into space. He had a tendency to do that, when he was injured. 

"Noin," he greeted her, with a half smile. 

"You'll hurt yourself," she had retorted, setting his dinner down and pushing him gently on the shoulder. "You need to lie down." 

"You always say that." 

"And you never listen to me, and you end up bedridden for an extra week or two." But she couldn't help smiling. "It's good to see you talking again." 

"It's good to see you again," he murmured, and one of his hands reached up to touch the one placed on his shoulder. She shivered slightly. "I've missed you." 

She hadn't been sure how to take that comment. It had been two years…two years in which she had thought he was dead, dead and gone forever from her life. Etille's message through the walls of her cell had been a shock, seeing in person the man she had once known was even more of a shock. 

He had cut his hair. The Zechs Merquise she remembered would never have cut his hair. 

_I'm Milliard now_, he had said to her. _Milliard Peacecraft. I changed my name for good._

She had continued to call him Zechs, and he hadn't said anything to the contrary, but somehow it felt odd, talking and laughing and planning with the man who a few days ago had been frozen in memory in a far corner of her mind. 

It was fully dark outside now and she'd come over to Milliard's tent to make sure he was all right before she went over to Gustavson's camp. Milliard had authorized her to go to the meetings in his place, had given her his planning and strategy briefings before she had even asked. She felt bad for Dorothy. The girl was his second-in-command, and technically it would be she who would have stepped into Milliard's place. But at the same time, Noin was a professional soldier, a full-fledged member of the Preventers. Dorothy was a stand-in. 

Surely that was what Milliard intended. 

_Did you know that Dorothy Catalonia is in love with Milliard Peacecraft?_

Those words should not have bothered her as much as they did. What did Etille know about Zechs? She'd known Zechs since childhood…since the Academy. They had practically grown up together…there had been a time when she'd known him better than any other living person. There had been a time when, in the back of her mind, she had wondered if he would be the man she would marry. 

That was when she had been younger and more naïve, but theirs was a bond that was deeper than blood. At least, had been, before the war. Now she wasn't so sure. 

_Dorothy's been here, and you haven't, the voice nagged. She's worked with Zechs these past months while you've been a prisoner…she knows him too. Dorothy's pretty. Dorothy's smart. Dorothy Dorothy Dorothy._

"Shut up!" she hissed, slapping a hand to her forehead. 

"Talking to yourself again?" 

Her hand was on the flap of the tent, preparing to go in, and the voice caught her by surprise. 

"Oh…"she said as the figure emerged into the light. "Hello, Dorothy." 

"Hello, Noin." 

They regarded each other for a moment, Noin thinking that Dorothy didn't look at all like she remembered her. The long golden hair was pinned up inside a heavy combat helmet, and there were streaks of soot and dirt on her face. Her fatigues were worn and dirty, and her boots had obviously not seen a shine in days. She looked like…a soldier. 

The old nagging knocked at the back of her head, and Noin ignored it. 

"What are you doing here?" 

"Checking up on Milliard." Dorothy's eyes were hard. "What, I don't have a right to see him? I am the deputy commander." 

Noin frowned. "I never said that. I was just making conversation." 

Dorothy's lip twisted in a half-smile, half-sneer. "Thank you, oh great one, for thinking me worthy of conversation." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Noin demanded, but Dorothy was already pushing her way past into the tent, leaving her standing outside in the darkness, hands on her hips. She was tempted to go in after her, wrench her away from Milliard and tell her to get the hell out. 

"What's wrong with me?" she mumbled to herself, staring at her hands, shadowy shapes of pale and brown in the night. "I'm no lovesick girl. I'm a soldier." 

She watched Dorothy's shadow shift slightly, seated. Another shadow which was probably Milliard, sitting up, answering her. She took a deep breath, letting it out. The night air was cooling fast and she had places to be. She opened the tent flap. 

"Dorothy, I need to-" 

"She's telling me something." A deep voice. Milliard. Milliard, Zechs, it was all the same. "She'll be out in a moment." 

Noin let the flap drop, not knowing whether she wanted to hit something or just walk away, away from Dorothy and Milliard and their little private world, and wait outside the briefing tent until the meeting began. She didn't mind waiting out in the cold. As long as she didn't have to see…them. Together. 

_Why are you so jealous? _

Because I haven't seen him in two years, she answered herself. _And I need to make sure that he's still mine._

Dorothy emerged from the tent just as Noin was ready to open the flap and disturb them again. The girl had a smile on her face which was not quite pleasant, and Noin resisted the urge to grab her by the shoulders, shake her, tell her never to set foot by Milliard again. 

"You can go in now," Dorothy said. 

"Why do you hate me so much?" Noin said. The words sounded like someone else's voice had spoken them, and the minute they emerged from her mouth she wished she could take them back. But it was said, and Dorothy didn't look surprised. 

"Because you're you," Dorothy said. "And I don't like people…like that." 

Before Noin could speak, Dorothy had disappeared into the night, around the side of the tent. She could hear the combat boots crunching on the pebbles and rain-soaked sand. 

She pushed aside the tent flap, went in. Milliard was sitting up again, reading the latest field reports by the light of the lamp, and she stopped, watching him. With his tired eyes, wrapped in bandages, he was still beautiful. 

"Aren't you going to come over and take care of me?" he said, a grin twisting one corner of his mouth. 

She didn't smile back, moving to his bedside and sitting down at the foot of the cot, careful not to jostle any of his wounded areas. He put down the reports. 

"Are you all right?" 

"Not really," Noin said. Hoping all at once that he would ask her why, and that he wouldn't. How would she explain it? _I'm in love with you, and I was wondering if you were in love with me?_

"Noin?" One hand reached out to take hers, and she pulled it away, the touch sending an electric shock through her skin. "Noin, what's wrong?" 

"I just…" she began, and she began to cry. He watched her helplessly. She knew he didn't know what to say, what to do, when she cried, so she just wiped her tears and turned away from him, towards the entrance. "Don't mind me." 

"I'm really glad you're here," he said. "I really am." 

"I know that. I'm a good soldier. You said that yourself." 

A rough hand grabbed her arm, and she found herself pulled back. Yelping, she fought to keep her balance, finding herself looking into the blue of his eyes. 

"You know that isn't true," he murmured, his gaze boring into hers. "I've waited for two years…to get you back." 

"Zechs…" she said breathlessly, pulling away. A tear leaked from the corner of her mouth and she let it roll down her cheek. "Don't. Just…don't." 

_You know you want to,_ the voice whispered. _You know you want to touch him…why don't you? It's perfect. You know you want to do it._

He released her arm reluctantly, and she stood up, going over to the table and pouring some water into a wide bowl, wetting a cloth. Almost stone-age methods for treating the ill, but they still worked. 

"What do you think of…Dorothy?" There. It was out. 

"Dorothy?" 

"Yes." Noin brought the bowl over to him, wiping his face and neck, then his hands. He winced as she brushed the bandages once or twice. "The skin should be healing back nicely…you'll be fine in a few days." 

"Dorothy is a nice girl…woman," he said. Reflecting. "She's loyal. She's a good friend." Looking at her. "Why do you want to know?" 

"I-" She stopped. "I just…never mind." Standing up again, putting the bowl back on the stand, spreading the cloth out to dry. "Never mind." 

"If you're wondering," he said in a low voice, "she doesn't compare to you. Not by a long shot." 

"Do you remember the day we graduated?" She didn't look at him. "When you made me take my mobile suit out for a spin, just because?" 

"That was fun. You didn't like it?" 

"Not at first." She turned to him, and he looked back at her. "But the memory…" 

"Yes." A whisper. "I know." 

For a moment there was silence in the room, and then he stirred. "You need to go. You have a meeting." 

"I don't want to," she murmured. 

"What would you do," he said suddenly, "if I had died?" 

Noin frowned at him. "Died? You mean, in that last raid?" 

He gestured to the bandages covering him. "There was a great possibility. I was injured badly. What would you have done?" 

"That's not fair, Zechs," she said in a small voice. "Don't ask me that." 

"We have another engagement…in a few days. I fully expect to participate." 

"Zechs!" 

His eyes burned with a familiar fire. She'd missed that fire, but it was wrong…it was wrong for the moment. "I'm the commander, Noin. I fight with my soldiers, or they don't fight at all." 

"But-" 

"If…something happens to me," he said. "I don't want you to grieve. To regret…anything. That's happened between us." 

She felt the tears coming again, and she pushed herself away from the table. "I have to go," she whispered, and fled the tent. 

_What would you do if I had died?_

She found herself running, running away from the tent which held the man she loved and yet feared. Running as fast as her feet would take her. "Don't scare me like that, Zechs. Don't…" 

If Milliard had died, after she had found he was alive after all…if he had died before she could touch him again, before she could see him with human eyes instead of through the eyes of a machine, to hear his voice with her own ears... 

The stretch leveled out into a hill, and her steps came slower and slower, till she came to a stop, taking deep gulping breaths. 

"I don't know what I'd do," she said to the empty sky. 

Milliard. No, Zechs. He would always be Zechs to her. He had died once, and it was if she had died with him. 

She did not think she could bear to die again. 

  
_Go to Noin's Commander's Log #6_

  


* * *

  
**Scene IX: A Matter of Martyrs**

  


_"Will you join in our crusade?  
Who will be strong and stand with me?  
Somewhere beyond the barricade  
Is there a world you long to see?"  
--Finale, Les Miserables_

He stared down at his manacled hands, wondering why he had calmly accepted this fate. He could have fought it; technically he had been in the Maguanac's country, living under their laws, and they would have done their best to keep him from being extradited. They may have even succeeded for the World Nation hadn't truly clarified its procedure for extradition. Still, Quatre didn't want to turn his friends into the world's enemies. The Arabian countries had always had a reputation for being rogue nations, and he didn't want to be responsible for fracturing the unstable peace by reminding the world of the troubled past. They were moving beyond; he had to believe that, or his sacrifices throughout the war had been for nothing. 

Quatre looked up as the guard opened the door to his cell. He had been meditating quietly, trying to put his mind back into order. The emotions of the guards outside his cell assaulted his senses, and he was almost physically sick from the hatred and loathing they projected. 

Strong as those emotions were, the emotions of the woman who stalked in like a lioness were so overwhelming that he almost fainted. His kokoro no uchuu could be controlled, to some extent, but some individuals had powerful auras that could assault Quatre without his consent. The Gundam pilots had been such people. This woman was another. 

Her emotions bombarded him, and he winced as he tried to sort through them. There was the expected dislike and disgust, but interwoven in it was a stronger sense of satisfaction and a certain inexplicable glee. He could almost feel her rubbing her hands with eager anticipation. 

The woman's Mid-Eastern features proclaimed that she was of purer blood then he, and he frowned slightly, trying to place where he had seen her before. She wore a long dress that was elegant in its simplicity, and his experienced eye recognized that it was one of the designs his sister Leila had modeled for Angelico, which meant it had cost a small fortune. Her hair was long, the longest he'd ever seen on anyone since Dorothy. But the casual way she rested her hand on her cocked hip that triggered his memory. "Fatima," he whispered softly. 

She nodded, her red-glossed lips curving into a smile that made him feel like she was about to devour him. "Hello, Quatre," she said in Arabic, graciously nodding her head. "I must say that I certainly never imagined I would be talking to you under circumstances like this. I mean, isn't your family pacifist?" 

It was not an idle or cruel question. Fatima was playing with him, watching him for his reaction. So he kept his expression carefully blank. "My father wasn't right about everything. You of all people should know that," he said quite blandly in the same language. There was something about being able to express himself in his native language- for once he was assured on not missing any subtle nuances. 

He felt a spike in her emotions. That obviously hadn't been what she had been expecting from him, an accused war criminal. It was true she had only been involved with Raberba Winner, and hoped to marry him at some point, but political differences had forced them apart. Along with the knowledge that none of Winner's thirty children approved of her. Being stepmother to the Winner brood would have been a nightmare, but she would have accepted that in exchange for the money and influence the position would have brought her. 

Raberba had dumped her, though, after one of his empathic daughters had thrown a fit. It had been the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. He could over look some differences in political ideology, but he insisted on trustworthiness. Qamar had claimed that Fatima was more concerned with power then him, and she would be seen dead before she allowed the relationship to continue. Qamar had been right about Fatima's motivations, but that didn't stop the other woman from resenting her. 

Now, though, she was grateful. If the brat hadn't pulled her stunt, she very well might have ended up as Mrs. Winner, which would have had disastrous repercussions. Raberba had been a traditionalist, and he would have keep her at home, locked in a Muslim marriage. Now she was powerful and respected in her own right, power she had gained through her own cunning and political manipulations, rather then by her looks. It was more satisfying that way. 

Quatre knew the whole story, though he hadn't seen the woman in nearly twelve years. His childhood memories were vague, but he could feel the force of her presence as she leaned closer to speak to him. "Really, Quatre," she said. "Why did you ever let things get this bad? You didn't allow the lawyers your sister Yaminah is assembling to do their job- they could have stalled the extradition long enough to build a case for immunity. In fact, why did you confess in the first place? You should have said nothing, maybe even sued for slander. Made them back off."-p "I confessed because it was the truth," he answered, meeting her eyes levelly. 

He had surprised her again. "Can you really be that innocent?" she whispered, taking his chin in her right hand and tilting it up so she can examine his face. "My God, you are," she exclaimed. Then she frowned down. "You don't look much like your father, but there's something about him in your stance- an arrogance, perhaps." 

No one had ever called him arrogant. He blinked, wanting to refute her accusation, but unable to find the words that wouldn't prove her right. "Why are you doing this, Fatima?" he asked softly. 

"Doing what?" 

He tried not to wince as her fingernails pressed against the tender flesh of his neck. "Trying to use me. I can't believe it's coincidence you're in charge of the investigation against me by chance." 

Her fingers tightened, and Quatre was hard pressed to keep tears from springing to his eyes. "Now, you'd like me to explain everything, like a gloating villain? Explain my plans so you can plot to foil them? I'm not that stupid. 

"And I have news for you. _I'm_ not the villain of the piece- you are. Ask anyone." With that stinger, she quit the room, leaving behind a young man with his thoughts in turmoil. 

His hand went unconsciously to where she had pressed her nails into his skin, wincing as he felt the wet warmness that could only be blood. She hadn't meant to hurt him, but she had. It hasn't been the purpose of her visit. She had been playing an entirely different game. She had visited briefly to let him know she was there, and he was in her power, but there was more to it then that. 

He brought his fingers back in front of his eyes, staring at the stain on his fingers. So much blood. How much blood had he seen? 

_Blood._

In the dimly lit restraining cell, it appeared almost black, like the black blood of legendary demons. 

_I am a demon,_ he thought. _The bogeyman mothers used to scare their children into behaving. The monster with the cherubic face. _

I am a martyr. 

He remembered being younger, schooling with his older sister Ghaida. Ghaida had been unique among the family in that she was a Christian. Part of that religion seemed to be worshipping a man who had hung himself up on a tree, suffering for his beliefs. A martyr. One who makes great sacrifices or suffers much in order to further a belief, cause, or principle. She had impressed on him the importance of being willing to become a martyr for a cause, not fighting back when offered the chance, but instead offering himself for peace. 

Quatre had thought it was an incredibly noble thing to do. And an incredibly strange one. 

He had chosen to fight, chosen to protect what was dear to him using the Gundam. He had chosen to stand up for what he believed in. He had put aside the beliefs of generations of his ancestors, become estranged from his father, become someone he never would have dreamt possible. A warrior. 

This time, he had calmly accepted his fate. Fatima had been correct when she pointed out how irrational that had been. He had wanted to state his innocence, wanted to believe that the truth would b all he needed to protect him, but that was naive. He was naive. She had been right. 

_Damn that woman._

The truth... 

_Sometimes the only thing you can fight with is the truth._ Reeshya had said that, but she hadn't meant for him to accept whatever the World Nation did to him. She had been begging him not to go, not calmly accept an unjust arrest. But he had. 

Why had he? he wondered. _Why did I let them take me away from my family? _

Do I want to be a martyr again? 

Quatre growled in frustration, grabbing the pillow on his bed and throwing it against the wall. _I am not a martyr! Martyrs DIE, and dying is the least productive thing I am do! _

I am a hero, he thought firmly. _A man of distinguished valor or enterprise in danger, or fortitude in suffering; a prominent or central personage in any remarkable action or event; hence, a great or illustrious person. I was before. And I'll be again. _

I'm not a businessman. I'm not a villain. I'm not a martyr- I'm a hero. We all were. 

Somehow, that realization made him feel better. For the first time since the war, he felt at peace with himself. 

He knew what he was. 

He knew what he was doing. 

He knew that challenges he had ahead of him. 

And he knew he could win this one. 

"Bring it on, Fatima," he whispered. "I'm ready for whatever you can deal out." 

  


* * *

  
**Scene XII: Faces Out of the Darkness**

  


_"Why did you turn out the lights?  
Didn't you know that I was sleeping?"  
--The Cranberries, Empty_

The one thing Wufei did not expect to see when he stepped into the room that night was the dark-skinned boy standing by the doorway, staring straight at him as he walked in carrying a paper bag full of groceries. 

"Where's Heero?" Wufei said, not bothering to say hello. The bag started slipping from his grip and he stopped, set it down by the chipped table next to the mirror. 

Darkflight shrugged. "I don't know. Haven't seen him." 

"He wasn't in the room when you got here?" 

Darkflight shrugged again, and Wufei watched his back for a moment before turning away, reaching into the bag of groceries, pulling out a slightly wrinkled orange and a loaf of bread. The window was open on the other side of the room and the last light of evening stained the floor and walls a pale, ghostly blue-gray. There was no wind. He dug one fingernail into the skin of the orange, ignoring the juice that squirted onto his face, methodically peeling strip after strip, dropping them onto the floor. 

"Want some?" Holding out the finished product, scarcely the diameter of his hand. 

Darkflight shook his head rather sullenly, turning back to his guardian post by the window, and Wufei shrugged, slid a slice of orange into his mouth. The fruit was bitter, but he chewed, swallowed, reached for another piece. Looked again at Darkflight standing by the window. 

"Are you waiting for him?" 

There was no need to voice who Wufei was referring to. 

"You know I am." A slight curl of the lip. "Not that it makes any difference." 

Wufei set down the orange and regarded the boy standing by the window, silhouetted by the fading light, lean and wiry and far too thin, dark skin seeming to absorb the shadows around him. 

"Do you still think he'll come back with you?" 

"Leave me alone," Darkflight said, and Wufei tensed, ready for the inevitable barrage of defensiveness that usually came with that statement, something he'd learned through traveling with the erratic boy. He had only spoken to Heero's former partner a few times, but every time it was if he was the one doing wrong, he who had taken Heero away from where he belonged. 

But Darkflight said nothing after that, lapsed into a moody silence that made his skin crawl. He was used to silence, but with another person around it was uncomfortable, like he should speak. He had never had this problem before. An aftereffect of his self-imposed solitude, maybe. 

"Heero deserves a better life," Wufei said. Not trying to convince Darkflight. Just making a statement, something that had to be said. 

"Wing doesn't need you," Darkflight said through clenched teeth. Emphasis on the name Wing. "You don't understand him." 

"We were Gundam pilots together," Wufei said calmly. "I think we understand each other pretty well." "What are you so afraid of?" he said. 

Darkflight's head turned sharply, and there was fire in his eyes. "I'm not afraid of anything," he spat, the fight back in his words. "I'm not afraid of you." 

"I didn't think you were." Cutting a slice of bread, the knife held in his sure grip. "That's not what I'm asking." 

"You wouldn't understand," Darkflight bit out. "You've never been to L1, have you? The Breaks?" 

"I can't say I have." 

"Wing told me about you." The scorn was audible in the dark boy's voice. "Rich kid, growing up having it all. You had the world handed to you on a silver platter. I had to fight, to kill, for what I wanted. Wing understands that. Wing belongs in the Breaks with me. It's our world, and I'm not going to let you take it all away!" 

"I'm not taking anything away from you." He put the loaf away, the knife, cupping the cut slice of bread in his palm. "Look, Darkflight. I know you don't like me. And you know what? That's all right with me. When this is done, when it's all over, I'm not going to choose Heero's path for him. If he wants to go back to the Breaks, with you, it's up to him. I'm his friend, not his father. It's not up to me." 

The dark-skinned boy said nothing, but the silence was tense. 

"Or," Wufei said gently, "maybe you're afraid that if he remembers what he lost, he won't want anything to do with you anymore." 

"You don't understand!" Darkflight said desperately, but Wufei could tell that he had hit a sore spot. "Don't talk about things you don't understand." 

"I'm an assassin too, you know," Wufei said. Darkflight's head jerked up sharply, and Wufei held his gaze level. "I was trained as a pilot, a killer, an assassin, a soldier. I'm all of those things. And so is Heero. That's why he's so good at what he does. We've both been to places that probably equal your Breaks in conditions, so don't think that I don't know what it's like there. Heero's a free soul. You have to understand that. All of us were…we were trained that way." 

"More than trained," Darkflight said. 

Wufei frowned. "What do you mean?" 

"Don't tell me you don't know that," Darkflight said. "I thought you knew everything about Heero." The name came awkwardly out of his mouth, almost like a curse. "Or was I wrong?" 

"You mean the genetic manipulation," Wufei said. "How did you know that?" 

"He told me. I do know him." 

Wufei sighed, taking a bite of the bread. Darkflight knew much more than he had thought, and he supposed he had been wrong in trying to judge their relationship before gathering all the facts. He regarded the other boy in the dimming light, trying to place him on the scale in his mind, weighing him. Darkflight was an enigma, a mixture of strangeness and eerie familiarity, so different from how he used to be and yet the same. 

He was not jealous of Darkflight. No, just sometimes he felt like an intrusion into their world, the private world that the two of them had built in the years when he was not there. 

"Just…" Darkflight said, and Wufei turned. The other boy's eyes were hooded. "Don't try to take him where he doesn't belong. Or you'll have me to deal with." 

"I'm not-" Wufei began, then shrugged and turned towards the door. "I'm not going to argue with you." Opening the motel room door, admitting the cheap glare of the streetlights. "If he comes back, tell him I've gone out." 

He didn't wait for a response, letting the door slam behind him as he trotted down the stairs and onto the concrete of the parking lot. The moon was rising, a slim crescent in the sky surrounded by cloudy stars, and he wondered where Heero had gone. 

Neither of them spoke of his drug addiction. It was there but unmentioned, just as Darkflight was there and unmentioned. Two very tangible reminders of the past which would not die, and Wufei had no intention of getting rid of either one. If Darkflight chose to stay with them, it would be to their best interest, and to his as well, but Wufei wouldn't be surprised if one day he simply wasn't there anymore. The drug addiction was a little harder to deal with, but it was not something that could be corrected overnight. And so he said nothing. 

If it had been two years ago he would have sneered at Darkflight's words, ordered Heero to stay within his sight at all times, waxed eloquent on the nature of the new war they were fighting. But it wasn't two years ago, and he was tired. 

There was no going back. 

He hadn't even really known Heero, even when the war ended, but now he felt like they had known each other all their lives. 

It was a small town in the middle of nowhere, which was why he had decided that they'd stay here for the night. They had been staying in small towns, for fear that someone somewhere would recognize either his or Heero's faces from some newspaper or television commentary, and it would be all over. But in the past few weeks, he had felt an insatiable craving to get away, to lose himself in the crowds and bright lights of the unnamed downtown of some grand city, become just one of the shifting blobs that moved with the motion of the great ocean of people around him. He had not been to a city since…since the riot. 

Geneva was only a few days, hours, perhaps, from where they were now, and he wished he had a number or access to a computer so he could contact Sally. Sally would understand his mission, he knew. She'd always understood him, even when he had not understood himself. The conversation in the hangar that night before he had left had haunted him since he'd seen Heero Yuy's hard blue eyes staring into his from under the mask, but he only remembered bits and pieces now. 

_The war isn't over - it's just beginning. _

You fought for penance. You're not a fighter, Wufei. You're a scholar- or you were. Now, you've made yourself into a man who walks two worlds. 

She had spoken of Nataku. He had not thought of Nataku since they had fled China, but he thought of her now, somewhere among the stars, perhaps watching him walk down the narrow alleyway of a street, searching for something he couldn't name. 

_No matter what you do, you will be searching for your place in this life. What I'm worried about is that you won't find it._

Maybe Sally was right. 

There were a few bars and shady places open in what could be considered the center of the dingy town, and he glanced as his reflection in the dirty glass as he passed shop after shop. He needed a haircut, he decided, while evaluating the fringe of hair hanging down over his ears and his eyes. He had lost his hairband and never bothered to find another one. His face was haggard, tired, and there were dark circles under his eyes, a bruise on his left cheek. Where had that come from? 

"Lost?" 

Wufei jumped and realized that he had stopped walking, had been staring into the same darkened shop window for at least a few minutes. The voice came from behind him and he turned warily, coming face to face with a tough-looking, dark-haired young man. His face was friendly but closed, and he was looking curiously into the shop window. Looking, Wufei realized, at his reflection. 

"I'm just thinking," he automatically said in Japanese, and the man's face cleared before Wufei realized that he had been addressed in thick, accented English. 

"So you speak Japanese. Not many people around here who do." 

"I speak Japanese," Wufei said shortly, not wishing to strike up a conversation with a stranger who might recognize his face. It was entirely dark now, with the only light coming from the few streetlights along the road and the blinking neon signs of the bar several buildings down, but he couldn't afford to take chances. "What do you want?" 

The man shrugged, stuck out his hand. "Yoroshiku. Machida Varis." 

"That's not a Japanese name," Wufei said, curious despite himself, as he reached out to shake the man's hand. 

Varis laughed. "You're right. Last name Japanese, first name Latvian. My beloved mama was from Latvia, and she named me. Father was from L1 and met her when he came to Earth to study at the Academy." 

"The Academy?" The hair on the back of his arms pricked and he suddenly cursed himself for leaving his gun at the motel. The knife was securely strapped to the back of his leg above his shoe, and to get to it he would have to act quickly…"What Academy?" 

"Lake Victoria Academy, of course. There's only one." Watching him closely. 

With one quick motion he bent and whipped the knife from under his leg, a breath of air passing close to his face as he shoved the man against the closed doorway of the shop and pointed the knife at his throat. "What do you want?" he hissed. 

Varis' expression didn't change. He was about as tall as Wufei was, but compactly built, and it had been two years since the war. If he wanted to kill him… 

"You're still as good as ever," Varis said. 

Wufei blinked. "What?" 

Surprisngly, Varis didn't move, let himself be pinned by the knife, looking at Wufei appraisingly. "I recognize you, Chang Wufei, but I doubt you'd remember me." 

"What are you talking about?" he said, bringing the knife a little closer to the man's throat. "If you want to talk your way out of this, it won't work. I don't plan on being captured or killed by the likes of you." 

"Actually," Varis said, "It's the opposite. I'd like to join you." 

Wufei blinked again. "You WHAT?" 

"If you'll let go of me," Varis said, "I'll explain." For the first time Wufei noticed that the bulging blue vein on the man's forehead was twitching ever so slightly. "I promise, I won't lay a hand on you. I'm not here to kill you." 

For a frozen second Wufei hesitated, then stepped away, pointing the knife in front of him. "I'm counting on your word." 

"My word is my honor," Varis said, and for the first time a hard look came into his eyes. "Ever since the war ended, that's all I really have left." 

"You fought…in the war?" A question more of surprise than of actual curiosity, but Varis didn't answer. Instead, he put a hand to the pocket of his dark, threadbare pants, and Wufei stepped forward threateningly. 

"It's not a weapon." 

"I'm not taking any chances," Wufei retorted. "How do you know my name?" 

Varis snorted. "Everyone knows your name." Still rummaging in his pocket. "It's only been in the prime news spot every day since it first came out. Your name and picture…I'd be surprised if half the world population doesn't have every name and face of you and your friends committed to memory." 

"Like you?" He put scorn into the words. 

"I didn't have to memorize," Varis said. "I already knew." 

Before Wufei could respond to that, a hard metal object was thrust into his hand, and he looked up to see Varis nodding towards it. "Do you recognize that?" 

He turned it over in his fingers, the knife forgotten. It was a badge, a sword with serrated wings centered in the middle of a crest of fire. The thing seemed made entirely of silver, shining in the glare of the streetlights, and he ran his fingertips over the bottom where words were carved, in English. 

SPECIAL OPERATIONS 

It took a moment for the meaning to hit him, and he gripped the badge in suddenly tightening fingers, remembering his sojourn aboard the Peacemillion, the hangar where the Gundams were kept, the soldiers who had worn the black uniforms and carried the guard rifles. Elite forces, Sally had called them. Security measures, in case White Fang or Romefeller decided to infiltrate the ship. 

The face of the young guard that had manned the night shift for hangar security, never speaking, just nodding to him as he passed in and out through the hangar doors. He had never known his name. 

"I remember you," he said softly. "You were the guard in the hangar…you were in charge of security in B sector." 

Varis reached out, took the badge from Wufei's hand. The lines of his face were familiar now, though they were years older, covered in dust and grime. "It's been a long time. I didn't know if you'd recognize me." 

"You always did a good job," Wufei said. Feeling foolish for his initial reaction, he leaned down and replaced the knife in the sheath of his shoe. "Thank you." 

Varis shrugged. "Not that it helps any now, does it?" Rummaging in his pocket again, pulling out another object. "Here." 

It was an electronic identification card, with the thin metal strip running down one side and information printed on the other side in both English and Japanese. MACHIDA VARIS, D. PREVENTERS SPECIAL FORCES. 

Wufei ran his thumb down the edge of the card, feeling the plastic dig into his skin. The wind was getting colder, and he regretted not bringing a heavier jacket. The dead light of the streetlamps hovered in the air above the deserted road. "Who sent you?" 

"Actually, no one. I'm one of the contact points for the Eastern Asian border." 

Wufei glanced warily at him. "I'm not sure I should believe that story." 

Varis laughed. "I know Lady - General Une about as well as you do, and believe me, she didn't send me. She has no idea where any of you are, and neither did I. You five did a very good job of hiding your whereabouts after the war. I'm a trained professional. Intelligence, covert operations, criminal tracking, you name it, I can do it, but I couldn't find you. And believe me, I tried." 

Wufei's lip twisted. "All of us are trained professionals too. When we don't want to be found, we won't be." 

"I know that too. I'm actually lucky I managed to track you down." 

"And how did you do that?" Varis held out his hand for his ID, but Wufei pulled it away. 

"I'm running a little low on trust right now. You give me your story first." 

Varis shrugged again. "Why not? After the war I joined the Preventers, not because I wanted to, but because it was what any sane young man would do who had been in the elite security forces during the war, had no civilian skills whatsoever, and had no place to go. My parents fought for OZ, were killed about halfway through the war, and I had no close family. Sally…General Po knew I was good, so she was the one who suggested that I put in a request for Special Forces." 

"I thought you were already Special Forces," Wufei said. 

"There's an application process…they don't accept right away. Rather complicated. Long story short, I got in. My first assignment I stayed in Geneva, and I'd just got moved here to investigate a crime ring when the Gundam story broke. I didn't get any specific information from headquarters, but I was informed by my superior officers to…keep an eye out for suspicious behavior." 

"So you were sent." 

"Not directly to find the pilots, no," Varis ran a hand through thick black hair. "And actually, I spotted you outside of that little town in northern China where you stopped about two nights ago. Been following you ever since." 

"So then why didn't you show yourself sooner?" 

"I had to make sure. It has been two years. Who's that dark-skinned boy with you?" 

"Just someone I know," Wufei said shortly. "None of your business." 

"Someone you know? Or someone-" 

Wufei shoved him against the side of the doorway, clamping a hand over the soldier's mouth. "Look here. You might know who we are and have our best intentions in mind, but I'm not taking any chances. You mention his name and I'll have to kill you right here and now. And I am a trained assassin, no matter how good you are. You can't get away." 

Varis nodded, and Wufei released his grip, stepping back. He held the identification card and Varis took it, stuffing it back in his pocket. "Deal," he said. "I won't mention…him. And I haven't contacted headquarters, if that's what you were worried about." 

"I'd rather get there myself," Wufei muttered. "Don't want to make a scene." 

"If you don't mind…" Varis began, and Wufei shook his head. 

"No. You're not coming with me. Go back to where you came from." 

"I'd be helpful," he said. 

Wufei snorted. "You'd only get in the way. I can find my way to Geneva from here." 

"How are you going to get in?" 

Wufei narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?" 

"They don't just open the base gates to anyone, you know. You need an identification card." 

Wufei sighed, exasperated. "Why are you so set on coming with me? I'm a wanted terrorist. You don't want to hang around the likes of me." 

There was a short pause, and for the first time, Wufei saw an expression come into Varis' eyes, a faint look of hopeful longing. "I want to help," he said. "I'm not doing any good…stuck out here. You know?" He looked young, suddenly, the same as he had looked two years ago on the Peacemillion. "I know you're innocent…I want to help prove that. I just want to get back there so I can do something!" 

The passion in his voice was quiet, but audible, and for a moment, Wufei hesitated, still tempted to say no, this isn't a fight for soldiers like you. This is my fault, my penance. This is…all because of me. 

"Fine," he heard himself say. "We'll take you to Geneva…if you can get us into the base." 

"That's what this is for," Varis answered, patting his pocket. He was smiling slightly. 

"And if I find out you're lying to us," Wufei said, "or if I even have the slightest doubt in my mind about where your true loyalties lie…" he trailed off, turning and looking the soldier full in the face, making his words hard and cold. 

"I will kill you." 

  
Act VI Part II | Act VI Part IV | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	24. Scattering What's Left of the Light

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING **

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT V, PART IV 

**Kakaekirenai hodo yume o mite  
Minna kanaeru no  
**
**I have so many dreams that I can't hold them all  
They will all come true  
**

**--Gundam Wing, _Joy to My Life_  
[Dorothy Catalonia image song]**  


  
  
**Scene XIII: Of War, Peace, and Pacifism**

  


_"To tell the ones who hear no sound,  
Whose sons are living in the ground,  
Peace on Earth."  
--U2, Peace on Earth_

  
"I'm not going." 

Helena blinked her sapphire blue eyes at her boyfriend, trying to understand what he had just told her. "What?" she whispered finally. 

"I am not being party to bringing the Gundams back. They were sent away for a reason, and I'll be damned if I do anything to support it." 

Chris Johnsen rose to his feet, and walked over to his shelf. He'd had to shift rooms since his was currently a "Crime Scene". Getting thrown out of his place and being supervised as he packed his belongings had not been one of the moments he wanted to write home about. His father would have pulled him out of school in a heartbeat had it come to his attention. 

His reason for staying sat on the wooden desk, looking at him with inquisitive eyes. There was tension around her mouth, but her golden hair was tied back into three perfect ponytails and her uniform was as immaculate as ever. They were an odd couple- him, known for his laid back and accepting nature, while Helena was the outgoing and ambitious type. While he was handsome, he didn't quite match Helena's angelic beauty. People wondered what they saw in each other. 

He could have answered easily enough. Helena was like a sun; she drew people towards her to orbit, seek warmth, and bathe in her glorious rays. Duo had a touch of the same quality, a charisma and magnetism that made him almost impossible for the unwary to resist. The two teens could charm the masses through their very presence alone. 

Chris, though, was the moon to her sun. He depended on her light, but knew she depended on his quiet contemplative presence to keep her grounded, to keep her from becoming out of touch. She was exceptional; he reminded her what ordinary was. He loved her and supported her in what she did, amused by the passion she used to undertake what she wanted. This was the first time that they had ever really disagreed. Chris wasn't quite sure when his life had fallen into chaos. He had liked his luxurious, comfortable world, and he had seen no reason to change. 

Though Chris never made a deal of it, his family was among the wealthiest in known space. They rivaled the Winners of L4, the Imonoyamas of Japan, and the Kennedys of America, to name a few. As such, they were fervent supporters of the status quo, and intermarriage among the upper class had inevitably linked them to Roshtilda Dumont's descendants. 

Dumont had been the original founder of the Absolute Pacifism movement. Her ideas, while not revolutionary, fell in with the newly-developing Cinq Kingdom. The Kingdom had spread it through the aristocracy, and the result, as they would say, is history. While the current Queen of Cinq may have been the world's most famous supporter, she was not the only one. Especially not among the elite; families like his. 

All his life, he had been taught war was wrong, to turn the other cheek. He had been taught to believe in the essential goodness in humanity, to believe that diplomacy, when done correctly, would always work. While at times he had questioned it, he believed. 

He had to. 

Helena, though... was a warmonger. _Well, be fair,_ he chided himself. _That makes her sound bloodthirsty. She merely believes that sometimes war is necessary to purge humanity of its evil, of the pent-up rage which is so much a part of it. At least that's what she says._

He could never agree with that. Never, never, never. Killing never solved anything. 

Helena studied him carefully. "You have to face facts, Chris. Duo's already in Japan, we're going to pick him up, and this is going to be the last place you'll want be. There's going to be repercussions, dangerous ones. You'll be a handy target, and if Shinobu and I leave you here alone, you'll be in danger." 

He studiously kept his eyes on the bindings, reading them off mentally. _Romeo and Juliet.... La Morte d'Arthur.._. This was an argument that had been brewing, one he had been hoping to avoid. _Mr. Midshipman Hornblower... Uncle Tom's Cabin...._ "I'll be fine. And you shouldn't go, either. It's not your battle. Let Duo deal with it- it's none of our business." 

She rose to her feet. "Are you going to start telling me what to do, then?" she asked. Her voice was sweet, but Chris knew she was pissed off. 

"It's not our business." 

"It IS!" she declared, rising to her feet angrily. Even though she only came up to his shoulder, her fury gave her enough presence to make him gulp. "If we want the right to live in a peaceful world, we must work for it ourselves. Someone has to be the one to draw the line in the dirt, and say 'I'm not going to take it anymore.'" 

"Why us?" Chris gave up the pretense of examining his book collection. "We're not warriors. We're not soldiers, or politicians. We're just a bunch of school kids who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time." 

"History is made up of people who were 'in the wrong place at the wrong time,' Chris! Or maybe it's the right place! We live in momentous times, beloved, and if we sit and let others make the important decisions to be made, we're no better then marionettes!" 

Chris felt a rare flash of temper. "And bringing weapons of mass destruction to Earth is the right thing to do?" 

"It's better then believing in a philosophy that, while wonderful in theory, couldn't hold water if you gave it a bucket and told it where the well was!" 

He flinched. "The Cinq Kingdom uses it to this day!" he retorted, his voice rising. 

"And look where that got it! The royal family was slaughtered, and the only reason Queen Relena maintained control over it was because she was friends with Major Noin, Milliard Peacecraft is her brother, and the Gundam pilots all protected her! She was impotent by herself!" 

"She was not! She's the most respected politician on planet or in space! She-" 

A knock on the door interrupted him before he could continue. The two blinked as Shinobu shyly peeked his head in. "I am very sorry to interrupt you, but General Po is due to arrive here in two hours. You had better pack." 

"I'm not going," Chris said. 

The young Asian frowned. "What?" 

"I'm not helping you! I won't stop you, but I will not be party to murder!" 

The other two were quiet. Finally Helena found her voice. "Is that what you think? Really? That we're advocating murder?" 

"Yes! Murder is defined as killing inhumanly, killing brutally! Aren't that what the Gundams do? They depersonalize death!" 

"Tell Duo that." 

"I don't want to talk about him." Chris turned to leave the room, but Shinobu caught his arm. 

"Kimi wa okubyou mono da," Shinobu spat angrily. 

"What?" 

"You are being an idiot! A coward!" Shinobu's accent was thicker then usual, and his skin was flushed. "We are not here to simply enjoy life! We are here to challenge it, to explore the possibilities! We are helping Duo not just because he is our friend, but we believe that some things are worth fighting for!" 

"There is no point in fighting!" 

"Dete ike, kono shirinuke me!" Shinobu spat, transferring his hand to Chris' collar and dragging him out of the room. "I need to talk to your girlfriend; she is saner." 

Chris watched as the door shut, stumbling into the wall. "Great. Thrown out of my own room." 

  
_Kimi wa okubyou mono da : Japanese, "You are a coward."  
Dete ike, kono shirinuke me: Japanese, street slang: "Get out of here, you fucking idiot!"_

  


* * *

  
**Scene XIV: Not a Laughing Matter**

  


_"Isn't it rich? Isn't it queer?  
Losing my timing this late in my career.  
And where are the clowns? There ought to be clowns..  
. Well, maybe next year."  
--Stephen Songheim, Send in the Clowns_

  
"General Po, you have a call on line sixteen." The aide was young, one she didn't recognize. 

"I'll take it in my office," Sally said, exhaustion coloring her voice. She was tired and on the verge of a breakdown. She strode into her office, kicking the door shut behind her with a casual thrust of her left leg. Hurrying over to the paper-strewn desk, she grabbed her comfortable leather chair and plopped on it, valiantly pretending not to see the piles of unfinished paperwork on her desk as she reached over them to toggle the switch. 

"Hello?" 

The screen didn't broadcast a vid, so immediately her suspicions were aroused. When the voice spoke, it was scrambled. "I found the bird. Three to transport from the rookery," the computer-jumbled voice said. Then the transmission ended. 

If Sally hadn't known who it was, she never would have had any clue what was going on. But she recognized the agreed upon signal, and an eager smile quirked her lips. She hit the intercom button and tried to keep a level voice as she spoke. "Book me a shuttle and a pilot, top security! I need to leave at fourteen hundred hours today." 

The aide was apparently experienced enough not to ask questions. "Yes, ma'am. Any preference on the pilot?" 

"Silverstein- no, he's in Africa... um, better make it Krushchev." 

"Krushchev just came back yesterday from the relief mission to L1." 

"I know. He's had almost sixteen hours off. Time for him to get back to work." 

"Aye, ma'am. Is there anything else?" 

Sally gave her a tired smile. "Send someone to my quarters to pack me a bag- my current night bag is dirty. And have that person delivery me a new uniform here. Thanks!" She cut the transmission, leaning back into her chair. 

Unconsciously her fingers crept to the small remote she kept in her desk drawer, flicking it into the "On" position. With a hum, her chair leapt to life, and she practically melted at the feel of the warmth that was emitted. This was her guiltiest pleasure: a heated chair that she had requisitioned from stores, which had had to place a special order from a custom manufacturer for it. It was true that it was quite an extravagance, but she reasoned that the benefits were worth the expensive sticker price. Besides, it also had a built in massage function. They would pry it out of her possession over her dead body. 

She closed her eyes, trying to orient herself. She felt like she was walking a delicate tightrope, and she wasn't fond of that sensation. She liked control. 

It seemed like less then a minute before she heard the insistent chime of the intercom jolt her awake. She had fallen asleep; not a surprise with the sleep deprivation she had been experiencing. Rumor had it that Une was on the verge of a nervous break down, and Sally was scarcely able to believe she'd be able to do better. She was stronger then Une, but not by much. Une was a damn stone. 

She switched the chair off and rose to her feet, stretching slowly and regretting the warmth she was leaving behind. HQ's air conditioning was turned up a little too high for her liking, and she was constantly campaigning to get it turned down to something reasonable. Une, though, came from a cold country and like things around her to be positively frigid. 

It was easy to guess who won that battle. 

The intercom was still buzzing. She wished she could pretend she hadn't heard it, but that would only lead to an annoying pounding on the door. It was a pain to be one of the most powerful people in the world - you had so little time to yourself. 

"Yes?" she said, hoping her voice didn't sound as testy as she felt. 

"Your clothes are here. General Brown has them." 

"Send him in!" she ordered. 

The General came in, trailed by an aide who didn't look more then twenty. "Why, General, I didn't know you were into woman's fashion," she said teasingly. 

"I'm not, but Captain Lopez is," he answered, smiling teasingly at his young aide. "I sent him and his girlfriend over to pick up what you'd need, since your staff is seriously depleted at the moment." 

The Hispanic man colored and handed over a garment bag and a duffel. "There's a few uniforms in there, along with the necessities Airman O'Connelly said you'd need." His cheeks flushed even more as he rambled an explanation. 

A perfectly wicked idea came to her. She knew it was unworthy of her, but she hadn't done anything mischievous in months, so she figured she was entitled to allow her impish streak to surface. She could pretend, just for a moment, that things were peaceful, and the world was just. 

"Thank you," she said, unbuttoning her jacket. "General, is Lopez cleared?" 

The older man nodded. "He's my new aide, ever since you saw fit to reassign Major Trudeau. He's green, but he has an eidetic memory. It's been useful." 

"Could also be dangerous, but I'll trust your judgment. And I am sorry about Trudeau, but it was necessary, since I'm running out of brass to place around. He is one of the best agents I have." 

"Should be, since I trained him!" Brown retorted with a friendly grin. 

Sally laughed and tossed her jacket over her chair. "Have a seat, then, both of you. Do you need coffee?" 

"No, Sally, we just came from the officer's club." His eyes widened as he caught the sparkle in her eyes, a sparkle that had been long missing. He realized that she was up to something, and quickly figured out what. He almost pitied Lopez for the shock he was going to get. Almost. 

"Ahhhh... haven't been there in months. Is the _ma po dou fu_ still any good?" She shrugged out of her shirt, shivering slightly as the cold air of the room hit her skin. Standing in just her pants and bra, she open the bag and began to rummage through it. "I hope you packed my skin cream," she muttered. 

"I wouldn't know. You know I can't at any of that... junk. You should try a hamburger." 

Lopez, meanwhile, was torn on how he should be acting. It would be rude to stare at Sally's figure, but there was something fascinating about the sight of a superior officer wandering around unclothed. Sally was pretty, and about the same age as he was. 

She glared at Brown as she found her cream. "You just have no respect for culture." Opening the jar, she inhaled the pleasantly spicy scent. The cream was cold on her fingers, but she smeared it on her hands and shoulders anyway. She was constantly suffering from dry skin. 

"I do, but that's not our discussion right now. I assume you heard about Noin?" 

"Une was very happy about that. She practically broadcasted it to the entire organization." 

"You sound disapproving." 

"I'm not, exactly. I'm glad to hear Noin is alive, but I gave her up for dead. I've mourned her, and suddenly she's back from beyond the grave. I just... can't quite wrap my mind around it." 

She sorted through the garment bad and pulled out a new top to replace the one she had just discarded. Her rough fingers caught on her dress one, but she passed it over in favor of one of her regular working shirts. 

Lopez looked like he was ready to faint. 

"Must you strip in front of my very young aide?" Brown said. 

Sally affected surprise. "I'm sorry, but I have limited time here. I assumed it wouldn't bother you." 

"It's not bothering me, but not everyone has your medical detachment to a naked body." 

She laughed. "I'm sure you're appreciating the show." 

He grinned at her for an answer. 

Lopez had caught sight of her bra, and finally gave into the urge to cover his eyes with his hands. It made him look twelve years old. 

Deciding she'd had enough fun at Lopez's expense, Sally quickly finished changing, undid her hair and picked up a brush. "Captain, I'm more comfortable holding a conversation with someone whose face I can see," she chided gently. 

He hesitantly pulled his hands back and raised her brown eyes to her. She could see the relief in his expression as he noticed that she was once again fully dressed. 

"General, is there any news on that unknown faction?" He lost his good humor, and she knew this was bad. Very bad. So bad she could smell it from the colonies bad. Sally stopped brushing her honey-blonde hair and studied his grave expression. "What is it?" 

"It appears that some vast network who we were previously unaware of is working behind the scenes in several hotspots." 

"What are they doing?" 

"They have funding from somewhere, and are supplying several anti-Gundam groups with resources, and seem to be helping with communications between resistance cells. They're also interfering with various Colonies, and L1 has been experiencing some major political upheavals and street wars which we have traced to the Black Diamond Cartel. Someone, though, is working for the Cartel on Earth, and it's not an established agent. There's been reports of assassins and dealers coming through customs and taking out some Preventer agents. And according to one source, they've even placed a contract on 05." 

The curse exploded from her mouth before she even had a chance to restrain it. "Shit!" 

"I quite agree." 

"Why would they want to kill Wufei? I mean, it makes no sense- the Cartel has never been interested in anything beyond the Breaks." 

"They're changing, adapting to the new era. You know the Doi government has been promising the L1 citizens it would clean up the Breaks. The cartel is being forced into a corner, and that's not a pretty thing for the rest of us." 

"So they're looking to expand their reach," she said, carefully parting her hair so she could twist it back into her trademark braids. 

"But it's not just the cartel. A007 is having the military funded coup, and there's proof that someone actually did, in fact, fire on the Preventers at Moscow, and that the shooter was an expert marksman. Preventer agents worldwide are being assassinated. It could be anti-Gundam backlash, but if it is, it's extremely well organized, well informed, and well financed." 

A frown furrowed the smooth skin of her brow. "The three worst combinations." 

"I hate opponents who have brains. It makes killing them so much harder." 

"Michael!" Sally exclaimed, trying to keep from laughing at his rather shocking statement. _Michael always DID believe in shoot first, ask questions later philosophy._

"What?" he said, affecting an innocent expression similar to the one she had used earlier. 

"Never mind. So what's the connection between everything? What can someone possibly hope to gain from a revolution on A007 and letting the Breaks continue, even expand? There's no connection." 

"You're right, there isn't," an unexpected voice said, interjecting before she could finish her train of thought. 

Sally turned, her eyes narrowing on the young aide who just dared to interrupt her. It was extremely rude, and violated protocol, but at that moment, she didn't care. "What do you mean?" 

"It's obvious that the goal is to disrupt the current political system. My guess would be that some high ranking, upper-class anarchists are plotting to overthrow the World Nation." 

She blinked slowly. "And how, may I ask, do you come to that conclusion?" she asked, her voice positively frigid. "Isn't it more likely it's anti-Gundam protesters?" 

Lopez's bronze skin had paled. This wasn't the joking woman who had thoughtlessly changed in front of a general. This was a brigadier general in her own right, and she was demanding answers, and if the answers weren't what she wanted to hear, she'd cut him dead. He took a deep breath, knowing his career was riding on his next few words. "The key is A007. Events there started last September, well over nine months before the Gundam pilots' identities were revealed. That means that it's extremely doubtful there is a connection, especially since news of A007 didn't hit the mainstream presses until late March." 

"You're smart. How old are you?" 

"Twenty-two, ma'am." 

Sally Po blinked. Enrico Lopez was actually older then she was. "Who did you fight for during the War?" she wanted to know. 

"I received a deferment from the Federation when I was eighteen. I entered Johns Hopkins to study medicine, but transferred several times until I graduated from Oxford with a degree in economics. Immediately thereafter I applied to the Preventers officer school. I've been an agent for about a year." 

"Impressive resume. Watch this one, Brown. He's going to have your job if you're not careful." 

Brown smiled. "I do." 

Lopez squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. 

"It's sound reasoning," she said, tying off her last braid with an elastic band. Her monitor's black screen served well enough to show her a reflection of a reasonably composed General. "Do you have anything else to report?" 

"No leads on the pilots from any of my agents, though one claims to have seen Trowa Barton from a distance in Milan. When he got closer, Barton had disappeared." 

"Could just be wishful thinking. Do you know how many sightings have been reported to the hotlines since their names were revealed?" Sally asked. 

"When I checked yesterday, the count was at 165,437." 

"Anyway, if you've nothing else to report, I have to leave. My shuttle leaves in half an hour, and I want to grab something to eat on the way." 

"Where are you going?" asked the old spy. 

A smile lit her face. "I just had a transmission from Cliffside. Matsuura has managed to locate Yuy." 

"WHAT! When were you going to tell me?" Brown demanded, rising angrily to his feet. If there was one thing he hated, it was being cut out of the loop. 

"Shush, you! I haven't even told Une, and you shouldn't tell her either! We both know that Matsuura is a security risk- for God sakes, the kid's from L1 most likely! I don't want to get her hopes up- I'll tell her when I have something concrete!" 

He nodded grudgingly. "So what are you going to do?" 

"I'm going over to pick him and a few others up at Cliffside. After that, I'm going to locate Yuy hopefully and bring him back here!" 

"Good luck! I've heard he's strong willed. You'll have to do a lot of fast talking." 

"To put it mildly. Anyway, I need to go." She rose from her chair and gathered the two bags. 

"Enjoy your flight, Sally. And stay safe," Brown said. 

She gave him a smile. "I will. You do the same." 

Lopez held the door open for both of them, allowing his superiors to proceed him. He was fervently relieved that his big mouth hadn't gotten him demoted. 

As the door shut behind him, a small bug began to transmit the conversation it had recorded. 

  


* * *

  
**Scene XV: Dreaming**

  


_"Feel so free  
Don't wake me from the dream  
It's really everything it seemed."  
--Cowboy Bebop, Blue_

  
"We've got to hit them at the heart," Gustavson said grimly, folding his hands in front of him on the long table where papers lay scattered and the tips of laser light pointers congregated in a small heap at the center, and the wrapper of a half-eaten field ration stared hungrily up at the ceiling of the tent. "And that heart is Toris Military Base." 

From across the table, Dorothy saw Milliard nod, look at Noin. Her stomach tightened and she resisted the urge to excuse herself, to run out of the meeting tent just to avoid the sight of them together. Together! It made her sick. 

_I'm sorry_, he had said. _I believe our time together is over._

She had stayed, decided to stay in spite of her better judgment. She still wasn't sure if it had been worth it. 

Dorothy Catalonia was not a quitter, but there were some games which she knew she could never win, and this one was one of them. 

"I'm sure Noin and Etille can tell us more about that base," Milliard said, gesturing to Etille, who sat across the table from him. "I'm not exactly sure how involved you were with that installation while you were on A007 as a colonist, but…" he trailed off. 

Etille took the cue and stood. His hair had gotten longer, Dorothy realized, since his imprisonment. He must not have bothered to cut it since he had gotten back. Surprisingly, it made him look more…human. 

"I was stationed at Toris Military Base, actually," he began, pointing at the place where the red X was on the light map. "When the World Nation transferred me here, they basically told me to keep an eye on the colony for them, to make sure that no kind of trouble, such as rebellions or otherwise, cropped up. They didn't want another war on their hands." 

"Did you?" Milliard said. 

Etille snorted. "Like hell I did. The World Nation didn't care what I did. They just wanted to get rid of me. And I knew that as well as they did, so I got here and decided to take matters into my own hands. I'd settle for second-best on some deserted colony, but it was going to be the best fucking second-rate colony in the history of second-rate colonies." 

Pointing to where the capital city was on the map. "They'd attempted to settle A007 before the war, but efforts were abandoned when Heero Yuy was assassinated. They'd pulled all the miners and soldiers out, so all that was left was a city the size of a small town, abandoned, dusty, falling apart. My men and I changed all that. By the time the first group of miners arrived, we had transformed this place into a working city. The World Nation sent over some politicians, but it was the military who ran things. The politicians were just figureheads, but it didn't matter. The military knew what was best for these miners. Most of the poor fellows had never had so much as a roof over their heads for more than a few days. We gave them all that and more." 

Noin frowned at the map. "So you were in command of the military." 

"I was deputy commander. There was a man over me…he's dead now." 

They waited in silence, but Etille offered no further information, instead walking over to one of the side tables, pulling out several sheets of a material which reflected the dim light of the glowlamps. 

"What are those?" 

"Pictures," he said, holding them up and letting the light seep through. Dorothy blinked. They were indeed pictures, color photos of buildings. 

"What the hell?" She leaned forward, mouth open. 

He smiled. "These are called slides. I had them taken a while back, took them with me when Gustavson asked me to join him. Not much in use anymore, back on Earth, but when you're in a place like this, you use whatever you can, even obsolete technology." 

Milliard shot her a glance and she turned to look at him. He looked away. Etille gave both of them a sharp glance, but she ignored him, focusing on the photo. 

The building was ornate, in the style of one of the smaller 18th-century chateaux in her native France, but here the resemblance ended. The wrought iron gates surrounding the building itself were reinforced iron, and there were guard towers located at regular points along the wall just inside the gates. The mansion itself had been modernized, with several wings quite obviously added on after its construction. 

"Toris," Etille said, without preamble. "This was one of the old buildings left over from before the war, and the new governor wanted a private retreat where he could escape to when the going got tough. So we remodeled this for him." He nodded at Noin. "The part of the building in which Noin and I were held captive was major remodeling and add-on to the main building…a military wing, with officers' quarters and a hangar. I was the supervisor for that building project. Quite obviously, when the rebellion started, they had transformed the officers' quarters into prison cells." 

Noin sucked in her breath. "That explains why they were such…nice cells." She winced. "That sounds wrong." 

Etille held up the next pictures. "The back of the base. There are outlying yards and buildings and other hangar areas that I didn't bother to photograph. We'd originally intended the use of the hangars to mining transports and police vehicles only. When they got hold of the mobile suits…" he trailed off. 

"They had the resources right there for storage," Gustavson said in a soft voice. 

"Exactly. I wish I could have foreseen that at the time…but some things are just not possible." 

"Not your fault," Gustavson said. "Is that all of the pictures?" 

Etille placed the two photographs on the table. "Yes, sir." Pointing again at the map. "Toris Military Base is surrounded by several checkpoints. There are three main roads which run to the base for supply transports, which probably are used for mobile suit delivery as well. I made sure myself that those three roads are the only entrances and exist from the base." 

"So what you're saying," Milliard said from the other side of the table," Is that we're going to have to figure out a way to get into the base through legal means." 

Etille smiled. "Oh, we're going to have to figure out to get into the base," he said, "but it's not going to be legal." 

Milliard looked tired. He had a right to be, because he had just gotten out of bed for the first time two days ago, and even before then she had been pleading with him not to go on the next engagement. But she'd known him for too long to know that her please would do no good whatsoever. 

"You can stop talking about it, Noin," he said the day before. "I'm going, and nothing you can say will stop me." 

She wished Dorothy would stop hanging around, wished the other girl would go back to whatever duties she had. Noin had given her a fair amount of things to do, ensuring that Dorothy didn't feel left out as the deputy commander. But she knew Dorothy resented her still. Every look from the golden-haired girl, every pointed word, every gesture in her direction meant that she, Lucrezia Noin , had done something unworthy of the heir to the Dermail duchy. 

_Did you know? _

Did you know that Dorothy Catalonia is in love with Milliard Peacecraft? 

He claimed that he had changed his name for good, but he was still Zechs to her. Would always be Zechs, because the Milliard she had known during the war was a frightening one. 

She didn't simply want the dashing, mysterious young warrior or the broken, bitter prince of the Cinq Kingdom. She wanted both of them. 

That, to her, was who Zechs Merquise was. 

She sighed, signed her name to the report that was about to be sent out to the Preventers headquarters on secure channels, made sure that Milliard could read the closing lines. 

_We plan several sorties on strategic air and ground bases in the vicinity of the capital. If we fail, that will be the end of our presence here, but I don't want to believe that we can fail. If Etille is right, there is too much riding on our success for us to turn back now. Keep us in your prayers._

"You're eloquent," Milliard mused as she keyed in the send button, watched as the document encryption code rolled across the screen and the words blinked at the top of the monitor. 

DOCUMENT SENT. VERIFICATION CODE RECEIVED 

"And that's that," she said. 

"I'm still going." 

Noin sighed. "I'm not going to argue with you," she said. "It's your own decision. You're commander." 

Milliard laughed. "Funny. I don't feel like it." 

"I don't want to be doing your job for you. I'd like you to have it back." 

"I suppose I could do that," he murmured, and she shivered as his long fingers brushed the back of her neck ever so slightly. "You should get some sleep. Tonight's going to be a long night for all of us." 

The afternoon sun shone in through the tent walls, the first sun she had seen in days. It was high noon, and the landscape outside was burning and barren. It was a wasteland here. She had had enough. She wanted to go home. 

"Zechs?" she said, suddenly feeling very alone. 

He caught the tone of her voice, turning around to look at her with gentle eyes. "What is it?" 

"Do you think…you think we'll ever get to go home?" 

Her voice caught on a sob. The exhaustion from the past few days flowed over her like a flood and pushed herself up from the computer chair, barely able to keep her knees from buckling. 

"Noin?" he asked. She felt the touch of his hand on her arm. 

"I'm so tired…" 

Strong arms wrapped around her and she sobbed into his chest, feeling curiously vulnerable and ashamed and safe all at the same time. 

"Don't be afraid, Noin," he whispered. "As long as…as long as I'm here…" 

"Milliard?" 

She froze, pushing away from him, knowing exactly who it was that had stepped into the tent. She felt Dorothy's stunned gaze on her, then on Milliard, then back on her, accusing, eyes with the force of daggers. Jealousy sharp as thorns. 

"I'm sorry," Dorothy said in a frosty voice, and turned on her heel. 

"Dorothy!" Milliard said. The flap closed behind her with a final swishing sound. "Shit," he said, releasing Noin gently, striding to the door and pulling it open. "Dorothy!" 

She watched him disappear outside and then she was alone again with only the memory of his words and the tears on her cheeks. She had not cried in…when was the last time she had cried? 

It had been too long ago. 

"There's nothing to say," Dorothy informed him over her shoulder, not even looking at him as she stormed up the hill. He scrambled to follow her, his haste making him clumsy. He was a soldier, Milliard thought wearily to himself, not a prince in disguise. 

Well, maybe he was, but he didn't see why… 

"Dorothy, stop. Look, can't we-" 

"There's nothing to say!" To his relief, however, she came to a sudden halt, hands on her hips, long golden hair swaying below her waist. She hadn't bound it up today. Her back was still turned as he came up behind her. "I won't listen to a word you say, Milliard Peacecraft." 

"Dorothy, look. I know-" 

"No you don't!" He was caught by surprise as she whirled on him, angry gray eyes like a summer storm. "How dare you put words in my mouth?" 

"Dorothy, I-" What the hell, he thought. Just say it and be done with it. "Dorothy, I'm sorry." 

"Liar," she said, but the fight had gone out of her. In the slumped set of her shoulders, he saw defeat. 

"What's bothering you? If it's Noin and me…" he trailed off. What could he possibly say to that?" 

"There's nothing you can do about that," she said, echoing his thoughts. "So just forget it. Forget you ever knew me. Forget that we were ever friends, because we're not anymore!" 

There was nothing to say to that. "Fine," he said flatly. "You said it. We're not friends anymore." 

She didn't answer. 

"Go get some sleep," he said. "That's an order, Lady Catalonia. We'll be moving out at dusk." 

He didn't wait for a response, didn't expect one before he turned and moved slowly down the hill. Wondering how it was that things had come to this. He had valued her friendship…valued her. She was vivacious, passionate, intelligent, and a true soldier. In fact, if Noin hadn't… 

He didn't want to think about that. 

He reached his tent and sprawled out on the sleeping bag, watching the sunlight and dust patterns on the tent ceiling. He couldn't sleep. It was the wrong time, his body clock said. There were things to do, soldiers to brief, strategies to plan. 

Though if all went well tonight, it would be the last strategy they ever needed to plan here, in the field. If all went well, the A007 government would never know what hit them before all their mobile suit resources went up in a puff of smoke. 

If they could take control of the base. 

He thought of Gustavson, and his firm belief in the case. 

He thought of Etille, the face of a soldier who had seen too many engagements and yet still pressed on because it was his duty. 

He thought of Dorothy, her golden hair swimming around her face, her eyes trying to tell him something as he swayed under the hypnotic pulse of her lips opening and closing without sound. 

He thought of Noin, her arms around him and her unique scent and her voice, her raw determination in the face of the enemy. 

The last thing he saw before he drifted off to sleep was the face of another golden-haired girl…sweet and innocent, like an angel…or like a princess… 

"Zechs," the voice said. "Zechs, wake up." 

His arm hurt again and he had a crick in his neck from sleeping the wrong way. He groaned. 

"Zechs." The hand shook him. "Come on. We're getting ready. We're packing up some of the camp…the mobile suits are getting warmed up." 

He opened his eyes. It was dark, and Noin was carrying a lamp that in his blurred vision looked like shining water. 

"It's time already?" Stretching. His injured arm screamed at him, but he ignored it. "Feels like I just fell asleep." 

"In uniform too." She looked critically at him. "I suppose that's normal. Your troops are waiting for you." 

The mobile suits had been moved closer, and he slid into the seat, already feeling the welcome touch of the instruments and the familiar light of the panels. The suit was already alive and humming, having been warmed up before his arrival. He rather wished that he had been the one to start it up, but he couldn't afford to be picky at times like this. 

"Bravo squadron, all systems go." Gustavson, on the far side of the camp. 

"Charlie squadron, all systems go." Etille. 

Noin's face appeared on the screen. She was smiling. "Delta squadron, all systems go." 

"Echo squadron," said Dorothy. Her picture did not appear on the screen. Milliard sighed. "All systems go." 

He wondered if she was still upset at him. 

"All right," he said. "Alpha squadron, all systems go. We're moving out. Stay close and tight. You know where you're going. Follow your squad leader." 

The faces of the squadron leaders blinked off the comm screen, and he headed into the cliffs, power settings low to avoid radar detection. The blips of the mobile suits behind him were glaringly bright on his scope, and he wondered how many they would lose tonight. Two? Eight? Twenty? 

Those soldiers would die here, far from home, names and faces lost in the dirt of some far-out, barren colony, not even remembered for what they had done. For some reason, the thought of that was strangely numbing, as if he knew exactly which ones would die tonight. 

"Alpha leader, target spotted." 

"Roger that, Charlie leader." He flicked his targeting scope on. If Charlie had spotted the target from their area, that meant the base was coming up close at hand. 

"All communications, off," he ordered over the comm. Grasping the stick too tightly. His hand was sweating. "Follow my lead." 

With a crackle, the comm went dead as he flipped the switch. The bright infrared flared to life over the viewport scope and he saw the base come to life in lines and blobs of muddy green light. The guns were silent. So far, so good. 

"Here goes nothing," he said, as he pulled to the right and the mobile suit's thrusters came to life in a roar, and he opened fire. 

"Echo leader, this is Delta leader. Target spotted." 

"Roger that," Dorothy said, snapping a quick readjustment to her targeting scope and running one finger along the safety harness keeping her firmly anchored in her chair. It was tight around her breasts and she could feel it pulling uncomfortably with every jolt. "Echo squadron, communications off." 

Switching her own comm off, she flicked the infrared. Immediately the world around her lit up. Clouds of smoky green light flashed in front of her, behind the towering cliffs blocking most of her vision. That must be Milliard and Gustavson. Etille should still be on his way, if all went well. Etille was the key to the strategy. Etille and Noin… 

"We're going in," she said to no one in particular. The blips behind her shifted as she powered on her thrusters. The walls of the base loomed in her bright green vision and the first mobile suits glided towards her. 

"I'll show you what I'm made of, Noin," she ground between her teeth. "You'll see!" 

The explosions shook the air around the cliffside but Noin kept her grasp firmly on the stick in her hand, glancing at the scope now and then to make sure that Milliard was still there. 

It was selfish, she knew, but she figured it as her duty. It didn't matter that she'd also glance now and again to look if a second dot was there, the dot labeled E1. 

_Why do you hate me so much?_

_Because you're you. And I don't like people like that._

She and Etille were the plan, after Milliard, Dorothy, and Gustavson had drawn the main base force out from its cover. Surprisingly enough, according to Etille, there might be large numbers of mobile suits in the base hangars, but there were actually very few personnel stationed there who could operate a suit with any sort of efficiency. 

_Bureaucrat personnel_, he'd said, disdainfully. _Rather sit at a desk and do paperwork than fly._

Milliard seemed to be holding his own. The side of the cliff was dark and chilly, and Noin found herself shivering in her chair. Turning the heater up a notch, she rubbed her arms. 

They were all just children, really. 

They were too young to die. 

The blip that was Dorothy worked its way closer and closer to the heart of the base, to the main building. Towards Milliard. 

Noin's hands clenched on the control stick. 

"Now, Noin," Milliard muttered under his breath. She should be watching the scopes, knowing when most of the mobile suits had been knocked away. Clearing a path. The guard towers had been no match for an experienced pilot like himself, and their small force had outnumbered the base defenses, as Etille had said. 

They'd forced their way around to the main building, as Etille had told them, he and Dorothy forming a defense line to allow Gustavson's suits to make it through, and it looked clear. Before another squadron of reinforcements had come through. 

It didn't look so good anymore. 

To his left something exploded, but he didn't turn his head to see what, just kept shooting. Kept firing. His arm began to throb again and he switched fire control to the other hand, keying the comm for emergency transmission. 

"Alpha squadron, stats!" 

"We've lost Three and Four, sir. And Five is at 60%." 

He darted to the side, fired his thrusters, narrowly missing the laser beam that came from behind. The suit slammed into the ground and he jerked the stick haid, trying to minimize the shock. "Damn it, Noin," he whispered. "Where are you?" 

"They're here!" 

Gustavson's curt voice over the comm, and Dorothy looked to her left, around Milliard's suit, to the line of mobile suits sweeping towards their position. That was Etille. Where was Noin? 

"Zechs! Look out!" 

Milliard's craft sidestepped as the enemy suit came in low to the ground, thrusters firing at maximum output. As it hit the ground she saw the other suit come out of nowhere, opening fire. The enemy suit exploded. 

"Zechs, watch your back!" 

Noin. 

"You watch yours!" Dorothy grated over the comm, and was rewarded by Milliard's grim face flickering onto her scope. 

"That's enough, Dorothy." 

"Shut up!" she screamed. "Don't tell me what to do!" 

"Dorothy-" Noin. 

"Leave me alone!" The explosions rocked her craft, and she jerked the stick wildly, letting her mobile suit spin into the sky, spraying fire. Screaming. "Leave me alone!" 

"Mobile suit at ten o' clock." 

"Got it," Noin said, spinning and clipping it twice, once on the leg and once in the chest. It fell in a shower of sparks. 

"Are you all right?" 

"I'm fine," she said, catching another one in the arm. The gun dropped from its hand, smoking. A laser blast grazed the arm of her suit and it shuddered, readings dropping. She readjusted the power output. "You take care of youself, Zechs. I don't want to lose you again." 

"I know," he said over the comm. Switching frequencies. "Bravo Leader, code orange." 

"Roger that," Gustavson said, and she saw his suits break off their engagements, following him to the other side of the base. The enemy suits hesitated for a minute, and she saw them turn. 

"Follow them!" Milliard barked. 

"Roger. Delta squadron, we're going in." 

"Echo squadron," she heard Dorothy repeat. "We're going in. Watch your back!" 

"We need more people over here! Can you spare two?" 

"Charlie leader to Echo leader," came the faint reply. "Negative. We are all occupied over here." 

Dorothy slammed her fist into the control panel. "Damn! They keep coming!" 

"Six o' clock, Echo leader!" 

She flicked a glance at the scope just in time to avoid the rapid fire coming from the Taurus behind her. That had been Noin on the comm. "I don't need your help," she said, opening fire. 

"Suit yourself," Noin said, hurt evident in her voice. That was fine with Dorothy. She didn't need Noin's help. She didn't need Milliard's help, either. She was all right. 

She'd show them that she could handle things on her own. 

"Delta leader," Milliard said, "Do you need reinforcements?" 

"That would be much appreciated, Alpha leader." 

"Roger. On my way." 

The other side of the base was even brighter. Two outbuildings were on fire. There was twisted metal wreckage on the ground, and the lasers were thick here. He could hardly see. 

Squeezing the trigger with one hand, he reached over and flicked off the infrared. The moon was bright, accenting the fire's glow. At this rate, the fire would reach the mansion in no time. 

"Bravo leader!" he said tersely over the comm. "The building's going to catch fire!" 

"I see it," came the response. "On it." 

The suit came in from behind, and he barely ducked before it roared by. 

"Noin! Watch it!" 

"Got it," she said, before the suit exploded in an impressive fireball. 

"Zechs," she began. 

She heard it coming before she saw it, the brilliant red suit highlighted by the fires leaping into the sky, saw the comm screen flicker fuzzily. 

He was young, the pilot, with blond hair cropped close to his head, brilliant blue eyes. She caught her breath. He looked like- 

"My name is Lieutenant Commander Davi Morgan." His voice was tight, angry. "Rebels, you'll pay for what you've done!" 

"Wait!" she heard Milliard yell, but the face disappeared as quickly as it had come, and the red suit disappeared behind the building to her right. She backstepped, waiting. 

"Dorothy! Look out! DOROTHY!" 

She was turning too slowly. The mobile suit's eyes seemed to be watching her, laughing. Laughing because she was going to die. It was in front of her. 

"DOROTHY!" Noin screamed, and she slapped the control panel, all power to rear thrusters, leapt into the air, speeding towards the red mobile suit which in the flames of the buildings looked like it was made of fire itself. 

"MOVE, DOROTHY! MOVE!" 

Noin's mobile suit was moving too quickly, and the red suit was on the wrong trajectory, and there was going to be a collision. 

He had to do something. 

"No, Noin!" he yelled, trying to bring enough power to the engines for a last, desperate heroic act. Better he than her. Better- 

He wouldn't make it. He needed Epyon, and this was no Epyon. 

"NOIN!" he cried. "NO!" 

The only thing Dorothy saw before the explosion blinded her was the red suit in her view and then the other suit, crossing her path of vision, throwing her to the ground. Her neck twisted and she saw spots. Felt a searing pain. 

There was a flash of light. 

The explosion lit up the complex, scraps of molten metal flying outwards, embedding themselves in his windshield. It cracked. 

"No," Milliard said. "No." He punched the comm. "Delta leader. Come in, Delta leader. Come in. Delta leader!" 

The smoke was clearing, but he could see nothing. 

"Noin!" he called desperately, watching the scope for something. Anything. A bit of light, to know what she had made it. 

"Noin?" Dorothy whispered. Staring up at the sky. 

The stars were still there. 

The lump of twisted, half-melted metal smoking in the small crater too far in front of him was black in the light of the flames. It couldn't be…she was alive. She had to be alive. She'd be there any minute now, walking out from the blast unhurt, waving at him, saying, it's all right Zechs. I'm here. I'm still here. 

"NOIN!" he screamed, letting go of the stick and pounding the control panel with both fists, hearing glass crack and the hissing of broken electric wires, but he didn't care. 

She couldn't be dead. 

He wouldn't let her be dead. 

"Alpha leader! Alpha leader!" 

"FUCK YOU!" he screamed, jerking the stick with the intensity of a madman, feeling his blood boil, opening fire without aiming, just wanting to kill. "FUCK YOU!" 

The building behind him exploded in a shower of flames, and he could see a mobile suit very close behind him. Friend or enemy? It didn't matter. 

Nothing mattered anymore. 

"Let me die," he said. Calmly now. "I'm going to die." 

"Alpha leader! Pull out! Pull out now!" 

"LET ME DIE!" 

The light of the explosions blinded him, or maybe it was tears, but he hadn't cried in so long that he couldn't remember what it was like anymore, but there was something coming at him, coming out of the rolling billows of smoke, before he released his thrusters and charged headlong into the thick black cloud. 

  
_Go to Noin side Waking_

  
**END SAINAN NO KEKKA ACT VI**

Act VI Part III | Act VII Part I | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	25. There's a Voice that Calls the Soul

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT VII, PART I

** I just feel rhythm emotion  
Kono mune no kodou wa  
Anata e to tsuzuiteru so faraway**

Mou kizutsuite mo ii  
Hitomi wo sorasazu ni  
Atsuku hageshiku ikite itai

Akiramenai tsuyosa wo kureru  
Anata kara dakishimetai  


** I just feel rhythm emotion  
The beat of my heart  
Carries to you so faraway**

It's all right to be hurt  
I won't turn my eyes away  
I want to live passionately, fiercely

Because you gave me unfailing strength  
I want to embrace you  


**--Gundam Wing, _Rhythm Emotion_  
[Second TV opening theme]**  


  
  
**Scene I: Love and Loyalties**

  


_"Kiss me and tell me it's not broken."  
--Mundy, To You I Bestow_

  
Chris left an hour before the shuttle arrived.

He hadn't even said goodbye to Helena. Shinobu had knocked on the door of his room, hoping to reason with the boy. Chris had had to change rooms since the riots, and the door looked lonely with only one name card. He would have preferred they'd have listed Duo's name too, although that might have led to hardship for Chris.

There had been no answer, and after the third knock, Shinobu had tried the handle, discovering that the door was unlocked. When he stepped inside, he realized at once that the room was empty.

Chris hadn't had many belongings to start with, but it was obvious that he had taken most of his things with him. Shinobu opened the closet, poked around in the drawers. Chris was definitely gone.

Helena was not going to be happy to hear this.

When he told her, only her eyes betrayed how upset she was. She was strong, Helena, but he knew she had really cared about Chris, no matter how many differences they had had in the past few weeks.

"I hope he's happy," she said simply. "I suppose it had to happen sometime."

"What do you mean?" he asked, curious, but she simply brushed the question aside, bending down to pick up her bags.

"Come on, Shinobu. We don't want to miss General Po's shuttle."

He thought of his grandfather then, of the smirk on his face when he had promised to come back to L1. How much was he throwing away, promising something like that? And how much was he throwing away now, following Helena off on some wild chase for a truth that might not even exist?

He followed Helena out of her room, hoisting his bag onto his back. General Po's shuttle was due to meet them at the airport's north landing pad in twenty minutes, and he'd only been over on that side of town once or twice. The north landing pad was used for dignitaries, visiting officials from the World Nation or important guests come to check on the progress of the school. And, apparently, for Preventer generals.

He wondered if he could be classified as a VIP now, knowing the second-in-command of the Preventers, getting a ride in a Preventers shuttle.

"Shinobu, what are you doing standing there? Hurry up!"

He realized he had stopped in the middle of the hallway, staring into space. "Sorry," he said, hurrying to catch up with Helena, who had already rounded the corner to the elevators and was standing with one hand on the "down" button, elegant finger resting lightly on the lighted plastic, blond hair bundled up and held in place by what looked like a pair of enameled chopsticks. The chopsticks were the only remotely recognizable thing about her presence today. She was dressed more plainly than he had ever seen her, in an old tshirt and jeans with a hole in the knee, battered sneakers, and no makeup.

She didn't look like Helena Rosenbaum, president of the junior class and most popular girl at Cliffside Heights. She looked like a girl who had gotten too little sleep in the past week, a girl who was trying too hard to maintain the façade of normality through it all.

"Relax, Helena," Shinobu said softly.

She jumped. "What?"

He tried to smile at her, to make her believe it was all right, but he would be fooling only himself if he tried to tell her that. They both knew that was a lie. "You should have faith," he said carefully, trying to find the right words. It was so hard, in English. If she knew Japanese, he could…

"Daijoubu, right?" she said. Her accent was odd, but just the fact that the word had come out of her mouth made him stare at her. "Did I say that right?

"Where did you learn that?"

She had the grace to look faintly embarrassed, her cheeks slightly flushed. "I…I've been trying to learn some Japanese. Ever since this happened….ever since Duo went away. It might come in handy, you know. Besides…" she trailed off.

"Besides?" he prompted.

"I've been…" Whatever she was going to say was cut off the pinging of the elevator as the doors opened. The elevator was empty. He let her enter first, holding the door open for her with one hand while she maneuvered her suitcase and duffel bag inside. He hit the button for ground floor.

"You were saying?" Shinobu said.

"Nothing."

They rode the elevator down in silence, as he tried to decipher her last words. He'd always seen Helena as a very open person, but he had hardly known her before the Gundam news broke. The only reason he had remotely had contact with her was because they were both friends with Duo. Duo had a knack of doing that…of bringing people together.

He realized that he missed Duo's effervescent presence, the cheerful laugh and the open smile. Duo hadn't asked questions, hadn't judged, just accepted him for who he was, and Shinobu was eternally grateful to him for that. Of course, it all made sense now. He supposed that it had been easier for Duo to do that, hiding such a painful past behind him.

He wondered how he would have turned out if he had spent just a few more years in the Breaks. Would he have been able to hold his head up high, like Duo?

"Shinobu!"

Helena's voice was sharp and he realized the elevator doors had opened and he had been standing there staring into space.

"Sorry," he said, picking up his bag.

Her voice softened. "Look, I understand it's kind of a shock leaving the school…but if we don't hurry, we'll be late."

"I am not shocked," he said, wincing at the stiffness of his words. Not for the first time, he wished he was more fluent in English. It was so hard trying to convey his feelings in a language that had none of the melodic lines of his native tongue. "I was…it is hard to explain, for me."

She smiled at him sadly. "I understand."

_No you don't_, he wanted to say. _For you this might be the beginning of an adventure. For me, it's just the continuation of a long story._

They exited the dorm, crossed the long plaza in front of the building which would usually be full of students at this time of day. It was almost depressing how empty it was. Most of the students here had been pulled out of school by their parents, and with slightly less than half of the student population remaining, Cliffside had ceased to even try to keep up a pretense that the student body was still functioning. People went about their business, but even the professors seemed to have lost the will to teach. No one studied. Shinobu hadn't done his homework since General Po's visit.

He had had more important things to think about.

A group of girls huddled furtively around one of the tall trees at the edge of the square, discussing some homework. A lone male student jogged quickly to the other side, disappearing up a flight of stairs. The clouds passed over the sun, and Shinobu felt a chill. Helena looked at him out of the corner of her eye, stopping quickly to adjust one of the straps of her duffel bag.

"It's lonely here, isn't it?" she said.

"It feels strange," he muttered. "Like…"

She frowned at him, eyes alert. "You think we're in danger?"

"No…" he shook his head. "I do not know. But I feel like I have felt this way before. And I do not like it."

"Well…" she trailed off. "I'm not sure why, but you seem like you'd have a better knowledge of these things than I do. So keep an eye out, huh?"

Shinobu blinked, his brain processing the idiom several times before he remembered the meaning. "Yes. I will…'keep an eye out' for you."

Helena giggled, the first time he had heard her laugh freely since the riots. The sound made him smile involuntarily.

They passed through the arches that signified the end of the academic area of the school, walking past the gymnasium and the football and track fields that signaled that they had now left campus and were headed into the town. Cliffside was quiet, but the sun was intense, and by the time they reached the small airport, Shinobu was feeling the sweat drip down his back, wetting his shirt and trickling down his neck from his hair. Helena was sweating delicately as well, and as he sat down in the shady area outside the outprocessing building to catch his breath, she was rummaging in her bag for a handkerchief.

"I forgot how hot it gets in July," she said. "I usually spend more time indoors during this time of day."

"I do as well," he said, getting to his feet and heading in the direction of the water fountain. He could hear her footsteps following him as he bent his mouth to the faucet, gulping down the water. He liked water fountains. They were one of the best inventions he had found when he came down to Earth from L1. In the Breaks, they didn't have water fountains.

"So what are we going to do after…you know?" Helena looked at him and he could feel her nervousness emanating in the heat of the afternoon.

"I have not been informed of that," Shinobu said, wiping the sweat off his nose and staring morosely into the noon sun. "I have only been in contact with General Po once or twice since the attacks."

"Oh. Sorry." She sounded genuinely sorry.

"Why are you sorry?"

"I don't want to invade your privacy…"

Before he could respond, they heard the roar of an approaching craft and the landing lights began blinking. The grass whirled with the wind of the engines and a large transport with the Preventers logo painted on the side settled to the landing pad. Helena stood up, picking up her bags.

"I guess this is it," she said.

The ramp lowered slowly and a familiar honey-colored head emerged. General Po was waving to them, which Shinobu found rather odd. An odd gesture of affection for two high school students who she had only met once. Though he had found that Westerners were strange.

But wasn't General Po Chinese…?

"Shinobu! Helena!" The general covered the distance between them quickly, giving Helena a quick hug and shaking Shinobu's hand, as if she was just one of them instead of the second highest ranking military official in the world. "I'm glad to finally have the chance to talk to you. Let me get your things."

"I can carry my own, thank you," he said, as she took one of Helena's bags.

"I'm afraid there's not much room on the shuttle…it's going to be a tight fit. But we're not going far. It will only be a couple of hours."

"Where is he?" Helena said anxiously.

"I'll tell you when we're safely off the ground," the general responded, pressing a red button on the far wall. The landing ramp retracted, closing them into the ship with a final thump. He gazed out the window. The wind rippled the grass and he could see the roofs of the school buildings in the distance. Suddenly, it all seemed very far away.

"I'll be back after take-off," General Po said. "Make yourselves comfortable."

"Yes ma'am," Helena murmured as the cockpit door slid shut, and the two teens were left alone in the back of the shuttle. Contrary to the general's former statements, Shinobu actually found the craft quite roomy, with large, soft seats and reading lights, trays for beverages and baggage storage racks. General Po must have commandeered a VIP shuttle.

The engines roared to life and suddenly he felt Helena crowd onto the seat next to him. He was about to ask why she was taking that seat when there were empty ones across the shuttle, and then he realized she was crying.

"Daijoubu?" he said uncertainly, taking some comfort that she understood that word, that he could at least show his concern in his native language. "Helena?"

She wiped her eyes. For the first time he noticed that her usually immaculately brushed hair was tangled and that strands of it had come loose from the chopsticks holding it in place. She looked like she hadn't slept last night.

"I just realized how much I'll miss this place," she said. The shuttle lifted unsteadily off the ground, gaining altitude. The buildings of Cliffside shrank to pinpoints. "It was like…home to me. You know?"

"Yes," he said softly. "I know."

"And I'm glad…we're going to see Duo…but everything's just so different…Chris is gone. Ilene is gone. Duo…Duo's not the same anymore. I just don't…"

She trailed off, and he felt obliged to put one arm around her in an awkward gesture of sympathy. "Daijoubu, Helena," he said again. "I am here." The words sounded horribly lame, but they were the only things he could think of to say that would remotely make sense. He hadn't dealt with an upset female in years, not since he'd left his sister on L1. He never imagined that he would see Helena so upset. Not Helena Rosenbaum, straight-A student, class president, confident and cheerful.

_Chris, you bastard, why did you leave her like this?_

It wasn't Chris' fault, he chided himself. He hadn't really known the boy, true, but Chris wasn't the kind of person to leave out of sheer spite. Chris was doing what he believed was right, as they were doing what they believed was right. As was Duo.

"I miss him, Shin," Helena whispered, and he didn't have to be a genius to know she was talking about Chris. "I miss him so much…I really thought he loved me." She gave a choked laugh. "Listen to me, I sound like some teenage drama queen."

"No," he said. "Those are legitimate feelings. You cared for Chris, and I know he cared for you too. Therefore it is only right that you should be feeling this way. You will both move on. Maybe you will be reunited soon."

To his surprise she started laughing.

"What did I say?" he said, slightly stung.

She shook her head, wiping away tears, still giggling slightly. "You…just have a refreshing way of putting things. I think I like it."

The cockpit door slid open again and General Po emerged. "We're well on our way," she said, a brusque note in her voice. This was a woman who liked to take charge, Shinobu noted. He had always known that, ever since he had met her, but it had never really sunk in until now. His grandfather had the same manner of speaking, except it was with even more authority.

"Where are we going?" Helena asked again.

"Japan." The general took a seat on the unoccupied side of the cabin, staring out the window for a moment before turning back to them. "I've tracked his location to one of the islands off the coast of the country. In the middle of nowhere, very small, very uninhabited. He and Hilde have probably had to live off spare rations for a while."

"He knows we are coming?" Shinobu said.

"I contacted him after we lifted off. He knows. He's expecting us."

He saw Helena clench her hands in her lap and instinctively he put an arm around her shoulders again. Her muscles were tense. He saw the general give them a look and then stand up.

"Get some sleep. It will be about two or three hours before we get there, and it's a time change."

Helena dropped off to sleep almost immediately, nodding on his shoulder while he stared silently into space. General Po had gone back into the cockpit again and he was left with his own thoughts. He saw his grandfather again in his mind, wondered what had possessed him to agree to the twisted deal.

_I don't want the cartel…I've never wanted the cartel. If I could, I'd dissolve it. I'd give it away. Something._

But he couldn't. That was the reason he was here. He had wanted to get away from it all, and now he was ending up going back. All to help a friend.

And to save the world, maybe.

He didn't even notice when he fell asleep, only jolted awake at the sound of the cabin door sliding back again, General Po emerging from the cockpit. He looked at his watch. It had only been four and a half hours since they had left Cliffside, but the sky was dark and the time zone adjusted clock on the shuttle wall read a little past 4 AM.

"Are we there?" he asked. His voice was rough with sleep. On his shoulder, Helena stirred, her hair coming loose from the chopsticks and falling around her face. The movement woke her and she sat up groggily.

"We're there," Sally said. "Duo's waiting."

Helena stretched, wincing. "I have a crick in my neck," she said. Looking at the clock. "Wow. We're really in Japan."

"It was only three hours," he said, but she was smiling eagerly. There were still dark circles under her eyes, but she looked refreshed.

"We're really in Japan! And we're going to see Duo."

"You are excited about this," he observed.

"I've missed him," she said. "I gotta…gotta go to the bathroom. I look a mess."

"You look fine," he heard himself say, and to his surprise she smiled at him again.

"Thanks, but I don't think so." Getting up. "I'll be back."

Shinobu was left to look out the window alone. There were no lights anywhere. They must be flying blind. The general hadn't been joking when she said this was an island in the middle of nowhere.

Wait…there was a light. Just a pinpoint, but still a light. The shuttle turned towards it and the light widened, turned into a beacon. They descended out of the sky, like an angel descending from heaven, Shinobu thought, then wondered how he had made that analogy.

They landed with a slight jolt, and he could hear the hiss of the engines powering down, the roar dwindling to a slight hum. The light was all around them now, flooding into the windows. Pressing his nose to the glass, he stared.

"So that's a Gundam," he said to the empty cabin, in Japanese. The huge machine stared at him with empty, eerie eyes, and he felt a chill. They were so small, he thought, and it was so big, so powerful, like a god. The beacon seemed to be coming from a spotlight on the head of the Gundam.

"Yes," said a calm voice behind him, and he whirled to find General Po looking at him with some amusement. 

"When…I didn't hear you come in," he stammered in his native language before he realized it, but she was already moving towards the door.

"Come on," she returned in Japanese, smiling slightly. "Go meet him. I'll be there shortly."

The landing ramp lowered with a hiss and then he was hearing the crash of the surf in his ears and smelling the slightly salty air. Hearing the sound of footsteps and then a familiar face was before him, blue eyes beaming.

"Shin! Dude, you made it!"

He had never been so glad to hear someone speaking Japanese in his life. His lips quirked in a smile.

"I'm glad you made it," he said. "We were worried…"

Before he could react, Duo had reached out and grabbed him in a body hug. "Hey man, don't worry about me. You know I'll always come through." Releasing him, looking him over. "You don't look too bad yourself. What's going on at home?"

He winced. "You don't want to know."

"That bad, huh?" Duo sighed, but the light in the eyes never wavered. "I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to tell me about it." Looking around. "Hilde's asleep, or else I'd properly introduce you two…I'm sure walking in and seeing her with a gun to someone's head isn't the best first impression."

"No," Shinobu agreed. "That's an impressive machine you got there."

A shadow passed over Duo's face, and Shinobu found himself remembering the serious, haunted Duo that had suddenly emerged after the riot at Cliffside. "Yeah. Impressive, isn't it?" There are two of them." The dark mood seemed to pass, and Duo grabbed his shoulder. "Hey…you came by yourself?"

"General Po-" He began, and Duo shook his head.

"I know you came with Sally. She said she'd be down in a second. But…just you? No one else?" He looked disappointed.

And then Shinobu didn't need to say, no, there is someone else, because the someone else bolted down the ramp in a flurry of golden hair and bare feet and flung herself at Duo, laughing and crying all at once.

"Duo…Duo…Duo."

"Hey babe," Duo said, looking surprised and then pleased and wrapping his arms around Helena. "Nice to see you too."

Helena released him, wiping her eyes. "I haven't cried this much in years. We were so worried."

"So Shin tells me," Duo said. "I'm still alive though. Barely."

"Duo?"

It wasn't Sally; she was still inside the shuttle doing post-landing check. The voice came from the direction of the Gundams, and Duo turned slightly, arm outstretched, as if welcoming someone. The pleasant mood evaporated, and Shinobu suddenly felt like an intruder.

"Hey…you can come out," the braided boy said softly, as if to a frightened animal. "It's ok."

The girl who emerged from the shadows of the tall machine was thinner than he remembered, her purple hair loose around her shoulders, eyes wide in a pale face. As she stepped up hesitantly, Duo put an arm around her. The gesture was protective, possessive, and something else that Shinobu could not name. The girl didn't say a word, staring at them with those frightened eyes.

"Helena, Shinobu," Duo said quietly, in a voice that was, to Shinobu's ears, eerily calm. His arm tightened around her thin shoulders, as if shielding her from some unseen enemy. "Meet Hilde…again."

  
_Go to Helena side Belief_

  


* * *

  
**Scene II: As the World Falls Down**

  


_"Steal the warm wind tired friend  
Times are gone for honest men  
In my shoes, a walking sleep  
And my youth I pray to keep…  
No one sings like you anymore."  
--Soundgarden, Black Hole Sun_

  
Carrington's smile practically lit up the screen. "We won. Fatima has twenty-four hours to turn him over to us."

A matching smile found its way onto Une's face, though she was still wary. "Is she challenging that ruling?"

"Of course. But I have friends in that system- they're going to stall the paperwork for a few days- that means we should have Winner in our custody before anything comes through. After that, we have our lawyers ready for the appeals she's going to throw at us.... and Yaminah Winner is going to bring her team over here as soon as possible. We're going to coordinate the defense for right now."

"Yaminah Winner? Is she one of his sisters?"

"Indeed, she's one of the infamous Winner Women. Number six, and a lawyer."

"Now isn't that handy.... that tribe forms a culture all its own- craftswomen, scientists, doctors... all they need is a mechanic, and they'd be set."

"I believe that Daliya has been known to dabble. And Quatre can build a Gundam," Carrington said in a deadpan voice.

"I should've guessed," Une said, an amused smile quirking her lips. She could afford to take some time to be amused. Right now things were on track- she had one of the pilots in her possession (though it really was rather rude to think of Quatre as a thing), Trowa had been sighted in Milan and she'd sent a force out after him, and there hadn't been a riot in nearly a week.

Things were most certainly looking up.

She scowled down at the piles of paper on her desk, reports that required her attention. The daily maintenance of the organization had been handed off to Gils-Reve, but many things still needed her authorizing signature. She knew how to delegate, but with Sally halfway across the world, Noin and Milliard in space, and her other high-level operatives keeping the lid on the powder keg, she had no one to turn to. Gils-Reve had been a treasure, but he could only do so much, and she couldn't pull Li or Brown from their current assignments. And the very idea of Carrington trying to be diplomatic made her laugh.

"Anyway, I've got the team of lawyers for us ready, and I'm arranging housing on the base for Winner. Not too close to Peacecraft- one bomb and the entire world gets blown up."

"Carrington, you worry to much. The Preventer's Compound is the safest building on Earth. I've ran multiple personnel checks, there's all sorts of weapons detectors all over the place, multiple guards, and trained dogs."

"And they said the _Titanic_ was an unsinkable ship, too."

"Are you comparing my organization to a sinking ship?" Une asked steadily, her smile fading. Carrington had a reputation for bluntness, but many of her statements had a very strong core of truth to them. If she thought there was a problem, or a potential one, then Une wanted to know.

"No, ma'am. It's just.... well that Banks got in here once, didn't he?"

"We've beefed up security substantially since."

"So? No fortress is completely perfect."

Une nodded reluctantly. "You're right there. It's just that-" She was interrupted by a red light flashing on her console. "I've got to go. Keep me updated!" And she ended the transmission abruptly.

The flashing button meant one thing; a live transmission from A007. She hadn't had any contact with Noin or Milliard since the attack had been planned, and she was eager to hear how it had gone.

"Une here," she said as she activated it, expecting to see Milliard, or failing that, Noin.

The face on the other end of the line wasn't one she had been expecting. She blinked once before she placed it. "Etille! How the hell did you get this number?! It's Preventers only- SENIOR Preventers!" Sure, Etille was a respected soldier with a reputation and award list a mile long, but she'd just gotten through praising Preventer security! It was almost like a slap in the face.

"Dorothy gave it to me," Etille said. His face was hard as he gazed at her through the link, and suddenly Une felt a prickle along her spine, a foreboding. She tried to ignore it.

"Why'd she give it to you?" she demanded, and he just looked at her, and she knew. Something had happened. Something terrible. Treize's face flashed into her mind suddenly, his face looking out at the stars just before he had died. Calm and collected and noble. She swallowed, her hands gripping the table, her good mood of a minute ago long gone.

"What happened?" Her voice cracked on the last word. "Etille, why are you calling me?"

His face was unreadable, and his voice was even as he looked her straight in the eye.

"Noin is dead."

For a split second the word didn't register, and then she blinked at him. "What?"

"Noin is dead," he said again. "She was killed in the last attack. I'm sorry."

"What?" she said again, bringing a hand up to her forehead. Her voice was wobbly for some reason and her mind seemed to have shut down. She heard a horrible thumping noise and realized that it was her own heartbeat thundering in her ears. "Noin…no. You've made a mistake. Noin's not dead."

"Une," Etille said gently, his face softening just slightly. "I'm sorry."

She stood up abruptly. "Excuse me," she said lightly to the face on the screen. "I'll be right back."

She cut the link and stared at the wall, stared until she was sure her eyes would start to burn holes in the plaster.

Etille had to be wrong. She had just talked with Noin, just a few days before. She'd told Noin that if anything started to go bad, just to give the word, and she would bring them home.

"Damn you, Noin," she muttered between gritted teeth. "Damn you and your stubbornness."

There was a paperweight on her desk next to her computer and she grabbed it, hurled it against the wall, and screamed as it crashed against the wall with a satisfying splintering sound, sending shards of glass flying.

Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, she glanced at the glass again, then sat down. She felt much better. There was a tear trickling down her cheek and she wiped it away, taking a deep gulp of her cooling coffee. She would not cry for Noin. At least, not now.

She took another deep breath and then switched the connection back on. Etille's face flickered into view.

"I believe you were going to give me a status report?" she questioned, with her best brusque, commanding voice.

If Etille had wondered where she was while the screen was off, he said nothing, simply bent his head. She heard a rustling of papers, felt faintly flattered that he had bothered to write down the details of the report he had for her.

"There's not much to tell," he said, almost apologetically, but she waved his apology aside.

"Anything will do. I need to know the whole story."

"We had a strategy meeting two nights ago," he said. "We've been gathering data on the A007 moves, and we felt that the best way was to strike at one of their hearts. So we organized a raid on one of their mobile suit facilities."

Une frowned. "How many do they have?"

"We know of two…the one we attacked last night was Toris Military Base, where Noin and I were held captive."

"I see," she said. "Continue."

"We had a plan worked out. It was a night raid. We were going to set fire to the oil and get out of there before everything blew…that would have effectively damaged most of the working part of the base. Everything was going fine until they sprung some reinforcements on us that I hadn't known that they had…I miscalculated." His voice was grim. "Then their commander came out and challenged us and would have killed Dorothy…but…" He trailed off.

"But Noin tried to save her." Une massaged her temples, even though her head felt remarkably light. "I should have known she would do something like that."

"The facility wasn't destroyed, though we managed to set fire to part of it," Etille said. She heard the papers fall on the desk. "We retreated, after that. There were a few other Preventer soldiers killed along with Noin...I think we lost two Preventers and about five of my own troops. There wasn't anything more we could do. Milliard was screaming his head off about Noin…we could hardly get him out of there in one piece."

Une's lips tightened. She knew how formidable an opponent Milliard Peacecraft was when he was upset, and she would be anything that it was a good thing she had missed his anger at Noin's death. "What about Dorothy?"

"Dorothy left this morning," Etille said. For the first time she noticed how tired he was, and how there were dirt and blood? smudges on his face and hands. "She gave me the code to this, turned command over to me, and left."

"Turned command over to you? But-"

"Milliard is sleeping," Etille reassured her. "But as soon as he feels good enough to get up, I'm sending him back to you. He doesn't need to be here any longer than he has to."

"I agree," Une said, though she wasn't looking forward to the confrontation. She imagined Milliard would blame her for Noin's death. Her, and Etille, perhaps. And Dorothy.

"Noin died saving Dorothy?"

"That's right," Etille said. "Why?"

"Nothing." That would be a problem…she would have to find a way to keep him from going after her. Such a hothead…for a pacifist family. Perhaps that was why. It was the antithesis of his pacifist ancestry. "Anything else you have to tell me?"

Etille shook his head. "There's really nothing to tell. We're outclassed, outgunned, and outnumbered, and there's not much more we can do here. When Noin died, she effectively took Dorothy and Milliard with her."

Une sighed, taking another sip of the coffee. It seemed to have gotten colder. She needed a coffee pot in her office. "Etille. I want you to get all those soldiers…whoever's left-" that hurt to say, but she pressed on, "back here to Earth immediately. And I want you to come with them."

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I want you to come back with them," she repeated. "If there's any possible way-"

"Gustavson won't like it," he said.

"I don't care what he likes or doesn't like," she snapped, suddenly feeling waspish. "Just tell him that you have to leave. He's fighting a losing battle anyway, with or without you. Losing you won't make that big a difference."

"I'll try," Etille said, but his eyes said that he didn't like it. That he'd rather stay on his colony. "I'll call you later with my answer. Tomorrow."

"When is tomorrow for you?"

He looked taken aback. "What?"

"When is tomorrow for you?" she said. "It's about nighttime there for you, isn't it?"

"Yes-"

"Go to bed," she said, pointing a finger at him. "You look like you haven't slept in a week."

Etille shrugged. "You're right. I got two hours two nights ago. I've been running on pills."

"So have I," Une said, "and I know how you feel. Go to sleep and talk to Gustavson when you wake up."

"I can't," Etille said softly. "I have to take care of my troops." He bowed, and looked up at her again. "I will contact you. Later."

And the screen blanked.

Noin was dead.

She still didn't believe it, hoping that any minute Etille would call back, say, _oh, I'm sorry, we made a mistake. Noin's all right. She made it._

But miracles didn't happen.

She used to think that soldiers…that people she really knew, were invincible. Soldiers would die, but no one that she knew. Only strangers. But ever since Treize had died, that illusion had shattered. If Treize had died, then anyone could die. It could have been worse, she told herself. It could have been both Noin and Milliard.

For some reason, it didn't make her feel better. Another tear found its way onto her cheek and she didn't bother to wipe it away, taking furious gulps at her now-cold coffee, trying to drown her pain in caffeine.

The incoming data transmission light blinked on the screen and she pressed it, hoping against hope that something…something good would come up. That it had been an error, a miscalculation.

The printer whirred, and she looked up, startled, as a single piece of paper began to slide out of the top, fluttering into the printing tray, front side up. The black letters stood out stark against the white surface.

MEMORANDUM FOR PRIVATE RECORD  
MORTALITY REPORT  
RANKING OFFICER  
NOIN, LUCREZIA, PREVENTERS MAJOR  
SERIAL NUMBER 15822147  
KILLED IN ACTION COLONY A007 7 JULY AC197  
RECORD AUTHORIZATION CODE PRA-587TAJ12

The printer whirred to a stop and she waited, hoping it would start again, but that was the only page.

Une cursed at the paper and then at the black vidscreen, resisting the urge to throw another paperweight. Looking around, she realized there weren't any more. That had been the last one.

  
_Go to Une's Letter to Noin_

  


* * *

  
**Scene III: Sister to the Shadows**

  


_"Making friends for the world to see  
Let the people know you got what you need."  
--Elton John, Friends_

  
"Good morning! It's morning!"

Catherine blinked slowly, trying to get her bearings. One of the problems working for the circus was that you were never quite sure where you were when you woke up. It usually took her a few seconds to orient herself, remember what country she was in, or even if she was on or off planet. Then she became aware that someone -someone she couldn't identify by voice- was in the room with her, and she reached out for the hilt of the throwing knife she had placed on the night table before going to sleep.

She and Trowa had argued about that. He had wanted her to sleep with a gun under her pillow. She had immediately nixed the idea, pointing out that she didn't even know how to point it, much less fire the thing. He had graciously offered to teach her, to which she had offered some amazingly descriptive words on the subject- none of them flattering, and a lot of them physically impossible.

Finally they had compromised- she agreed to sleep with a dagger within arm's reach, and he quit trying to convince her that putting it under her pillow really was a better idea. The very thought of having a naked blade under her pillow as she slept made her shudder- she was a restless sleeper, and she could easily imagine decapitating herself as she tossed, which kind of defeated the whole purpose.

She had the knife in her hand before she had even managed to sit up fully, ready to toss it. Even though it was well-used, the balance was superb, and she was positive she could cut the wings off a fly at twenty paces, even in her sleep-befuddled state. Her eyes widened as she recognized the other person. "Your Majesty!"

"Relena," the other girl corrected. It had gotten to be almost routine- Catherine would call Relena by a title, and Relena would correct her. "I can tell you've spent time with Gundam pilots- and that some of their paranoia rubbed off on you."

Catherine returned the knife to the table. "I'm sorry, but there are people who'd like nothing better to kill me."

Relena nodded and moved closer. "I know. I'm a Queen- I live with the same thing, but I don't sleep with a weapon."

Catherine smiled ironically. "Not all of us have bodyguards. I have to take care of myself."

The Queen of Cinq blushed. "That was rather rude of me. Sometimes I wonder why I call myself a diplomat when I seem to have a gift of putting my foot in my mouth."

Catherine pulled the blankets around her, propping herself up against the thick down pillows. The morning air always seemed so much colder then the night. "It's not rudeness. It's innocence, and it's charming."

"We don't need charming right now."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that all my talk of peace isn't going to get anywhere. We need to protect those we love first." 

Catherine twitched in shock. "You-you're abandoning your pacifistic stance?" It was incomprehensible, and Catherine felt the world turn upside down. The Queen of Peace advocating war? Next the sky would turn orange and Une would announce she was quitting the Preventers to become a stripper.

"Of course not! War is wrong, no matter what! But PACIFISM doesn't mean PASSIVE!" She tossed her head and smiled knowingly, and Catherine was more aware then ever of the gaping chasm that was between them. The girl was three years younger then she, yet could command the room with a simple gesture. Everything about her had been honed and refined to perfection, and Catherine felt like a small blackbird besides a magnificent eagle.

"So... you're going to do something?"

"WE'RE going to do something. Can you get dressed? I want to get moving."

"Um.... moving?" She wondered what the license of the car was that had hit her, and if there was anyway to sue for damages. Relena had spent the past few days with her, but Catherine still wasn't comfortable with her.

"I was going to send one of Une's lackeys for you, but I simply can't wait any longer. The more time we waste, the less effective my plan will be."

"Um, sure." Catherine, like most circus performers, had little body modesty, but it was still odd for her to rummage through her closets wearing just a shift with Relena Peacecraft in the room. "Would you mine telling me what your plan is? And how I should dress, Your Majesty?"

"Relena." It was almost a running joke- Catherine felt awkward calling Relena by her first name, and Relena was constantly correcting her when she used "Your Majesty" instead. "Dress casually, but make sure you look nice. We're going to introduce you to the world."

"What?!" She turned around, abandoning the closet to stare at the other girl.

"The fact that you are Trowa's sister is going to come out eventually. We can try to cover up, but if there's one thing the last few weeks should have taught us, it's that the truth will come out eventually. So we're gonna use it to our advantage."

Catherine felt sick to her stomach. "You may be used to fame, but I'm not. People will be trying to kill me."

"That would have happened anyway."

"True. But how can announcing that I'm Trowa's sister help?"

"What's the first thing a propaganda campaign does?" Relena asked patiently.

"I don't have a clue."

"It dehumanizes the enemy. If you make them something less then human, something evil, it's easier to hate them. So we're going to change things- we're going to show people that the pilots are people. I've talked to Vanessa Curtis, and we've an interview scheduled in an hour. She wants to do a five-part series, and you're up first. Each pilot is getting a special devoted to them, with interviews from people who knew them. A 'Who They Really Are' type thing. I'm going to get in touch with Howard and Hilde if I can find her, some of Quatre's sisters are arriving here later today, and Sally Po should be back later today- she's the one who knew Wufei best, though that's not saying much. And I'll speak about Heero."

Catherine's mind was reeling. "Um... you're planning on putting me on vid? Nation-wide?" She recognized Vanessa Curtis' name and knew that she was a reporter well-known for her intimate portrayals of famous people, and newsmakers. That Relena had been able to get her was yet another reminder of her status.

"Worldwide. This is BIG news- a Gundam pilot who is practically an unknown quantity had a sister? And she's talking to the press about him? Trust me, but the end of the day your name will be a household name. They would have found out about you eventually, especially since you're living at Preventers HQ. This way we can use it to our advantage."

Catherine, for the first time since meeting Relena, felt her formidable temper start to return. She didn't like how the girl was acting- so presumptuous, assuming that Catherine would blindly follow her lead like everyone else did. Relena might be the Queen of Cinq, but Relena wasn't a Cinq citizen. Officially her citizenship was French, and while the two countries had close ties, Catherine didn't give a damn. What she cared about was that someone was trying to arrange her life- WITHOUT her consent. "What makes you think I'll agree? Do you honestly think I want to get on intergalactic vid and paint a target on myself? I'm not like you- all I want is my brother back, and if you think I'm falling in line with any of your half-thought out schemes, you're mad!"

Relena's jaw dropped open. It had been a long time since anyone had yelled at her personally-with the exception of Milliard, but Milliard was always upset with her for some reason or another- and she'd forgotten. Very few people had ever yelled at her, and it was a novel experience in some ways.

It made her feel like Relena, instead of the Queen of the World. Still, she didn't like it. "I'm trying to HELP! Don't you think Trowa might surface if you broadcast yourself? He left to protect you, but if you clearly make yourself a target, he'll HAVE to come back! Une is trying to get all the pilots onto the compound so she can give them guards! She'll have Quatre here soon, and I'm sure he'd love to see Trowa- they were very close during the war."

"You're remarkably selfish," Catherine said coldly as she found a pair of black slacks and a simple cream blouse that set off her hair. "I am too, but I admit it. I just want my brother back- you go through these long speeches about all the pilots and doing what's right, but you're lying. You just want Heero Yuy." She slid into her clothes quickly, ignoring how Relena's blue eyes were starting to flash with anger of their own.

Catherine continued to speak as she combed her hair. "What I can't figure out is if you're lying so you can convince yourself as well. Did it really bother you that much that he didn't want you?"

"What gives you the right to judge me?" Relena found herself yelling back at the taller girl. The last comment had stung, especially since it contained so much truth.

Catherine paused mid-stroke, looking over her shoulder at Relena. "Well, you've judged me, haven't you? You've decided that I make a wonderful tool, and you're going to use me. It's a political thing, I understand, but I'm a person. Your decisions can and will affect the rest of my life."

Relena was ready to protest, but halted as she reviewed Catherine's words. "You're right.. I'm sorry- I should have discussed it with you before I made arrangements. If you like, I can go cancel your appearance." She looked down to hide her eyes, making a pretense of smoothing her long white dress with nervous hands.

Catherine hooked a somewhat gaudy earring in her right ear. The long earring was made up of a multitude of multi-colored linked stars which brushed against her shoulder as she turned to regard her reflection in the mirror. "No- it's okay. I'll do that. But I don't like people telling me what to do." She picked up the matching earring and put it on. 

"'I am the master of my own destiny,'" Relena quoted softly, earning a tentative smile in return. "I'm sorry-" she continued, but was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. "I thought I made it clear that we weren't to be interrupted?" she said, annoyance coloring her voice slightly. 

Relena stepped outside of the room, and there was a hushed conversation, a gasp, and then Relena returned, looking like someone had drained all the blood from her.

"Relena? Are you okay?" Catherine asked in concern.

"No," she whispered. "One of my friends was killed."

"Who?" Catherine asked urgently. _It wasn't Trowa, it wasn't Trowa, thank God, but another pilot? Oh God...._

"I don't think you knew her- her name was Lucrezia Noin, and she was a very dear friend to me during the war. I... oh, God.... how is Milliard going to cope?" she raised a hand to her lips as the thought occurred to her. "I should call him, but I can't- he's on assignment, and Une won't let me, and-" Tears began to run down her face, tears which she tried to repress ruthlessly.

Catherine forgot the fact that she had just been angry with Relena moments before. Her natural empathy goaded her into action. She found herself gathering the other girl in a hug. "I'm so sorry for your loss," she said. She knew what it was like not to be able to get in touch with your brother when you needed him.

Maybe they did have something in common after all.

Relena cried for another minute before pulling herself together. "We'd better go. You need to get to the make up artist so the lights don't drain you."

Catherine was shocked at how callous the other girl sounded. "But... what about your friend?"

"I don't have time to grieve right now," Relena said softly, though her eyes reflected the knowledge of yet another emotional burden. "But don't you performers have a saying? The show must go on? Well, I'm an actress, too, and the world is my stage."

  
_Go to Trowa side Wildflowers_

  


* * *

  
**Scene II: Judgment Day for the Wicked**

  


_"Don't tell me I'm too late  
'Cause I was here before the sun."  
--Barbie's Cradle, Wing_

  
Wufei had thought that getting to Geneva would be harder than getting into Geneva, but he had never actually considered the complications of sneaking into a city in which everyone knew your name, face, birthdate, and what Gundam you had piloted.

It was a lot harder than he expected.

For starters, there were Preventers officials posted at every entrance to the city and even some points that were not entrances to the city. There was also the matter of identification checks, which, Varis had pointed out to them, happened at liberty every few street corners or so. The Preventers were not taking any chances, it seemed, and Wufei didn't blame them. In a city in which was famous for its military headquarters, it was obvious that security was going to be tight.

"It's almost like martial law," Varis said, his mouth drawn in a thin line. "I haven't been back there for a while, of course, but I've been receiving transmissions to keep me updated."

"You think they would call all agents back if something broke out again?" Wufei had wanted to know.

Varis snorted. "Without a doubt."

Darkflight didn't trust Varis at all, and showed it. Heero had said nothing when Wufei had brought the soldier into the hotel room and announced their change in plans, but it was obvious that the pilot of Wing Gundam didn't like the arrangement either. It was necessary, Wufei had explained to him after he had sent Varis out to collect his belongings.

_I know,_ Heero had replied, his thin shoulders hunched. He had been eating more, but did not appear to be gaining any weight. _The drugs didn't help either. But that doesn't mean I like it. For all we know, he could be a spy, just waiting to arrest us._

_If he was, don't you think he would have done that before this?_

_No,_ Heero said, his eyes shuttered. _Spies have their reasons._

He didn't volunteer anymore information, but the tightness of his face told Wufei that it was something he had better not ask further questions about. Thankfully, Varis did not come back until the following morning, appearing outside their window shortly after down, rapping softly on the glass. Wufei didn't have to ask what he wanted.

"Get up," he said to Heero, pushing the boy out of bed and onto the cold floor, where he gave a sleepy cry of outrage. "We're leaving."

Five minutes later found them outside the door. "Your other friend is waiting at the shuttle," Varis said, in short, clipped tones as they headed out to the hills beyond the city where the shuttle was carefully hidden. It wouldn't do for them to have parked it at the local shuttle park, for all eyes to see. Not when their shuttle was a stolen shuttle from another continent.

Darkflight was there waiting for them as they emerged out of the brush. There was a scowl on his dark face as his eyes fell on Varis, but he said nothing, his lips pressed in a thin line as he disappeared into the hatch and waited for the others to clamber up as well. Wufei motioned Varis into the pilot's seat. 

"You fly," he said.

Varis' eyebrows went up. "You're trusting me now? After all that show of threatening me yesterday?"

"I never said I trusted you," Wufei said quietly. "But I know that if something happened, one intelligence agent is no match for three trained assassins."

Varis laughed and turned to the controls. "It's been a long time since I've flown one of these things."

"How'd you get up here then?" Wufei settled into the co-pilot's seat, fastening his safety harness and staring out at the dark gray blot around them that he supposed could be called the pre-sunrise landscape. The sky was beginning to pink at the edges and he let his eyes unfocus, just slightly. He had never liked the sunrise much.

"That's a secret between the Preventers and me," Varis said evasively, easing the shuttle into hover mode and then heading off into the hills towards Geneva.

Wufei let himself sink back into the seat, eyes idly watching Varis. For a man who had not piloted in a long time, he was surprisingly adept, the tough hands maneuvering the craft with expert skill.

_So do you really trust him?_

I don't know, he answered himself. A parade of faces passed before his eyes…Sally, Duo, Trowa. Quatre, in prison. He imagined the blond head amidst a sea of reporters, the soft blue eyes taking on a hardness as the questions were fired at him. Quatre was a soldier, just like all of them, no matter how easy the media thought he was. If there was anyone that was hard to break, it would be Quatre.

Oh, many people would have said that the hardest to break would be himself, or Heero. But that was out of the question now. He had broken, and so had the pilot who had once been such a ruthless killing machine.

_Heero Yuy doesn't exist anymore. Even if you look, he won't be there. I'm the only thing left._

Damn you, Heero.

"Anything wrong?"

He realized he was clenching his fists in his lap, abruptly relaxed them. The sensation sent tinglings of pain up and down his hands, as if he had been clutching something sharp. "No," he said shortly. "I'm fine. Don't ask questions, just fly."

Varis lifted his fingertips to his forehead in a mock salute. "Yes, sir."

Suddenly the atmosphere of the cockpit was stifling and he had to get out, to breathe somewhere else than in the presence of the other man. "I'll be in the back," he said, sliding out of the chair. "When we get there, signal me."

"Will do," said the Preventer agent as Wufei slipped out of the sliding door and outside into the cabin. The dim light was a welcome relief and he closed his eyes, leaned against the wall.

"He do something to you?"

He opened his eyes. The cautious voice was Darkflight's, and he felt a faint shock of surprise at the fact that the dark-skinned boy was addressing him at all, on a subject that had nothing to do with his former partner. The other boy was leaning against the opposite wall, one hand on the sliding window shutter that he had apparently been closing.

Wufei shook his head. "No. Just tired. Where's…where's Heero?"

A look strangely like pain spasmed across Darkflight's face at the mention of that name. "Back seat." Jerking a thumb. "Asleep."

"Look…" Wufei began, unsure of how to…apologize? to someone who he wasn't' sure even would listen to him. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable…but that's the only name I know him by."

He was surprised again as Darkflight shrugged grudgingly. "Whatever. I…it's none of my business now, is it?"

Wufei was about to respond, to open his mouth and ask what was going on, but Darkflight gave him another curt nod and moved towards the back of the shuttle, towards the bathroom. Faded into the darkness. Wufei stared hard after him, then headed in the same direction.

He had no intention of going after Darkflight, however. In one of the furthest seats he found what he was looking for: an untidy mop of black hair straggled over the seatback. Heero's eyes were closed and he was breathing softly, but even in sleep he looked dangerous. Like a sleeping panther, about to pounce. Maybe it was the scar, stretched thick and twisted across his face, marring the youthful perfection that Relena had found so striking. Taking away the last of the innocence.

Wufei closed his eyes, trying to remember what Heero had looked like two years ago. He found that he couldn't remember.

"What's wrong?"

He resisted the urge to jump in surprise, looked down. Heero's eyes were still closed. "You're awake," he said flatly.

"I've been dozing," Heero said. One eye opened, the scarred one, regarding him calmly. "Are we there yet?"

"No. Varis said he'd call me when we were near."

"I don't like him," Heero said.

If he expected Wufei to be taken aback by that comment, it didn't work. "I know you don't," Wufei said, dropping down on a seat across the aisle. "But you can't always like everyone you work with."

Heero snorted. "I think I got to like most of you…in the end."

"How…" Wufei hesitated, then charged ahead. "How much do you remember now?"

Heero was silent for a moment. "More," he said grudgingly. "But not enough. I feel like….there are these huge blank white spots in my memory. Or maybe more like black spots. When I had just….ceased to exist."

"I see," Wufei said, even though he didn't.

"No you don't," Heero said, just as the intercom chimed. 

"We're almost there," Varis' voice said. "Would you like to come back up?"

Wufei pushed himself out of the seat and headed up without another word, entering the cockpit and sitting down. Squinting out the windshield through the warm sunshine, he could make out buildings in the distance. In his worldwide travels, he had never been to Geneva or any other part of Switzerland, only knew it as a capital of political importance. It looked small. Much smaller than Beijing.

"That's the Preventers tower," Varis said, pointing to what looked like a clump of buildings that, as they flew closer, looked very out of place among the other architecture. Varis adjusted altitude and pulled back on the lever, sending the shuttle swiftly towards earth.

"If you could hit hover over there for me…?"

Wufei reached over and keyed in the hoverlift engine, hearing the sublight engines subside with a whine. The shuttle settled a comfortable hovering distance from the ground and he realized they were a lot closer to the city than it had appeared from the air. The trees thinned and stretched into massive concrete runways and shuttle parks.

"Geneva International Airport," Varis announced. 

"Wait a minute," Wufei said, alarmed. "You can't just…this is a stolen shuttle, you know. And both Heero and I are wanted cri-"

"Leave it to me," Varis said in a smooth voice that left a sour taste in Wufei's mouth. 

_You have to trust him,_ he repeated to himself, over and over, clenching his hands on the arms of his chair. _You have to trust him._

If Varis betrayed him here and now…turned him and Heero in…there was nothing they could do about it. The Geneva authorities were everywhere.

"Look," Varis said, the impatience barely hidden in his voice. "Geneva is a Preventers city. Even if I did turn you in, who do you think is the highest ranking authority around here?"

Wufei didn't answer.

"The police are military police," the Preventer agent said, guiding the shuttle into one of the empty spaces on a shuttle pad laid out a distance from the runway from which they had landed. "Their loyalties lie with the Preventers. Not some World Nation that runs its affairs through political manipulation."

Varis' contempt for the World Nation was evident in his voice. "But I thought the Preventers worked for the World Nation," Wufei said, curious.

"Oh, we do. Or, we have been. Before the….before you and your friends came into the picture."

Curious. So Une was on the side of the World Nation…in name only. Somehow, it seemed appropriate for her.

For the first time, it hit him that he could have walked into the Preventers' fortress, Une's sanctuary…only to find that she was ready to turn him over to the World Nation from which he had been trying to run.

It was frightening.

_What's happening to you?_ Suddenly the voice in his mind was Meilan's, berating him. _Two years of peace have made you soft! What happened to the dragon warrior I taught you to be?_

"You're dead," he whispered. "Let me be!"

"Wufei?"

He snapped back to the present, finding Varis' concerned face hovering above him. "You all right? You need to see a doctor?"

Wufei didn't answer, stalked out of the cockpit and over to Heero. The boy was awake, standing, watching him with those unnerving blue eyes.

"Collect your friend," he said coldly. "We're getting off."

Heero didn't argue, didn't ask what had happened, simply ducked into the back of the shuttle and came out with Darkflight, who was looking mutinous.

Varis ushered them off the shuttle and onto the wide shuttle pad. They had walked only a short distance before there was a whine of engines and the whirring of helicopter blades overhead. Wufei looked at Varis warily, but the agent smiled. He could see relief in the other's eyes.

"Our ride's here," Varis said.

The bold lettering on the helicopter's side read PREVENTERS SPECIAL FORCES.

His thoughts shot back to that fateful day in Beijing, at Tiananmen Square, the helicopters swarming overhead, gunning down innocent civilians. Of the bright seal and letters painted on the side of that craft, killing for the sake of peace.

That's what he had done. Killing in the name of peace, and he was only beginning to see how high the debt was.

_I'm paying it off. I'm doing this for them._

"Wufei! You going to get in or are you just going to stand there?"

He shook his head, blinked. The helicopter was hovering overhead and Heero was yelling down at him from the open hatch where he stood, clutching onto the side of the craft with one hand and gesturing to a metal link ladder with the other. The wind from the rotating blades tore at his skin and his clothes.

"Coming!" he yelled, grabbing hold of the ladder and clambering up. Heero's arm reached down to help him up and he stood up, taking a look at his surroundings, he found himself face to face with a weathered, bearded face, the hazel eyes looking at him warily.

"So you're Chang Wufei."

"Who are you?" he snapped, not bothering to retain his manners. He had been dealing with difficult people for the last two weeks or so, and he was at the end of his rope.

The man snorted. "Polite, aren't we?" He was about the same height was Wufei, stocky with graying hair, dressed in the same uniform Varis was wearing. "Then again, I suppose you boys have got the nerve to be rude." He laughed. Wufei remained silent. "Not one for humor either, are you?"

"I'm tired," Wufei said. "I wish to be left alone."

The man laughed again. Wufei heard the hatch close with a sharp bang, the metal ladder clatter into a heap beside it, and saw Heero moving towards the back of the helicopter a few seconds later. "Heero!" he called sharply, and brushed past the Preventers agent, catching up with the other boy.

"What do you want?" Heero said shortly.

Wufei didn't speak for a moment, steadied himself against the wall as the copter banked sharply to the left. "Where we're going...It's dangerous out there," he said finally. "Don't do anything…stupid."

For a moment, Heero stared at him, then a tired, sardonic smile spread across his face. "Stupid, Wufei? I think you know me better than that."

He disappeared behind the partition and Wufei stood there, staring at it, feeling helpless. "No," he said quietly. "I don't know you at all."

He stood there, feeling suddenly out of control. For the past week he hadn't had time to think, hadn't had time to do anything but run from one town to the next, plan their course and make sure that everything - and everyone - made it in one piece. He had been too caught up in the arguments with Darkflight and worrying about Heero to think about himself. And now that he was, he didn't know if what he was doing was the right thing.

"What if we lose?" he said to the wall.

There was no answer.

He bowed his head tiredly and slumped against the partition, feeling the thrumming of the engines against his skin, vibrating deep into his bone. His eyes drifted shut of their own accord. He was so very tired…

A beeping noise startled him and this time he did jump, looking around wildly for the source of the alarm, wondering if they were under attack, hand dropping reflexively to his belt for his sword before he realized he no longer had it -

"We're above the base," the cheerful voice announced and Wufei stared at the man who stuck his head out of the cockpit, the same man who had greeted him upon his boarding the helicopter. "Should land in about five minutes…what's the matter, boy? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Nothing," Wufei said, and the man shrugged and disappeared again. The helicopter dropped altitude suddenly and he sat down hard on the floor, waiting until they had touched ground.

Heero and Darkflight emerged from behind the partition. If either of them noticed that he didn't look well, they didn't show it. Wufei brought two fingers to his temples, rubbed them. He suddenly had a headache, and his stomach hurt.

The helicopter settled lightly against the ground - landing platform, probably - and he could feel the blades starting to slow. Stop. The pain in his temples increased and he looked up to see Heero staring at him, except that Heero looked very small, as if he was looking through a pair of binoculars from the wrong end.

"Wufei, are you all right?"

"Of course I am," he said, and stood up unsteadily as Varis ducked out of the cockpit and motioned him away from the hatch. The world spun out of focus for a minute and then righted itself.

"Let me open that."

"I am a Gundam pilot, you know," he said loudly. The words sounded foreign to him, as if he was hearing himself talk, standing a long way away. "I can open hatches too, you know."

Varis gave him an unreadable look and Wufei shrugged, moved back as the door swung open with a whine and the foldable steps sprang into position. There were figures on the landing pad but the sun was too bright for him to make them out.

"Go on," Varis said. "I believe they're waiting for you."

His stomach roiled and he felt very hot, but stepped out onto the first step anyway, holding the railing tightly as he made his way down to the platform, squinting. The figures were coming nearer, one of them holding out his? her? hand.

"Chang Wufei?" The speaker was a man, a general in a Preventers uniform, his deep voice reverberating around the pad like they were standing in an auditorium. "I'm glad to meet you, at last."

He managed to nod, stick out his hand. His palm felt clammy at meeting the man's touch, and then there was a cry of delight.

"Wufei! It _is_ you!"

It was Relena.

He hadn't seen her in so long that he had almost forgotten what she looked like, and they had never been the best of friends either, but as ran towards him in a flurry of blond hair and grabbed his hand eagerly, it was as if they were siblings separated for too long a time.

"Nice to see you too," he said stiffly, and her laughing eyes turned to him.

"Just like I remember you, too."

From behind him, the older man said, "And you must be Heero Yuy."

Relena froze.

Wufei turned around, almost losing his balance, saw Heero standing there at the bottom of the steps looking like prey caught in the headlights, his long unkempt hair blowing slightly in the wind, eyes hard beneath the scar. Looking defensive. Frightened. Cornered.

"Heero," Relena breathed. Wufei dared a glance at her. Her eyes were wide. Her hands flew to her mouth. "_Heero_…"

And then she moved toward him, her long white dress fluttering in the breeze, but as if on cue, Heero sprang to life, walking quickly away from the steps, past Wufei, past the general, towards the building at the end of the platform. Relena stopped, motionless, staring as he passed her without a word. Only when he reached Wufei did Heero turn his head, and the look in his eyes was now unreadable.

"Heero," Wufei said softly. "I-"

"Forget it," Heero shot back, and then he turned, breaking into a run. Running away.

"Mr. Chang?"

The ground was whirling slightly around him now, and he wasn't sure if he was still standing or not. The general's voice came to his ears from far away, sounding slightly worried.

"Mr. Chang, are you all right?"

He felt hands catch him as he fell.

  
Act VI Part IV | | Act VII Part II | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	26. There's a Voice that Calls the Soul

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT VII, PART II

** I just feel rhythm emotion  
Ayamachi mo itami mo  
Azayaka na isshun no hikari e to michibiite**

I just feel rhythm emotion  
Kono mune no kodou wa  
Anata e to tsuzuiteru so faraway

Sou shinayaka ni ima o suhada de uketomete  
Motto yasashisa mitsuketai yo  


** I just feel rhythm emotion  
Mistakes and pain  
Guide us towards a moment of light**

I just feel rhythm emotion  
The beat of my heart  
Carries to you so faraway

By taking in the present more  
I want to discover kindness  


**--Gundam Wing, _Rhythm Emotion_  
[Second TV opening theme]**  


  
  
**Scene V: The Zero Speaks the Truth**

  


_"Yeah, you don't hear the sounds I hear  
Yeah, you don't feel the fear you fear."  
-Fuel, Easy_

  
She shivered, pulling her sweater more tightly around her body. He glanced at her, His eyes deeply violet in the dim light of the cabin. That was something she had loved about Him; the unpredictable way His eyes would shift color with his moods. One second they would be blue, like His official records said they were. The next His eyes would be lavender, or gray, or even verging on black. She had wondered how He had ever become a terrorist- all you had to do was look into his eyes to figure out what He was thinking.

His arm was slung across her, and even though it was going into summer, the cold air of the plane more then made up for the date. She pressed herself into His side, relieved for His warmth, listening to His breath with relief. As long as He was breathing, it meant that He was alive.

She still had nightmares, about the falling Earth, choosing to save it rather then Him. About Him being betrayed by someone He trusted, and her not being able to do anything about it.

These friends of His, the ones who had known Him when he had been a student, made her nervous. Shinobu had depths to him that made her fingers ache for her gun, to protect herself and Him- she didn't trust the Japanese boy. He reminded her of Heero Yuy, for some reason.

And Heero had not been a person to put trust in, no matter what He may have said.

The other girl, the blond American.... raised more ambivalent feelings. There was innocence there, and she could tell that He knew that, but that He was, for some reason, distancing Himself. That made her nervous, for the girl raised no internal alarm, but if He knew something she didn't...

Well, she would trust him. Right now He was the only thing she could trust. The Zero System hadn't lied about that.

The Zero System couldn't lie.

It spoke the truth, no matter how painful.

"You okay, Hil?" He asked, pressing her a little more tightly against Him. He hadn't let her out of his sight since the other had arrived, and she was grateful. Perhaps since she knew that something -someone- was going to betray him, she could protect both him and the world.

Their world.

She loved the Earth, after all. She may have been a colonist, but there was an instinctive desire for the open skies and vast lands of their home world. Most colonists felt it, no matter how loath they may have been to admit it. "I'll be fine," she whispered, huddling in closer, but keeping feverish eyes fastened on the other two teens that sat across from them in the deep chairs.

Helena looked at them, nibbling on her lip. "I've never been to Asia," she said. "My family doesn't consider it important. Our financial interests are heavily invested in United America and the European Union." Her voice had the strain of someone trying to make conversation, and fill the uneasy silence that loomed like a dark specter.

He looked slightly surprised. "That surprises me. I would have though that your father would have sunk some money into Japan. Their economy is booming." His fingers unconsciously stroked Hilde's short purple hair, and she relaxed into His touch. They were safe, together.

"He has some... political arrangements with the Inomoyamas. That's their area, and if you want to stay on their good side, you don't invest there unless you're Asian. They're very much into nationalism, which always struck me as sort of ridiculous."

"National pride is nothing to be sneered at," Sally said, coming in from the cockpit. "Having a sense of identity is important." She leaned against the back of His chair, and Hilde shivered at Sally's proximity, nervous. She remembered how the surgeon had healed her aboard the Libra a year and a half ago, but now she held little trust in anyone except Him. She couldn't even trust herself... after all, she had chosen the Earth over Him in the Zero system, and the Zero spoke the truth.

Sally noticed her unease, and cast her a gentle smile, taking a seat next to Helena instead. "Being part of a nation is very important to some people, and keeping those nations pure... well, many people would sacrifice a lot to do that."

He snorted his contempt, and His hand stilled. "Those people are fools. No matter how you look at it, the world has changed. The one thing the Gundams succeeded in doing was uniting the population against the common enemy, and no matter how much wishing they do, you can't rewind the clock. The World Nation is the way of the future."

"Is it?" Sally said softly. "I wonder. A month ago, I would have agreed with you, but Une is barely keeping the Preventers together. She's fighting a war of many fronts, and history tells us that fighting on too many fronts usually leads to disaster. And if the Preventers fall, the World Nation loses its teeth."

"I thought they weren't related?" Shinobu asked.

"The Preventers do most of the dirty work for the World Nation. Right now Une is at odds with the politicians, which doesn't bode good for anyone, except the anarchists. Unless she's able to pull things together soon..." Sally trailed off, leaving them to draw their own conclusions.

Hilde pretended to hide her face in His shirt, as she watched Helena find her voice. It was sweet and musical, yet full of confidence. It reminded her of how she used to speak. Back when she had been innocent. "Anarchists? What do anarchists have to do with us getting the Gundams?" she wanted to know.

Hilde could have cared less about the potential collapse of the World Nation. One government was much like any other as far as she was concerned. It was the people who mattered.

Sally answered quickly, a frown on her face. "They're not actually directly involved, as far as our intelligence services can tell. But they're taking advantage of the chaos the news about the pilots' identities caused. Anarchists, nationalists, the remnants of Oz and White Fang- everyone. We tried to pretend that the war just ended with a spectacular battle by putting a cork on things, but the crack in our facade is starting to show. We need to settle things, really settle them this time. And make it a solution everyone can live with." She glanced over at Shinobu, obviously trying to find the words to say something.

His heartbeat was steady and reassuring, but she could feel him tense, and saw his free hand (his right- he had unconsciously maneuvered her to his left side so that he was able to keep his weapon arm free when they had original taken their seats) inch towards the top of his boot, where he kept one of his guns. His instincts where warning him of potential trouble, and Hilde found herself shifting away so she wouldn't block Him as she reached for the knife in her left front pocket.

Her blue-gray eyes looked around, wondering where the tense atmosphere had come from. Helena was perfectly unaware, but she thought she could see Sally breathing more heavily, and there was a light in Shinobu's eyes she didn't like. One wrong move, and someone would end up dead.

Sally finally spoke. "Shinobu... I have to ask you something," she said, her voice level, betraying no emotion whatsoever.

No one was fooled, and even Helena went rigid. Shinobu's dark eyes narrowed as he looked at the Preventer General in an assessing fashion before nodding slightly. "Hai?"

"You're a smart man, so I won't lie to you. It's S.O.P. to run background checks on people involved in sensitive matters. We ran one on you, and the fact is, according to records, you don't exist."

Helena inhaled deeply and moving away from him slightly, but Shinobu merely smiled. "I was expecting that to be a matter of discussion," he stated quietly.

"Would you care to explain? I ran some tests on the blood samples you were required to provide the school, and you carry a few very interesting antibodies and genetic mutations that suggest your origin."

Hilde watched the unfolding scene carefully, maintaining her calm. 

"It's easier for me to explain in Japanese. Duo, translate for Helena, ne?" he asked, and He nodded warily. Shinobu raked a hand through his black hair, and he switched to Japanese. "None of us can chose the circumstances of our birth, and I think I was born to the wrong family.

"I'm very sorry for lying to you, Duo, Helena, but I'm not from Japan. At least not directly. I'm a colonist."

He laughed lightly. "Should've known. And if you're a colonist, that means L1, what with a Japanese background."

"It's not that that's the problem. Matsuura Shinobu is an assumed name. I was born Seki Takeru."

"SHIT!" He exclaimed, falling into English. "Black Diamond!" His gun was out suddenly, trained on the boy who had been His friend.

Hilde had reacted as well. Her knife was in her hand, but she refrained from going for Shinobu's throat. There was more to this story, she knew, and He would regret it if they were hasty. He had a temper, and relied on her to be the rational one.

So she would be rational.

"Wait," she said, speaking for the first time in hours.

The effect was remarkable. It was like dousing everyone in cold water. They had almost forgotten her presence, and the sudden insertion into the volatile situation had prevented bloodshed, restoring balance.

"Were you sent? As an assassin? Or did you come on your own, for some other purpose?" She spoke slowly, considering her words.

Shinobu's eyes widened. "No! I'm not- I wasn't involved in the Cartel! I was trying to escape!" He looked down at his hands, and Hilde could almost taste the pain in his next words. "I was trying to break free."

"So you used Black Diamond to locate Heero?" He asked, still suspicious.

Shinobu nodded, his features lacking blood. "My grandfather didn't have to do too much work. Heero Yuy has made a name for himself as an assassin."

Helena shivered, looking out of place. The rest of them knew the world, but she was an innocent. Discussing assassins wasn't something she was used to. Hilde almost felt pity for her.

Almost.

She just didn't have the time to worry about trivial things anymore.

He nodded, as though He had been expecting it. "Not a surprise. He was always good at that, and it pays well."

"I'm surprised," Sally said. "I would have thought he'd show a little more.... moral fiber."

He laughed, a deep and bitter laugh that seemed to come from his gut. "You don't understand us, Sally. You may be a soldier, but we were Gundam pilots. Heero needed to have a clear objective, and after the war... well, what was there left for him? He was discarded, useless. Obsolete. When the war ended, we became relics. And the world saw the pilots as assassins and killers, and he believed them."

"He could have joined the Preventers- I could have easily found him a place on my staff. And Relena hasn't stopped looking for him since she met him!"

Hilde remembered Relena, the blonde Queen who passionately spoke for peace. Once she had considered her great; now Hilde knew her to be a fool. The Zero had pointed that out, after all. Peace was a dream, a futile dream.

It was Helena, surprisingly, who argued Sally's point. "He doesn't know who he is. And that's hard. Being told what to do is easier then finding yourself."

"Then where are we going?" He demanded. "This shuttle isn't space ready."

"China," Sally and Shinobu said at the same time.

"Why China?"

Sally looked at Shinobu. "Because he's going after Wufei. There's a contract on Wufei's head, and Heero has taken it."

"WHAT?!" He exclaimed, jumping to his feet. He stared at them both in disbelief. "You've got to be wrong. Shit! There's a mistake somewhere."

Sally shook her head sadly. "I can't figure out why, but my information comes from reliable sources."

"So does mine," Shinobu agreed. "My grandfather was the one who hired him."

"Really. That bastard... when I get my hands on him..." Sally looked like she was ready to strangle someone.

The Japanese boy just looked weary. "You're not the only authority who'd love to catch him. Problem is that there's no EVIDENCE against him. People aren't crazy enough to go against the most powerful man in the Breaks."

He was shaking His head, pacing the cabin like a caged leopard. "That's wrong! You don't get it! Wufei and Heero were pilots! They -we- fought together! Heero couldn't just decide to kill him- maybe he's going to warn him! That has to be it!"

He was being irrational, and Hilde knew it. "If Heero accepted the mission, he will complete it," she pointed out softly.

He froze, going rigid. The gun he had been holding in His hand clattered to the floor as He crumpled up into a little ball, hugging His knees to his chest. "Damn it," He whispered. "Why now?"

Hilde forgot that there were others in the cabin. His pain conveyed itself to her so well that she felt as though she had developed empathy, the New Type ability. She hurt with Him.

She had been weak for the few days, fearing what the Zero had warned her of, rather then confronting it and using her newfound knowledge. Well, she wasn't going to be weak any longer- Duo needed her.

She crouched down beside him, wrapping her arms around his warm body. "Shhhhhh," she said into his ear, "it's going to be all right, my love," she promised, in an uncanny role reversal.

He leaned into her, though no tears fell from his eyes. "I'm so tired, Hil," Duo whispered. "When is it going to end?"

"I don't know. But no matter what, I'll be by your side," she promised.

"Then everything will be ok," Duo answered, giving her a heartfelt smile.

She nodded in agreement, despite the fact that everywhere she turned, she always thought she caught a glint of silver out of the corner of her eye. And that silver looked terrible familiar, like the blade of the knife Duo held in trust for his best friend.

  


* * *

  
**Scene VI: The Interrogation of Innocence**

  


_"I wake from a nightmare now  
In the day it haunts me,  
It slowly tears me apart."  
--L'Arc~en~Ciel, Spirit Dreams Inside_

The bed was way too large for his liking, the sheets were too damn soft, the mattress was too un-lumpy, and the light reflecting off the single chandelier that cast a soft, luminous glow on the room was starting to hurt his eyes. It was, Darkflight decided, throwing another pillow to the floor, a bad deal all around.

The older man had introduced himself as General Brown after ushering him and Wufei off the landing pad into the outbuilding. Wing was waiting for them in there, a closed expression on his face. He had refused to look at the blond girl, who kept giving him expressive glances when she thought his eyes were directed her way. Darkflight had watched them for most of the time they were in there, looking from one to the other. They had some connection…he was sure of that. He was also sure that he'd seen the girl somewhere before.

The general had given them the sparse basic facts: all three of them were wanted men. He threw a look at Darkflight which signified that he wasn't exactly sure what Darkflight was wanted for, but since he was traveling with the two former pilots, he was probably dangerous. Darkflight wasn't sure how to take that.

_We've prepared rooms for you,_ the general said. _General Une has been notified of your arrival When she gives us further instructions we'll notify you. Do you have any questions?_

Darkflight had hundreds of questions, but he remained silent, standing in the back of the room, letting Wufei and Wing do the talking. The Chinese boy fired off a rapid string of questions and Wing added several of his own, all which consisted of terms which flew right over Darkflight's head. Probably concerning military and politics, he thought glumly. Things which he knew nothing about.

There seemed to be a lot of those lately.

It seemed very long ago when he and Wing had been just assassins. He remembered when he used to be the expert, when he was considered important in the scheme of things. Coming here had made him feel tiny, inadequate. Wufei and Wing were the central players in this game, and he was merely a pawn, called on when needed, not understanding anything that went on behind the scenes.

Basically, he was worthless.

_But I made the right choice,_ he told himself, smoothing the rumpled covers and climbing back into the bed and surveying the pile of extra pillows and throws on the floor. He stared at the far wall, gripping the blanket tightly with both hands. _Where Wing goes, I go. I'm not going to leave him._

Deep down, he knew that Wing didn't need him. That Wing had in fact never needed him, and he had just blinded himself to the fact. When it had been just the two of them it had been so easy to pretend that he was the one in charge, that he was the experienced one. 

He'd always known, somehow, that Wing was much more than he seemed.

Much more.

He curled up under the blankets, smoothing the sheets which still felt too soft and clean to be wrapped around the body of someone like him. General Brown had taken them into the main base by military car, and Darkflight hadn't been able to do anything but gape. Wufei had looked grim and Wing had stared at his hands the whole time. He supposed they were both used to all military installations, but Darkflight had grown up in the Breaks. It had been the only home he had ever known, with its collapsing houses and seedy bars, the human and animal excrement piled on street corners and worse fates lying in wait in the rotting shadows.

The Preventers base was white. He had never seen so much white in his life, white, gleaming, clean, sparkling buildings. It was a sunny day, and the light reflecting off the glass windowpanes was almost like light bouncing off diamonds. The grass was cut, the streets were clean. It was like something out of a dream. When the general had shown them to their rooms, he hadn't been able to do anything but stare.

_You have the wrong room_, he wanted to say. _I don't belong here._

Brown had taken Wing away for some more questioning and then told them to stay in their rooms until they were told otherwise. They'd let him keep his weapons, though General Brown had warned them all never to use them on base except in emergency, and left him in the room, promising to bring him some toiletries. He'd started by stripping off his clothes and taking a long, hot bath in the tub. It was the second time he could remember taking a real bath, and spent the better part of the first minute trying to remember how to work the tap. The label on the soap bottle said something about a Lavender scent. He'd spent several minutes struggling to read the text, trying to decipher the directions, then gave up and just poured half the bottle into the tub.

The clock had read 1846 hours when he had finally stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around him, and the second thing he had done was to test out the bed. It was entirely too decorative for him, and he had remedied that problem by throwing most of the pillows that were lined at the head of the bed onto the floor, along with an extra blanket or two. Removing the towel and throwing it carelessly on a chair by the door, he'd made his way absently to the drawers to look for clothes. Not surprisingly, there weren't any. The general had promised to get them some inconspicuous civilian clothing as soon as possible, but for now all he had were his dirty clothes which he'd been wearing for two weeks, and damned if he was going to put them on again after that bath.

There was a full-length mirror to the side of the chest of drawers and he had stepped to the side, glanced at his reflection in it. They hadn't had mirrors in the Breaks, and the only glimpses he'd ever caught of himself were in shards of broken glass or the occasional cracked mirror in one of the bar bathrooms. The first thing that struck him was how thin he looked. There were dark circles under his eyes and his hair stuck out in all places, still wet. He quickly smoothed it down. Scars crisscrossed his chest, with the largest one slanting diagonally across from armpit to shoulder blade, faintly pink and raised in the soft light. His ribs stuck out from his sides under the muscle and the hollows under his cheekbones were dark, shadowed.

"I look a mess," he said to the mirror.

He'd decided to go back to bed. The sun was just beginning to go down outside and he rolled over, looking out the window at the waning sunlight, slanting purple and gold and brazen red through the thin curtain. Back home, he and Wing would be just waking up, perhaps to take another contract, perhaps getting ready to hit the streets for a long night for one reason or another. The nights were always long.

The aching feeling hit him again, as it always did when he thought about the Breaks. He didn't miss it, not in the true sense of the word, but it ached. It hurt, to think that he might never go back. That he might never see it again. As far as he knew, he'd been born there. He'd grown up there, that much he knew. Had learned his trade there. His friends had died there, and he had expected to die there as well. It was a separate world, and he hated it and loved it at the same time, missed it with an aching hatred.

He wasn't wanted here. He could see that.

He should have gone home, like Wing said. Just gone home. But if he had gone home, it wouldn't have been the same either.

Darkflight drew his legs to his chest, feeling his heartbeat thump slow and steadily against his thighs, closing his eyes and letting the tears fall to the pillow silently. He was tired but he couldn't sleep. The bed was just too soft, the sheets too clean.

Climbing out of the bed, he dragged a blanket out of the pile of pillows, spread it out on the floor, and lay down, wrapping himself up in it.

He awoke to the sound of a light knocking on the door. Instincts instantly alert, his eyes darted around the room, which was fully dark now, with the light of the moon shining faintly through the window. For a second he panicked, not recognizing his surroundings, then relaxed as he remembered. The knocking stopped, started again. He rolled out of the blanket and began to climb to his feet, realized with a start that he was still naked, and wrapped the blanket around his waist.

Opened the door.

"Yes?"

It was an Asian woman, dressed in a Preventers uniform, with some sort of insignia on her shoulderboards. Rank, Darkflight supposed. She looked dubiously at him, eyes going to the towel, then to his unkempt hair, then back to his face. She opened her mouth, said something in English. Darkflght blinked.

"What?"

She didn't look surprised, simply said in Japanese, "General Une would like to see you in her office."

He blinked at her. "Me?"

"Yes, you." She sounded tired. "Can you be ready in five minutes? I'm to take you there."

'I don't have any-" he began, but she shoved a bundle at him and stepped to the side. 

"I'll be waiting here. Come out when you're ready." Clearly a dismissal.

He gaped at her for a second, about to tell her that no one ever spoke like that to him, but then remembered that this was a military base and the wrong move could get him in more trouble than he could ever hope to get out of. So he simply nodded and closed the door, switching on the light.

The package contained clothes, a shaving kit, a toothbrush and toothpaste, a comb, and a pair of shoes. He put on the blue shirt, shrugging his arms into the crisp, pressed sleeves and then awkwardly buttoned the buttons. Shoved his legs through the black pants and tucked the shirt in, slid into the shoes. Looking into the small mirror in the bathroom, he slicked his hair down with water as best as he could, running a comb through it. He had only used a comb a few times, and it took him several tries to get his hair where he wanted it to go. Stepped back into the bedroom and looked a little hesitantly into the mirror.

The boy in the neat looking clothes wasn't him. He reached out and touched his reflection. The material of the clothing felt scratchy against his skin and he looked longingly at his old, worn clothes, lying discarded on the chair. 

Another rapping on the door. "Ready? I don't have all day, you know."

"I bet they don't treat Wing like this, he muttered as he threw the door open. The woman was there, her hands on her hips. She blinked as he closed the door behind him, eyeing him with a different look her eyes.

"Well," she said at last. "At least you clean up nicely. Let's go."

He'd expected the office to be only a short distance away, but they walked up a short flight of stairs and exited the building. Darkflight followed the woman closely, careful not to let her see him gaping at everything around him. The cool night air smelled even smelled clean, so different from the urine, alcohol, and smoke filled air of the Breaks.

They rounded a corner, drawing nearer to a building that more resembled a tower than a military headquarters. The general's office was obviously inside. He tried to read the sign as they passed it, but the words were too big and in English.

The woman said something to him in English over her shoulder, opening the large glass door to the bottom floor of the tower, and Darkflight promptly tripped over the threshold. The woman clucked her tongue at him.

"I don't speak English," he said, feeling stupid.

"Oh." She looked at him, then began walking again. "Follow me closely. This is a heavily secured area, and if you're caught wandering in the wrong place, it could mean bad things for you and me."

He nodded, keeping on her heels as they entered the elevator. The doors opened on what seemed to be a deserted floor. There was a guard station at the front, but the light was dimmed and the post itself was empty. The woman passed the post, turning into a wide corridor, stopping at an intimidating-looking door. She knocked.

"Come in," the voice said, muffled through the wood.

She turned the handle and Darkflight followed her. The office was well-lit, and before he could glance around, a hand presented itself under his gaze. He followed it up to the face of a woman, her hair neatly pulled behind her, lips parted in a friendly smile.

"You must be Darkflight." She spoke Japanese.

"I'll go take care of that paperwork, ma'am," came the other woman's voice from behind him.

"Yes. Thank you, Major Li."

The door closed behind her, and for the first time, it dawned on Darkflight that the young woman standing before him was the famous General Une.

"But you don't look old enough to be a general!" he burst out before he could stop himself.

For a moment, there was silence and he had the sinking feeling in his stomach that he had offended her, but she burst out laughing. He watched her laugh, watched as she wiped her eyes and stuck out her hand again with a grin. He took it gingerly.

"I must say," Une said, "that's the first real laugh I've had in weeks."

"Err…ma'am?"

"Never mind." She waved a hand behind her. "Let's go into my office. We'll have a little more privacy there."

For the first time he saw the glass wall that divided the office from the room. Une opened the glass door, motioned him through, then shut it behind her. Crossing behind her desk, she slid into the chair with a sigh, motioning to him to sit as well. He chose one of the two chairs in front of the desk, glancing around. The room was very sparsely furnished. There were no pictures on the walls, no decorations, just the desk and the three chairs. An enormous window made up one wall of the room, looking over the base.

"Impressive, isn't it?" she murmured, and he jerked his gaze back to her. Une had her hands folded in front of her, an expression of concentration on her face. "I know you must wonder why you're here."

He nodded.

Une took a deep breath, let it out. "The fact of the matter is this. I've already talked to Wufei and Heero, and Heero's story is the one that interests me the most. He didn't mention much about what he's been doing these past two years, but your name came up quite a few times."

She paused, as if to give him room to say something, but he sat and stared at the stained wood of the desk. The collar of the shirt was chafing his neck.

"So I decided that I would call you in and hear your side of the story as well. I know this might be awkward for you…you probably never wanted to get pulled into this in the first place, is that right?"

Darkflight nodded. His palms were sweaty and he felt incredibly nervous. The walls seemed to be closing in on him and he focused his attention on staring at one of the glass paperweights that seemed to litter the desk at random.

Une seemed to notice his discomfort. Getting up from her chair, she crossed to a small table in the corner, pouring something into a mug and handing it to him. 

"Drink this. Relax." Smiling at him again as he took a sip, discovering that it was very strong coffee. 

"These are strange surroundings, I know, and you aren't used to them. I'm sorry…we need to protect all of you, and this is the only way we can be certain that we are doing that."

"Why me?" he found himself saying, gripping the mug with shaking hands. "I'm not…"

"A pilot?" the general finished for him. "No, you're not, but you're a liability. You're close friends with one of the pilots, and if the World Nation got ahold of you, who knows what they'd do to force us to release Heero to you?" Her gaze was penetrating. "Do you understand? You're just as important as the pilots are to us. I'm sorry, but there's no other way."

"I don't want to be," he mumbled.

"I know." Une's tone softened a little. "I admire your effort in standing by your friend, in a time like this. It's always difficult to do."

He didn't respond.

"Can you….tell me when you first met Heero?"

Darkflight finished the rest of the coffee, felt the liquid settle his stomach somewhat. "We met in the Breaks," he said a little hesitantly. "I was…looking for new members for my assassin group." He glanced up at her quickly, but she didn't seem to be fazed at the mention of that, so he continued. "We'd heard about someone called Zero who was taking contracts solo, so we decided to see if we couldn't hire him."

"Did he come willingly?"

Darkflight snorted. "Hell, no. He put up a fight. It took us about a month to convince him that was wanted him to work with us, then he decided to join. And he was good….we became…friends, you could call it, I guess. Though you really don't have friends in a place like that. He changed his name to Wing soon after that. That's what I've always called him."

"He told me that you two worked alone," Une said.

He nodded. "We did. A little after that we split from the group and formed our own. It was a good enough life, I guess. There were…lots of things to keep us busy." He didn't say what things and she didn't ask. He wondered if Wing had told her.

"And did Heero ever mention anything about the Gundams? The war?"

"He said…he said stuff, sometimes. About the war, but he said that it wasn't anything. Sometimes he talked in his sleep. Something about Zero. I always thought he was talking about stuff he did before he came with me."

"Since he used to call himself Zero. I see." Une looked throughful. "Anything else?"

"No. We never really talked about it…the past of the people you work with in the Breaks is an off-limits topic, really. Something you don't talk about. And I never asked."

"I see," she said. "Heero told me that he had made himself forget."

Darkflight shrugged. "I guess so. He always said that there were things he couldn't remember, but it was better that way. The…substances we took helped, I suppose. It wasn't anything I worried about."

Une's mouth compressed into a thin line when he said "substances," but she didn't comment. "Tell me about when he discovered who he really was."

Darkflight was silent for a few moments, then launched into the telling of the newspaper episode, when the news of the Gundams had first broke, then Wing's breakdown in Beijing, and finally the attack on Wufei. "I didn't believe him at first. I thought he was joking. I thought he was making excuses for not being good enough for taking the target…" He looked down at his hands in his lap. "During the fight after Wufei pulled off his mask he kept saying Heero. I thought he was calling for something. It was only when Wing…"

"I see," she said again, crisply, folding and refolding her hands. "What kind of…assassin…was Heero?"

"He's one of the very best. We both are…but there's just something about him. His technique, I guess."

Une nodded. "Comes from the training all Gundam pilots get. That's why Wufei was a match for you. Impressive, after two years of inactivity." She fixed him with a penetrating stare. "Now I want to know about you."

He stared right back, the nervousness gone. "What about me?"

"Who you are. What your real name is. Where you're originally from. I need to know everything about you. You're in the same boat as Heero is."

"More than you know," he said bitterly. "I don't know any of the information you want."

Une narrowed her eyes. "Explain."

"There's nothing to explain!" he burst out, bringing the mug down on the wooden desk with a crack. His nervousness had given way to anger, anger at Une for asking him things he didn't' know, anger at Wing for getting him involved. Anger at the world in general. "Hell, I don't even know why I told you all of that…you might be here to arrest me. I'm a criminal, you know. Wing might be the almighty Gundam pilot, savior of the world, but I'm just a common criminal." Staring, challenging her. "What's in it for me?"

"There's nothing in it for you," Une said sharply, her voice a whip crack through the room. "Absolutely nothing. If you want, I'll order a shuttle and you can go right back to the Breaks, where you came from. Do you want that?"

He gaped at her.

"Heero needs your help. I need your help. And I will get it, whether you give it willingly or not. Hundreds of people have already died because of those two boys whom you've been traveling with for the past few days, and I won't let anymore of them die!"

"That's their problem," Darkflight said. "Their problem, not mine. I'm only an assassin."

"You don't care what happens to Heero?"

He looked at her, and suddenly she didn't look like a general anymore, just like the young woman he'd seen when he first walked in. She was hardly older than he was, really. "You know, General," he said, "for a woman who has so much power, you're remarkably stupid."

She simply raised an eyebrow. "And how do you see that?"

"You're talking to me about ideals and honor. And you know, I don't really care. I'm a criminal. I'm an assassin. I was born in the Breaks, I grew up there. I have my own code of honor, and it doesn't involve any of the complicated plot twists of yours. Sometimes I think that Wing was right, and that I should have stayed in the Breaks, but I'm here now, and don't think that you can manipulate me and Wing into doing what you want. We're stronger than that." He was out of his chair, arms crossed over his chest, feeling naked without his gun.

Une sighed. "Darkflight, sit down."

He blinked, then sat. He felt drained.

"I'm not trying to manipulate you," she said. "It might feel like it, but I'm not. I'm sorry if I'm intruding, but I need any and all information you can tell me, because it's crucial to our case. We're fighting a war, Darkflight, but it's not a war with weapons. It's a legal war. And if we lose this case, you'll see Wufei and Heero and the other pilots taken from you. Going to prison, maybe. Perhaps executed. The public hates them that much. Do you want that for them?"

He stared. "Ex…executed?"

He'd known of people being executed, before, in the rare cases when L1 government authorities managed to catch them. Some of them had been his friends. Some had been acquaintances. Some he hadn't known at all, but it was always horrible. Horrible not because they were innocent. Most of them had more deaths on their records than he had, but it was the fact that they were brothers. Sisters. Family.

Une nodded. "Executed. You've known people who have been executed, haven't you?" When he nodded, feeling sick, she looked like she had expected as much. "It's up to you to decide, then. The World Nation thinks the pilots are criminals because of what they did during the war. Are they?"

He opened his mouth, but she made a cutting motion with her hand. "I'll leave it to you to think it over. Just remember, you're important to Heero. No matter what falling out you two might have had." She looked satisfied when he gave a start at her words. "And no, he didn't tell me, but I can put two and two together. You two need to figure out if you want to stay friends, because if you don't, then there's no way you can take the next step."

"General-" he said.

She got up before he could say anything more. Pressed a button on the intercom on her desk. "Major Li? I'm finished here."

"Major Li's coming back to get you," Une said. "Think about what I said. And if you decide you want to join us…I'll be waiting." She flashed him a smile. "Good night, Darkflight."

The wooden door closed behind her and he stood there in the office, staring out the window at the brilliant lights of the base and of Geneva beyond. Thought of Wing, wherever he was. Sleeping? Staring out the window at the same city, and the same moon?

_You're important to Heero._

"Am I?" he said softly, pressing one hand to the glass. "I'd like to know the answer too."

  


* * *

  
**Scene VII: Reflections in the Broken Mirror**

  


_"Lucretia, my reflection  
Dance the ghost with me."  
--The Sisters of Mercy, Lucretia My Reflection_

  
"Shh, it's all right," she soothed, and he smelled the familiar scent of her perfume and felt her kiss on his forehead. "Don't be afraid, Milliard. Don't be afraid."

"Mother?" he called, but she had gone, though he could see her face smiling out of the flames that suddenly engulfed him. It was very warm. "Mother," he said, reaching out a hand to her, but there was no one there. The flames crackled in his ears and he felt very cold.

"Mother," he said again, and he awoke.

The room was freezing and he stumbled out of bed, turned on the electricity to the fireplace, watched as the pilot light caught fire and the way the flames licked at the logs. He wasn't wearing a shirt. Why was that? They'd told him that if he didn't wear a shirt he'd catch cold and get sick, but it all seemed very hazy and far away.

It didn't matter, anyway, if he never came out again. If anyone could come and find him again.

None of it mattered.

He was hungry. He remembered enough of the layout of the old mansion to remember where the kitchen was, the smaller pantry beside the large kitchens used when guests were to be entertained. Down three flights of long stairways, across winding passages and wide French doors. 

Treize.

Treize Khushrenada.

Treize had died, he remembered suddenly, mouth poised in mid-chew, hand clasped around the shiny skin of an apple. Treize had died…many years ago.

He shrugged and went back to chewing, observing the elegant paintings on the ceiling of the dining room. It was just him, sitting at the end of one long polished mahogany table. The walls were bare of paintings. He had sold them, after Treize died.

Dead? Who had died?

He frowned.

"You should have come back with me, Noin," he said to the far wall. "You'd like it here. There's lots of trees…we could have bought some horses. You liked to ride horses."

There were footsteps in the hallway and he froze, the glass of water halfway to his mouth. "Who's there?" he said loudly.

His father had told him a story about one of his grandfather's brothers who was murdered at his dinner table by an assassin. Apparently the man who hired him was one of the Peacecraft servants, out to steal a small fortune. It hadn't worked, of course, his father had consoled him. For weeks afterwards, he had slept with all the lights on. He had only been eight years old.

"Master Zechs?"

He turned abruptly at the sound of the voice emerging out of a darkened hallway. The old man was stooped, a large moustache covering his upper lip and drooping a little past his chin, but his eyes were bright. "Master Zechs? You're awake."

He blinked uncertainly. "Who are you?"

"You don't remember me?" the old man said. "I was here when you were just a small boy…when Master Treize brought you in. I took care of you until you left for the Academy."

"I don't understand," he said. His head whirled and the room spun. He grasped the table for support. Suddenly, he doubled over, sharp pains like knives in his chest.

"Master Zechs!" the old man rushed over to him, moving far faster than he thought a man of that age could ever move. "You need fresh bandages."

"Bandages?" he said. Narrowing his eyes at the man. To think of it, his arm hurt too, and he reached up to his face to touch several freshly healed cuts on his forehead. "What happened? Where's Treize? He said he'd be…he said he'd be back. He was going…"

The old man was looking at him with a look something akin to pity. "Master Treize is…not here right now," he said finally. "Let me bring you to your room and get something for your bandages."

He let himself be taken by the elbow, led out of the room like a small child. Back up the flights of stairs and the familiar turns and found himself back in the bedroom. The fire was burning brightly now and it was pleasantly warm. He felt himself getting sleepy.

"I'll be back," the old man said, and vanished out the doorway. He sat on the bed, smoothing the velvet bedspread under his fingers, glancing at the dancing flames. Dancing…hypnotizing.

There was a shadow in the flames and then his father appeared out of the fire, stepping to the floor. "Hello, Milliard," he said.

"Hello Father," he said, surprised at his own response. "How long have you been there?"

He felt suddenly dizzy and blinked, found himself sprawled on his back on the bed, the old man tending to his chest with some kind of cool ointment that lessened the throbbing. "Lie back, Master Zechs," the man said. Clucking his tongue. "Dear God…what did they do to you?"

"They?" he pushed himself up on one elbow. "Wait….who? Who's they?"

"Lie still," said the man, his voice soothing, but he couldn't lie still, had to get up and find the ones who-

"Drink this."

Obediently, he drank, and opened his mouth to ask the old man what had happened to him, but the man had vanished and snow was falling all around him, except he was still warm, as if the fire had not stopped burning through the blizzard. He looked down at himself, found that he was naked but felt no particular shame. A raw, red freshly healed wound glared angrily from his chest, straight from his collarbone almost to his navel. He touched it and bit back a yelp as it stung.

"Please lie still, Master Zechs," the voice said and he sank into the warm snow, looking up at the dark sky, wondering how he could still see when there was no light.

"Father?" he said, and his father materialized out of the snow, staring at him with solemn, broken eyes.

"I don't understand," he said, but his father simply nodded to him and began fading back into the darkness. 

"Wait!" he shouted, reaching out his hand, jerking it back in surprise as he brushed the edge of a fur-lined cloak, blinking at the confused eyes that looked back at him, realizing that he stood in the front entryway of the newly rebuilt Cinq Palace, the chandeliers blazing overhead, dressed in the garments of Cinq royalty.

"What do you want, Milliard?" Relena snapped.

"Relena? Wait, where's - I mean - "

"If you don't want me going out, I'm sorry," she said, drawing herself up to her full height, tilting her head back and staring him straight in the eye. "We've had this conversation a million times. I can date anyone I want. I'm not your kid sister anymore. You can't tell me what to do, and Friedrich is a perfectly respectable gentleman."

"He's not good for you," he said, somehow feeling that he had spoken those words before, with a horrible sense of déjà vu.

A servant - chauffeur? - emerged from a side corridor to the right, looking at them uncertainly. "Lady Relena, if you're ready-?"

"Go away, Milliard," she said, sweeping past him. "I don't need you."

"Relena!" he shouted, suddenly angry. "I'm not-"

"See you later," she called, and the door closed behind her.

"There's nothing you can do," the voice said from behind him. "No matter if the choice is wrong or right…you cannot change fate."

He whirled, coming face to face with his father, who was glancing at something behind him with a serious expression. "But-" He glanced around. The hallway, the corridors were still there, but something had changed. The air was slightly musty, the lights dimmer, the silence still with a legacy of twenty generations.

"Father," he said again, and then he looked past and saw the child, standing there, wide blue eyes uncertain, long blond hair falling in cascading waves down his back.

"Father," the little boy said.

"That's you," the sweet voice whispered in his ear. "Adorable, weren't you?"

"Relena," he said without surprise. "What are you doing here?" For a moment the palace shifted back towards the restored version he had seen first, then flickered back to the palace he had known as a child. Elongated into his room at Treize's mansion, narrowed and shrank into his room at the Academy, and then he felt himself floating. Relena's hand remained on his shoulder, its pressure strangely comforting.

"Why are you here?" he asked again.

"A better question, Oniisama, would be…why are you here?"

"I'm here because…" he said, then paused. "I don't know. I don't know where here is."

For a moment it looked like she would cry, and then she shrugged, put her other hand on his shoulder and turned him gently towards her, brought her forehead to his and kissed him. He closed his eyes.

"It doesn't matter now," she said, and when he opened them again she was holding a pair of scissors.

"Relena?"

"You see that?" she said pointing into the distance, and he followed her finger he saw a thin silver line, curving in towards his vision and then out of sight back into the darkness. 

"What is that?"

She stretched out her hand, pointing the scissors at the thread, which seemed suddenly to draw closer. Smiling up at him.

"Dorothy really should be the one to do this…but since she's not here, I'll have to do her job for her, I suppose."

He reached out and grabbed her wrist before he was aware of what he was doing. "Dorothy?" he said urgently. "Dorothy. Where…what…"

"Oniisama," Relena said. "You're hurting me."

"I'm sorry," he said, not letting go of her hand. "But I can't let you go. I can't let you cut that thread. I need…I need…"

"Noin always said," Relena murmured, never taking her eyes from his, "that you were like Treize. That the only one who could destroy you…was yourself."

Noin.

"Relena?" he said, releasing her wrist in a daze and as she reach out to snip the delicate silver thread he realized that he couldn't move to stop her, and as the scissors closed with a final sounding snap-

He jolted up in bed. The fire was out in the fireplace and he felt cold again. Blinking, looking around the room that was at once familiar and foreign. The digital clock read 5:37 AM. Just before dawn. He felt his forehead and withdrew his hand quickly, found it stained with beads of sweat. Looked down at himself, realized he was naked above the waist, with a semi-fresh bandage wrapped around his chest

The old man. Dimitrios. He remembered when he had first been brought to Treize's mansion as a boy, feverish and ill, six years old, an orphan, with no family and no home. The old man had taken care of him then. He looked around the room, recognized the bedroom he'd had for three years before he had gone to the Academy, when he had lived as Treize's ward, under his care.

"Have I been dreaming?" he said.

And then faces flashed across his eyes. Une. Sally. Gustavson. Etille. Dorothy. Noin.

Noin.

He felt the breath hitch in his chest and then he fell back against the pillows, feeling suddenly, horribly, overwhelmingly empty, and when the tears came, for the first time in twenty-one years, he didn't try to stop them.

The wound on his chest throbbed painfully but he didn't care, turning his head to the side and muffling his sobs in his pillow, still hearing Noin's last words in his ears, watching her charge headlong into the other mobile suit, watching the explosion play over and over again in his mind like the slow motion tape of a replay. Over. And over.

Dorothy, she'd said. Her last words. Move, Dorothy.

Dorothy had hated her.

_Why?_ He screamed at her, ghost speaking to ghost, reaching out vainly to grasp a shred of her presence, searching and unable to find. _Why, Noin? Why?_

The explosion was the last thing he remembered.

Memories…dim memories of voices. Etille's voice. Bright lights and murmured whispers. Silence.

"Master Zechs?"

"Leave," he mumbled into the pillow.

"I see your fever has broken," came Dimitrios' voice, muffled slightly through the crack in the door. "I made you some breakfast."

"Dimitrios," he said. Speaking to the wall now. "How did I get here?"

"A man who called himself Etille came to the door yesterday, bearing you on a stretcher. He said that this was the last address of permanent residence on your record, and of course I took you in."

"Did he say what happened to me?"

If Dimitrios was puzzled, he didn't show it. "No, Master Zechs. He merely indicated that you were ill, warned me that you might be delirious for some time, and gave me medical instructions. Apparently you had been to the military hospital in Geneva."

"Geneva." The word rolled off his tongue like a bitter curse. "I hope to never see that God forsaken place again."

A silence, in which he heard Dimitrios enter, place what sounded like a breakfast tray on his bedside table. He caught a whiff of toast and coffee.

Noin had liked toast and coffee too.

"Are you feeling better, Master Zechs?"

"No," he said hollowly. "Leave me alone. Take your damn breakfast with you. Let me die here."

"I believe that's impossible," Dimitrios said. "Perhaps if Treize told me to, I could. But Treize is not here, and the last orders he left to me were to take care of you. So I will continue to do so."

"You bastard," he mumbled, but there was no malice. "What do you want?"

"I need to take your temperature and give you your medication. And change your bandage."

His fingers went automatically to the wound, remembering the jagged, vertical gash he'd seen in his fever-delirium. Shrapnel wound.

"Why?" he whispered to the wall. "Noin died and I survived…it was supposed to be the other way around. It was….Treize told me that…"

"I am deeply sorry for your loss, Master Zechs." And the tone of the old man's voice told him that he was, indeed, sorry. 

"Dimitrios?"

"Yes, Master Zechs?"

"Did I talk…in my sleep? While I was still feverish?"

He did turn over then, careful not to strain his chest, to look over at the old man, the noble, aged features exactly the same as he remembered him from more than ten years ago. "Yes," Dimitrios said.

"And what did I say?"

"I believe," Dimitrios said quietly, "You were calling for your father."

He closed his eyes quickly and then opened them, seeing Dorothy's face, her eyes accusing him of some misdeed. Saw the explosion again.

"You killed Noin," he said to the ceiling.

"Pardon?"

He had forgotten Dimitrios was still there. Sat up quickly, wincing at the sudden onslaught of pain, but waved Dimitrios off as the man reached out to help him. "You need to take your medicine," the old man said.

"Dimitrios?"

"Yes, Master Zechs?"

A pause.

"Where is my Epyon?"

  
_Go to Milliard's Letter to Noin_

  
Act VII Part I | Act VII Part III | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	27. There's a Voice that Calls the Soul

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT VII, PART III

** I just feel rhythm emotion  
Otagai no setsunasa  
Kanjiai wakeaeru nukumori o shinjiteru**

I just feel rhythm emotion  
Kono kiss de tashika na  
Jounetsu o tsutaetai so faraway  


** I just feel rhythm emotion  
Feeling and sharing our common pain  
Is something I believe in**

I just feel rhythm emotion  
With this kiss I want to  
Share this true passion so faraway  


**--Gundam Wing, _Rhythm Emotion_  
[Second TV opening theme]**  


  
  
**Scene VIII: The Battle to the Strong**

  


_ "Awaremarete ataerareru ai nanka wa iranai  
Ni do to daremo watashi no koto  
Kizutsuketari dekinai  
Unmei wa kono te ni."  
_
_ [I don't need love sprung from pity]  
Nobody can hurt me twice]  
My fate is in my hands]  
_
_--Fushigi Yuugi, Aoi Arashi_  


  
Noin was dead.

And she, Dorothy Catalonia, might as well have killed her herself. It was her fault.

_Her fault.._

She hadn't bothered to gather her belongings- she had nothing irreplaceable, and she didn't want anything to remind her of her time on A007. She wanted, more then anything, to wipe the memory from her mind, clean the dust of the God forsaken place off her boots, and forget that she had ever heard the names Milliard Peacecraft and Lucrezia Noin. 

She had handed over her codes to Etille as soon as they arrived back, effectively surrendering her command to him. He hadn't been happy about that, had even accused her of cowardice. Dorothy tilted her head back to look up at him. Her knotted hair was thick with sweat and tied back into a ponytail that was coming apart, just like she was. Her eyes had taken on a gray hue, and he rather thought they looked like silver daggers, ready to cut him to the quick. 

"Say nothing," she said harshly, ready to lash out at anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby and provide her with the least excuse to let some steam off. She was angry at the world, and hurt, and full of recriminations that she couldn't escape. Noin was dead... and it was her fault. Dorothy had always believed in honesty, and now that was coming back to haunt her.

She started to walk away from Etille, but the firm clasp of a hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Dorothy..." 

She turned, looking into the eyes of the man who would have been her uncle, had the world been a perfect place. "Don't say it," she snapped harshly, moving away from his callused hand. "I screwed up, I know it. I don't need lectures from anyone else. I can give them to myself, thank you. I should have listened to orders, not let my damn pride take control. If I had, then Noin would still be alive, Milliard wouldn't have gone nuts and practically killed himself, and we'd still have commanding officers." 

"Dorothy, you can't just leave when things get tough. The soldiers need you- Peacecraft has been wounded, Noin is dead, and you're the only officer left."

She gave him credit for bravery, if not intelligence. It was not many who would dare confront her when she was upset, but then Etille seemed to feel that he had a special hold over her. Maybe it was because he had been her aunt's beloved, maybe it was because of his age, or maybe it was because he had been the one to help Noin escape while she had been the one who had gotten Noin killed, but she was about to prove him wrong if it killed her. No one held any power over her any longer. Not with her grandfather dead, and Milliard denying her. 

She refused to love him any longer. She was going to cut him out of her mind, out of her heart, out of her life. Love was for the weak, a tender emotion that warriors could not afford.

"They don't need me! Discipline will fall apart if I take command!" she exclaimed. Don't make me stay.... a small part of her mind whispered. _Don't ask that of me- haven't I already given enough, made myself into someone I don't like and can't respect- a weak woman, fighting for love and pride instead of her beliefs?_

"Will it? They didn't know Noin. She was here for all of five days, while you were here for weeks."

"Noin was a legend."

"And you earned their respect. You're a good soldier, and it shows," Etille returned quietly. "They're professionals, Dorothy. They'll follow orders."

Dorothy scowled angrily, feeling her usual temper rise. "I don't like soldiers who merely follow orders! They're no better then mercenaries! When there is a fight, they should fight with their heart! I want warriors, not mere soldiers, and having me here will demoralize them! It's best for me to leave!"

"Best for who, Dorothy?"

"Everyone!" she yelled, clenching her fists to her side, barely refraining from hitting him. All her instincts told her to strike, and strike hard, at the man who was torturing her so.

The man who was laying her weaknesses bare.

"Will you throw away everything you've worked for over a matter of self-pity? Alicia would be shamed if she knew that her family line had fallen into such a state."

She couldn't control it any longer, the anger and pain. Her hand swung out without a thought, prepared to deliver a stinging slap.

With reflexes that surprised her, Etille caught her wrist, throwing her off-balance. She stumbled forward, trying to regain her equilibrium as she made an attempt to jerk away from the older man. He was having none of it, though, and held on tight in a grip she, with all her training, didn't recognize. Had she continued to struggle, the hold would have caused her to break her own wrist. "Perhaps you should go. A leader cannot be ruled by self-pity. A leader cannot let herself break down when things get difficult. Perhaps you were never a leader, Dorothy. I would have thought a Catalonia made of sterner stuff."

She wanted deny him again, but the fight had gone out of her. "Just leave me alone, you relic," she whispered. "Don't you remember what it's like to hurt?" she said. "Or are you merely a puppet, a man who fights because he knows nothing else?"

Her words seemed to have no effect; if anything, his face grew impassive instead of impassioned. "I am no puppet, Dorothy. I fight because that's what I am- a soldier. I don't hold with your high ideals, or believe in valor. War is my business, and I may be little better then a mercenary. War is my stock in trade, all I know- all I will ever know. I'll leave the speeches and causes for someone else- I'm the weapon they wield."

She looked almost pitiful, a bedraggled wretch of a girl who had taken place of the fiery lady that she had been. "How could my aunt love someone like you?" she demanded.

"We were young. I believed in justice and truth, then, before I learned that though the causes change, the battle remains the same. All there is to believe in is duty." He relaxed his grip, and she took her hand back. 

Even though she was tempted to rub it to restore circulation, Dorothy refused to give him the satisfaction. Dermand Etille somehow had the ability to cut through her defenses, and she hated that, hated being weak. He had seen her cry, only a few nights before. "It seems I am not the only one lying to myself," she said back to him.

She could hear her grandfather's voice in her ear, whispering. _When cornered, remember that the best defense is a good offense. Come out fighting, and even if they bring you down, you'll have the satisfaction of taking them with you._

Duke Dermail had believed in revenge.

He looked at her, his graying brown hair and tired eyes showing every one of his years, and showing that his life had been hard-fought. He was not a worthy opponent. She would destroy him for ever making her question herself; destroy him for even having the nerve to question her. She was Dorothy Catalonia, Mistress of the Mobile Dolls, and he was a mere Lieutenant Commander, a man who had never risen in rank.

He rose to the bait, a perturbed expression on his face. "I do not lie, Dorothy."

"Do you? When you lost your warrior's pride?"

He looked at her, thoughtfully, and then began to recite:

_"To be, or not to be; that is the question  
. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer  
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune  
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,  
And by opposing end them?"_

She blinked, unable to follow his train of thought. "_Hamlet,_" she said, wondering where he was going.

"I love Shakespeare. Seven hundred years old, and he still has lessons to teach us."

She recognized the speech; she would have to be an idiot not to. It was from _Hamlet_, where he, the melancholy Dane, was mourning whether suicide would be preferable to taking on an unpalatable duty. She had never understood that, how anyone could be so weak as to consider taking his own life. "What's your point? Just because you like Shakespeare doesn't mean you have any feelings of pride."

He sighed. "Each of us can see ourselves in his work. Who are you, Dorothy? Are you Iago, the cunning traitor to all he should respect? Are you Ophelia, willing to let yourself be pushed around by fate? Or are you Rosalind, the courageous heroine who's as clever as she is beautiful? When you figure it out, let me know."

He walked away from her then, leaving her puzzling out the confusing conversation.

She had taken a supply shuttle back, crammed into an uncomfortably tight chair. The flight plans had stated an intention of landing in New York, but due to lightning storms across most of North America, they were routed to Berlin. The journey gave her entirely too much time alone with her own thoughts; the shuttle was a utilitarian one, so there were no VR goggles or magazines, and the newsfeed was several months out of date. 

Another Shakespearean character lurked at the edge of her thoughts, one who made her shiver. _"Out, damned spot! out, I say!"_

She looked at her hands, wondering if she would forever wear Noin's blood on them. Was she going to go mad with guilt, for letting her pride lead her to murder?

_Dorothy! Move, Dorothy, MOVE!_

Why had she done that? Why had Noin pushed her away, taken the fall? She could have let her die. No one -least of all Milliard- would have blamed Noin for it. Noin hadn't liked her, and she could have easily gotten rid of her that way.

Dorothy probably would have. Sometimes inaction was the best strategy to getting what you wanted. And Dorothy had wanted Milliard, wanted him to love her.

Noin wasn't like that though. She was a saint. Everyone kept telling Dorothy that- how Noin was so talented, so compassionate, so _worthy_. Noin didn't have doubts, Noin knew what she wanted, Noin was Milliard's beloved, Noin, Noin, _Noin..._

And now she was dead, and it was Dorothy's fault.

Milliard would never forgive her.

She wouldn't forgive herself.

The shuttle wasn't like the ones she was used to. She was used to the brisk efficiency of the military, or the pampering of her family's private vehicles. The cluttered atmosphere was full of people trying to leave the colonies, and it was only using her Preventer's clearance that she had been able to snag a seat. Behind her a little kid sat, sticky fingers coloring in a book as he repeatedly kicked the back of her worn chair. She gritted her teeth, wondering how she had fallen so far. Two months ago she had been in her manor, rejecting suitors from the cream of society. Now she was leaving a dirtball of a colony, with the clothes on her back as her only possessions.

The kid was still kicking her chair. She turned around, getting ready to yell at him.

The boy was about seven, with huge blue eyes and European features. His clothes, like most of the colonists, had seen better days, and the coloring book he held so tightly in his hands looked like it had been scraped numerous times to be reused again and again. The crayons he was using looked as though they had been carefully rationed. Dorothy felt her harsh words die in her throat, unaired. "Hello!" he chirped, but his face was drawn and pale with worry. His eyes fastened on her clothes, and a smile lit his features. "You're a soldier!" he said.

She nodded. "Dorothy Catalonia," she said, offering him her hand. When she had been seven, she had been smarter then most people gave her credit for. She remembered her scorn for those clueless adults.

Had it only been ten years ago?

"Donovan Riley," he said, setting down his book before giving her a shake. His grip was uncertain, and she adjusted hers for his lack of strength. Someone needed to teach him how to shake hands properly. "My mother says I'm not supposed to speak to stranger, but you're wearing a uniform, so it's ok."

She pitied him. So innocent, and she didn't have the heart to tell him that some soldiers were among the roughest people she knew. Besides, she was bored and a conversation with him was better then being left to her own thoughts. "Where's your mother?" she asked politely. The man seated beside him was of African descent, and obviously no relation.

The boy's face fell. "She's still on the Colony. She's sending me to my aunt in New York so I'm out of the way. She spent a lot of time saving up so she had enough money for a ticket."

"How are you getting to New York? Is one of the stewardess going to help you?"

He looked confused. "I don't know. Can you help me?" He pulled out a crumpled ticket and handed it to her.

She looked at it. It was the cheapest available, and uninsured. An insured ticket would have transferred the boy to another flight on arrival until the company got him to New York- but this was uninsured. He would effectively be stranded in a strange country, knowing no one.

A maternal instinct she hadn't believed herself to be possessed of came to her. "Sure. Do you have you're aunt's number so I can call her?"

The boy handed her another card. It had contact information written on it. "When we get to the spaceport, we'll call her," Dorothy promised.

The flight after that was pleasant, since she switched seats with the other man. Donovan was a charming child, and eager to tell her about his life. His father had recently been killed in one of the attacks by the rebel forces, causing his mother to start saving money to head home to Earth. She worked hard, but her job as a janitor simply didn't pay well, and she was out of work more often then not. Finally she had enough money for the first ticket, and she was sending him to Aunt Nell until she could afford her own ticket.

Dorothy made a mental note to transfer some funds to Donovan's mother, enough for a second ticket. She respected the kind of courage that it took to send a child off on his own. She had gambled on the flight landing where it was supposed to. She loved her child enough to know the colony was going down.

When the plane landed, Dorothy helped him gather his scant belongings, relieved that she didn't have to deal with any of her own baggage. He clung to her hand as she made for the public terminal.

Punching in the number from the card, she was surprised that it was answered almost immediately by a woman in her twenties. "Yes?" the woman said, looking puzzled at Dorothy's worn appearance.

"Hello- Ms. Riley?"

"That's me." She tugged on a piece of her flyaway brown hair. "I'm sorry, but I have a family emergency. So unless this is important..."

"Aunt Nell!" Donovan said, standing on his tiptoes so he could stare into the screen. 

The woman's eyes filled with tears. "VAN! Are you ok? I was so worried when the shuttle was rerouted..."

Dorothy smiled for the first time since Noin had died. "He's fine. My name is Dorothy Catalonia, and we met on the shuttle down."

The woman apparently recognized her. "My lady! I'm sorry if he's been an inconvenience...."

Dorothy shook her head. "No. He's been an angel, aside from a tendency to kick seats. I'm going to put him on the next flight for New York from here, if that's convenient?"

"I.... I don't have the money..." Nell said, obviously worried. "I want him here, but I don't see..."

"I'll cover it. Also, I'll be transferring funds to your account to pay for a ticket for your sister to return. Please see that she books a seat on the next flight."

The woman looked like someone had just handed her the world. "My lady! That's most kind!"

Dorothy affectionately tousled Donovan's hair. "No child should be apart from his mother."

They cut communications, and Dorothy arranged for tickets and a companion to accompany Donovan to his aunt's. After buying him a light dinner and a few toys at the gift shop, she placed him on the plane herself, watching him depart with a happy wave.

Sometimes things were simple.

She admired the Rileys, who knew what they wanted and went for it, taking risks.

But what was there for her now?

_Geneva._

The answer came almost immediately.

Quatre would be on trial there soon. Une's Preventers were falling apart around her ears.

Yes, she would go to Geneva.

Dorothy Catalonia wasn't out of the game yet. She would show that her life was just as important as Noin's, that Noin hadn't died for nothing.

She walked over to the nearest counter, not even bothering to check which carrier she was using. "Book me on the next flight to Geneva," she demanded. "Bump someone else if you have to, but I needed to be there yesterday."

The young man looked at her Preventers' uniform that bore no rank insignia, and nodded nervously, recognizing the sound of a person used to command when he heard it. "Yes, ma'am. We have a shuttle leaving in two hours. Will that suffice?"

She rewarded him a with a wintry smile. "Yes. That will do very well indeed."

She was Dorothy Catalonia, granddaughter of Dermail, and the future Duchess Dermail. She had run once; she would not run again. _This time, the battle will go to me,_ she thought. _No matter what the bible says, the battle always goes to the strong. And I am strong. I don't need to prove that to anyone anymore. I don't need a man to fulfill me, especially not Milliard- I am my own person._

She almost believed it.

  
_Go to Dorothy's Letter to Noin_

  


* * *

  
**Scene IX: Strangers When We Meet **

  


_"And I'll never lose my faith in you-   
How will I ever get to heaven, if I do?"  
--Lifehouse Family, Lost in Space_

It was early morning in Geneva when they came to release him. His sister Yaminah had done her work well, managing to release him into the custody of his sister Jaffa. Jaffa, in turn, had picked him up around eight, flanked by Aisha and Scheherazade, the two identical twins. Quatre hugged each of his sisters on sight, smiling at them gladly as he felt their sincere relief for his sake. Aisha was carrying a fresh outfit for him, and he changed quickly, eager to get out of the prison clothes.

The four Winners quickly went to a shuttle, under the careful guard of Rashid. About ten of the Maguanacs were in attendance, and Quatre felt a flush creep up the back of his neck. He'd tried and tried to make these people see him as a person, rather then an icon, but all his attempts had come to naught. To them, he was the personification of perfection, and it was a terribly hard image to live up to.

"Yaminah is at Geneva with Une's team, Reeshya is gathering the family together at our Geneva compound...and Lilah's waiting on the shuttle for you." The last part was said hurriedly, as though Jaffa found the words distasteful.

"Why didn't she come with you?" he asked. He remembered the glimpse of her he had in prison before Yaminah had come to talk to him of his impending trial, but that had hardly been enough. A glimpse of a woman he'd barely recognized after years apart. A glimpse of a sister who had come back to him in his hour of need. A glimpse of the girl who had inadvertently shown him that it was possible to escape the Winner family, and everything it entailed. She had fled for love, while he had left because of personal beliefs, but they both had left. Of all his sisters, Lilah was the one who had the most in common with him.

The twins exchanged looks, communicating something in their own unique way to each other, but it was Jaffa who answered, ignoring the exchange. "Lilah isn't comfortable around all these authority figures. She said she'd meet you on the shuttle, when you two could have a chance to get reacquainted."

He blinked, wondering what had happened to his sister. Lilah had been part of the Winner family, comfortable with generals and royalty.

The shuttle was one of the private Winner Corporation ones, one that was so full of luxury and excess that he winced each time he set foot on it, imagining the cost. His family could well afford it, but he hated such indulgences. He remembered living with the Maguanacs, and how they had had so little.

The siblings were escorted up the ramp to the main cabin. "She's in the first conference room. We thought you'd like some privacy."

He nodded his thanks and opened the door, stepping in.

The door clicked shut behind him with a louder-than-seemingly possible thud.

He was struck by how much like him she looked. That was the first thing that came to his mind. He'd always had effeminate features, but seeing her was like looking into a mirror that told him how he would have looked had he been born the thirtieth Winner daughter, rather then the only son. She was the only blue-eyed blonde, now that Iria was dead.

"Lilah?" he said.

She looked nervous, as though she was unsure of her welcome. She was thin, too thin, and her golden hair was dull, a sign of malnutrition. She didn't look that much like the pretty older sister of his memories, but there was a set to her shoulders, a gleam in her eyes, that reminded him of when they had been close. "Quatre," she said, nodding her head.

Still the distance between them remained, those five feet seeming like a mile. "How have you been?" he asked formally, as though they were merely acquaintances, instead of siblings reuniting after almost eight years of separation.

"Fine. And you?" She tugged on the long sleeves of her dress, a nervous gesture that he remembered of old.

Quatre wished he knew how to break through the formality, break through and see Lilah. See her, not this polite stranger who looked like she was a deer caught in the headlights of an approaching car. "I've been better." His eyes focused on the thick dress, finding it odd and out of place. "Are you really that cold? It's the middle of July."

"Huh?" she said, and then apparently answered her own question mentally as she followed where his eyes were. "Um, no…. I just prefer longer sleeves," she said, shifting her arms so the were tucked neatly behind her back.

Something Duo had talked about when he was younger tugged at the back of his mind. Normally he would have let the subject drop, but… there was something important about Lilah's long sleeves. 

Quatre stepped towards her, and he could see she wanted to flinch away from him. But she remained rigid, proud in the way that Raberba Winner would have recognized as coming from a scion of his line. "May I?" he asked.

Her face was impassive as she held her arms out in front of her, allowing him to push the fine wool back to expose her arms. He hissed slightly as he saw the old scars there, scars of failed suicide attempts, tracks from needles, and scars he couldn't identify the source of. "It's not pretty, is it?" she said in a serene voice, sounding like her mind was a million miles away. "But then, I'm not pretty. Not anymore."

"Why?" he whispered, fingertips tracing one of the botched scars on her bony arm. She, like many potential suicides, hadn't known the proper way to cut her wrists, and it looked like it was that fact alone that had saved her life, for though the marks were years old, they were deep. 

"Did you hear where I was, little brother?" she asked, still speaking in a voice that sounded like a teacher speaking to a slow student.

"No…" he whispered.

She gave him a gentle smile, taking her arm back from him and returning her sleeves to their proper place. "I lived in the Breaks for seven years," she told him. "When I was starting out, there were a few times when I was ready to die… I wanted death, and would have embraced it gladly." She fidgeted almost unconsciously with the place where one particular brutal scar lay.

"Lilah…. You were always welcome back here. Was death really preferable?"

The pride, the damn Winner pride that he himself was often a victim to, sparked to life on her face. "To admitting I was wrong, and that father had been right? To taking the easy way out? To letting father win? Yes, it damn well was!" she swore. 

He nodded, recognizing her rebellion. Only three Winners had ever defied their father: Zarifa, who had run away to join the Federation military and hadn't been heard from since; Lilah, who had run away under the promises of a false love… and him. Who had run away to construct a Gundam that was responsible for thousands upon thousands of deaths. His sins were the greatest, yet it was Lilah who had suffered most. The universe was terribly unkind.

"Lilah..." he whispered.

Her eyes grew even harder, if that was possible. "This was a mistake. I shouldn't have come." She turned to leave for the main cabin, but he stopped her.

"Wait. I've missed you. Didn't you ever think about us?"

She laughed, a hollow sound. "I missed you when I remembered you." Her fingers toyed with her sleeves. "Sometimes I was so full of drugs that I couldn't tell what way was up. Did I mention that? I was a druggie and a hooker, too. I was a slut- don't you think Father would have been proud?" Her smiled turned savage, and he couldn't tell who she wanted to wound more, herself or him. Or any of the Winner clan who hadn't lived through what she had survived.

"I-"

They were interrupted by Scheherazade, who came in. Quatre could tell it was her by the bright green sash she wore- Aisha hated green with an unholy passion. "Quatre?"

"Yes, oneesan?" he asked.

"Aisha just received a call from Preventers. Chang Wufei and Heero Yuy have been found, and will be there shortly after we arrive."

He felt like someone had sucker punched him. After all this time....

More missing friends had returned. Now all that had to happen was Duo and Trowa showing up, and they would be complete again. They weren't complete without each other.

Unnoticed by him was the fact that Lilah went pale. If it had been Jaffa in there instead of Scheherazade, she would have commented. But Scheherazade was not one of his most observant sisters- she was bouyant and didn't sweat the details.

"Thank you."

Scheherazade left. On her heels came a pleasant looking woman wearing a clean Winner Corps uniform bowed to them slightly. "Excuse me, Mr. Winner. Could you and your sister please take your seats? We're going to be landing shortly, and we neat to prepare the cabin for it."

He shook his head. "We'll remain standing. If we crash, seatbelts wouldn't do much good, and I find them uncomfortable."

The stewardess seemed ready to protest, but he gave her his best little boy smile, and she conceded. "I'm not taking responsibility if your older sister finds out," she warned as she returned to the main cabin.

"I own the family business, and everyone answers to Jaffa," Quatre said with a quirk of amusement, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

"Jaffa has always run everything she touches. In a nice way," Lilah said, then lapsed into silence.

Quatre broke it after a few uncomfortable minutes, asking the question that had been plaguing him. "Lilah, why are you here?"

She was startled. "What?"

"Why are you here? It's not just because of me and the mess I got myself into- you could have come back at any time, and didn't. When father and Iria died- we needed you just as much then, but you weren't here." He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, tried and failed.

"I...." she began, looking ready to confess. Then the pride flashed across her face, and he knew that she was shutting herself off behind her walls. "Not even for him can I whore myself to the family again," she said, looking depressed. He could feel despair radiating off her in disconcerting waves, feel it creep along his spine in an unconscious echo of her hopelessness. "It's something I can't do." Again she made ready to leave, heading for the doorway.

"Who are you talking about, Lilah? Who is he?" Quatre wanted to know. His instincts told him should she leave the room without telling him, he'd most likely never know.

Lilah said nothing.

He reached out and caught her in a quick hug. She resisted at first, but after a moment, her arms rose and wrapped around him. It was one of those eternal moments, a moment when they were in complete harmony with each other and the universe around them. It couldn't last, though, and all too soon they had to separate. "Lilah, no matter what, we'll be here, should you need us. We don't need anything from you- we just... want you know you're loved."

His sincerity must have been conveyed somehow or another. A small smile turned up on the corner of her lips, a smile Quatre only saw because he had been willing it into existence. "My name is Atsuki," she said softly. "I'm the girl who used to be your sister."

They felt the shuttle shift beneath their feet as the pilot beneath their feet, as they unthinkingly adjustd their stances to keep upright. "We're here," Jaffa said, calling out to them from the cockpit where she was seated beside the pilot.

Quatre wanted to bite out something sarcastic about stating the obvious, but beld himself in check. Jaffa had been good to him, and didn't deserve to be his punching bag due to his frustration with Lilah.... Atsuki.... whoever the hell she was.

"We're at Preventers?" Atsuki asked. "Excuse me," she said, her pale face looking determined, and her eyes carrying a light that wasn't quite sane, "I have a few people to see."

Quatre watched as she left the room to head for the exit ramp, wondering if he wanted to know what was going on with his sister, the one who now called herself Atsuki, abandoning even the family name. She was a stranger, and he was starting to doubt they would ever be siblings again.

  


* * *

  
**Scene X: In Sight, But Out of Reach**

  


_"Night breaks. My heart could not ache anymore.  
Am I that easy to ignore?"  
--Sixpence None the Richer, Easy to Ignore _

  
Relena hadn't been sure what kind of reaction from Heero she had been expecting when she finally saw him again over a year and half of separation, but it had never crossed her mind that he would ignore her. She would had expected a nod, perhaps a threat, or if she was lucky, a smile. But to be ignored...?

There were reasons she hated him sometimes.

She had been watching Catherine Bloom record her interview with Vanessa Curtis when the news that Chang Wufei and Heero Yuy had arrived had reached her. The girl had emerged from the make up artist's hands looking beautiful and intelligent. Her reddish brown hair had been curled attractively away from her face, and the stage make-up had been applied with subtle skill that made her eyes look huge and innocent. Relena had nodded her approval, believing that this might work. If they did this right, it just might flush the pilots out.

Catherine spoke well, and from the heart. She was protective of her brother, every so often glancing at the lawyer who was off-camera, seeing if she was being signaled not to answer for fear of legal repercussions. Aside from the occasional pause, her voice was steady and true, and she seemed to handle the questions easily. Vanessa was skilled at putting people at their ease, eliciting intimate and accurate portrayals, but Catherine performed for the camera well and needed little prompting.

They took a break after about an hour. Relena carried a tray of water to the two women, smiling. "You're doing wonderfully, Catherine."

"Thank you, your Majesty," she said, standing up to perform a stretch that made it look like her bones were made of rubber. She bent over backwards so far that her fingertips were mere inches from the ground.

"Relena," the Queen of Cinq corrected, smiling. Catherine was teasing her, and it felt pleasant. She was relieved in a way- most people set her on a pedestal, forgetting that very human emotions lay behind her politics. 

The girls laughed together, and Catherine looked like she was about to say something when another woman entered the room. Relena recognized the major's insignia, and nodded. "Can I help you, Major?" she asked, stepping protectively in front of Catherine. Catherine didn't like the Preventers.

"I'm Major Li," the Asian woman said, smiling. She was neat in her perfectly pressed uniform, holding her slender body with grace and confidence. "I have some news that General Une said you'd like to hear."

"Yes?" Relena asked absently, head still full of the thoughts of preparations for next few interviews. Catherine's had gone without a hitch, but she had to-

"Chang Wufei and Heero Yuy are due to arrive on base within half an hour."

She supposed that the correct response at that moment would be one of joy, of concern, of surprise, one befitting the Queen of the Cinq Kingdom.

Instead, Relena stared at the major for what seemed like the longest two seconds of her life and said, "Oh."

She faintly felt a touch on her arm and looked around to see Catherine's hand on her elbow. "Relena? Are you all right? You went pale all of a sudden."

She took a deep breath, letting it out. "I'm fine," she said, not sounding convincing at all. "I'm fine. Major…?" Back to her usual professional self. That had been a close call.

Heero? Here? _Now?_ And no one had told her he was coming?

When did they find him? How did they find him?

If Major Li had any comments about Relena's loss of control a minute ago, she kept them to herself. "I assume you'd like to go out and meet them?" she said politely, smiling that petite Chinese smile. "They're due on Landing Pad Two by Preventers private helicopter, on the west side of the base."

She took a deep breath, folding her hands in front of her. "Yes," she said tightly. "Yes, I'd like that very much."

Catherine looked like she was on the verge of saying something, but Relena instead gave Li a bright smile, elbowing Trowa's sister in the stomach. Catherine grunted, but held her peace, letting Relena face the major.

"See to it that I'm informed when the shuttle is to arrive? I want to be on the pad to greet them. I'll be in my quarters."

Li nodded, and Relena grabbed Catherine's upper arm and steered her away from the interview room.

"Hey!" Catherine demanded - safely out of earshot. "We're not done with my interview-!"

Relena glanced around to make sure there was no one within sight and then sagged against the wall. "I know," she said softly, "but I just needed to-"

Catherine understood immediately, backing up to the wall and putting a supportive arm around her. "Honestly, Relena, I don't see how you deal with these things so calmly…I'd have been throwing a fit back there…"

"I almost did," Relena said, with a ghost of a smile. "This just hasn't been my day. First I hear about Noin, then I hear about Heero."

Catherine suddenly looked very alarmed. "Oh no! And I guess me getting mad at you this morning didn't help either!" She put one hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. "I'm so sorr-"

Relena laughed breathlessly and shook her head. "No…don't be sorry. There are times I'd like to be reminded that I'm still just a girl, and you had perfect right to yell at me. If I ever do anything stupid again, feel free…" She trailed off, suddenly at a loss for words. For all her effort to treat Catherine like an equal over the last few days, there had always been that invisible boundary between them. Queen and commoner. But suddenly it was as if they were on the same level, had always been on the same level.

"Are you excited?" she faintly heard Catherine ask. "You haven't seen him since the end of the war. I'm sure it's a shock to hear that he's coming…you didn't know about this."

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. Excited? She didn't know. 

_Heero…I don't need you in my life now. Not right now._

"Relena?" Catherine's arm tightened around her. "Are you sure you don't want to sit down? I know it's been a long day for you…it's just going to get longer, especially with Heero and Wufei coming in…"

"No, I'll be all right." She looked sideways at the deceptively innocent face of the girl beside her, her words coming awkwardly. "It's just…I've never had…well, you know. Had a real friend before."

Catherine's eyes filled with tears and she put both arms around Relena, hugging her tightly. "Oh, Relena. Don't ever be afraid of telling me anything."

Relena hugged her back, blinking back her own tears, and then stepped back reluctantly. "Come on. You have an interview to finish…they're probably wondering where you are."

"Are you sure you'll be ok?"

Relena gave her a grim smile. "I'm used to dealing with things. I'll be fine."

"All right then." Catherine stepped forward, then paused. "And…if I'm not around before you go…good luck with Heero."

Her smile was slightly less forced this time. "Thank you."

She looked at the clock as Catherine disappeared back into the interview room and closed the door behind her. Half an hour…just enough time to run to the bathroom and touch up on her makeup. She walked quickly down the hallway, emerging out into the sunlit afternoon and taking the quickest way back to the officers' quarters which Une had emptied out and given to her and Catherine for living space. 

And Heero and Wufei, now, she would think. And anyone else who would request asylum from the World Nation and the media…

She shook her head. _Don't be ridiculous_, Relena. _They wouldn't put all of you in one place…_

Her quarters were dark and smelled like she had left them: a mix of perfumes and last night's midnight snack and the faint lingering afterscent of vanilla candles. Grimacing at the potpourri of smells, she crossed to the bathroom and turned on the light, reaching for her makeup kit.

Her dress was good enough for the occasion, she decided, keeping her mind carefully blank as she applied a small amount of lip gloss and touched up her powder. Just a little makeup. Did Heero like makeup?

_No, don't go there._

It had been two years. Two long years without him. She tried to think of his face, his voice, and found that she couldn't remember. He was a shadow in her mind, an ever present force, but she couldn't even remember how he had said her name.

_Omae o korosu._

She packed up her makeup kit mechanically, mind jumping from scene to random scene when they had been together on the Libra, confronting Milliard. He'd taken care of her then. Surely…surely he hadn't forgotten her?

She sat on her bed and watched the second hand of the clock on the wall spin round…round…round again, mind drifting, fingers plucking the gauzy white material of her dress absently. When the knock came she jerked, realizing she'd been falling asleep. The minute hand of the clock indicated that almost twenty minutes had passed. Shaking her head, she stepped over and opened the door.

General Brown stood there.

"Well, hello, General," she said, a little bemused. "Are you my escort?"

He laughed. "Major Li was going to send a sergeant down for you, but as I was going also, I thought you might like a little more…interesting company. One befitting the Queen of Cinq anyway."

Smiling at him, she closed and locked the door behind her and followed him down the hallway and out of the building. He offered her his arm to step into the back seat of the military jeep and then followed her, leaning forward to speak briefly to the driver in the front seat.

The jeep windows were open and Relena's hair whipped about in the wind as she tried vainly to look about, to memorize the unfamiliar section of the base in which she found herself, but the roads and buildings zipped by at such a pace that she found it bewildering. Beside her, she heard Brown laugh.

"Don't bother," he shouted over the wind. "With any luck, you won't be hanging around here much! Unsavory stuff goes on around here!"

She frowned at him. "What unsavory stuff?" she yelled back.

He didn't answer and she considered prodding him, but at that moment the jeep stopped and the throbbing of helicopter blades could be heard approaching.

"Just in time," he said, tipping his hat to the driver, who saluted and turned off the jeep engine.

The helicopter touched down just as they stepped out to the edge of the spectator's circle on the landing pad. Wufei's head peered out from the door, and her heart gave a leap. She stopped herself from squealing his name, feeling embarrassingly like a teenage girl fawning over some boy, but it had been so long and she hadn't seen him…it wasn't like they had known or even liked each other back then, but it was the ties that counted. That they had been through the same things, had seen the same horrors together.

But when _he_ emerged, her heart stayed still. She was glad she didn't have any time to mentally prepare herself, because when she saw him the emotion that overwhelmed her was not one of longing or concern or even joy, but simply of….acceptance. Like a part of her was finally back where it belonged.

General Brown was talking to Wufei but she only heard their conversation as a mumble in the back of her mind as she watched him walk towards her. She knew he saw her. She was vaguely shocked at his appearance, at his bone-thin face and arms, the long, matted hair, the raised scar. But the eyes were the same.

"Heero," she said. And when he stared at her, she shivered, one hand reaching out to stop whatever he might say.

But he didn't say anything. Not a word.

He simply…walked away.

He ignored her all through the ride home, sitting in the front seat with the dark-skinned boy who had come with them while she and Brown occupied the back seat. The tinted windows were rolled up, enclosing them in a coccoon of darkness. Wufei was in the jeep behind them, a medical jeep come to take him away to the hospital. He had a fever, the medics said. She felt a tiny stab of guilt that she hadn't even seen him faint, but it was only a small one. Wufei was the least of her concerns right now.

When they got back to the main base, she got off, going around to the front with a determined march in her step. All right, she hadn't seen him for two years and he didn't even look like himself and yes, he was Heero Yuy the almighty Gundam pilot, but she was the Queen of Cinq and she was not about to let him get by with this.

"Heero," she said firmly. "Don't I even get a hello?"

He looked at her again, just looked at her, and she felt her resolve melt away. There was something dangerous in those eyes that hadn't been there when they had parted.

"I don't want to see you again," he said, and stepped out of the jeep, following the dark-skinned boy into the building. She whirled around to face him, hardly daring to believe what he'd just said to her, and saw Brown watching.

"That's right," she said, not even trying to hide the bitterness in her voice. "Laugh all you want. Queen Relena, spurned by Heero Yuy again. What else is new."

"I'm not laughing," he said gently. "I…" He stopped. "Can I talk to you later? I have some questions."

"Sure?" she said absently, one hand on the car for support.

"All right. I suppose...I don't have to tell you that what just happened is strictly classified and that no one else on this base is to know about it?"

Relena gave him a bitter smile. "My whole life has been strictly classified. I'm used to it."

He paused a minute longer, then disappeared inside. She followed, letting the coolness of the interior wash over her, leaning against the wall and wiping the sweat from her forehead with a handkerchief.

"Bastard," she muttered under her breath.

Something squeaked nearby. A door. She jumped.

"Who's there?"

A woman who looked vaguely familiar stepped out of the shadows, a smile on her lips. "Don't worry yourself about him," the woman said, her words cruel in how forthright they were. "He's not a matter of your concern- you don't understand him."

She wanted to scream her denial, but after all that had happened, she had no ground left to stand on. "Who are you?" Relena demanded angrily, leaning forward aggressively. If she hadn't been such a staunch supporter of pacifism, she would have clawed the other blonde's eyes out. Something about the stranger screamed that she was a threat, and Relena would be damned if she would take it lying down.

The girl tilted her head, using the precious few inches of height she had to her advantage. "Call me Atsuki. I'm Wing's - Heero's - lover. So you see, you're not needed. I understand him, and what can you offer him that I can't?"

  


* * *

  
**Scene XI: Anyway, Anyhow, Anywhere**

  


_"You know how to get eternal life  
In the centre of the lightning speed waltz  
Feel your soul cut by a rusty knife  
As you head down for the self destructive edge"  
--Macross Plus, Information High_

  
Major Li had been working on the stack of papers clumped on the corner of her desk for about three days, but the towering pile only had seemed to get higher. Sergeant Gonzalez had brought in another stack of forms this morning - things to sign and review and fill out for the upcoming IG inspection. She really didn't see the point. The world was in a crisis situation and the Preventer Headquarters was trying to prepare for an IG inspection?

Then again, she supposed that even trying to pretend that things were going normally would be good for morale. 

She shrugged, signed off the bottom of the current form with what she hoped was a flourish, and tossed it into the basket of TO BE SENT OUT. Morale wasn't her department…someone else could worry about it. She was here to make sure people's jobs got done. One person's job, in particular.

Li reached for the next form, paused as she scanned the title. Riffled through the document. It was easily ten pages, eleven…twelve. She frowned, then returned to the beginning and paged slowly through it again, eyes flicking through the titles of the various sections, to the words in bold print at the header of every page:

CLASSIFIED. DO NOT DUPLICATE.

Flipping the document to the first page again, she stood, pushing her chair back, and stepped over to the copy machine on the other side of her small office. Documents like these would definitely not be kept on electronic copy, as classified as they were and with the Gundam fiasco as a prime reminder of the fact, and the only people who would have access to a hard copy would be top Preventers personnel. Which, as one of Une's aides, she was.

Which gave her special…privileges.

She removed the staple from the packet and placed it in the copy bin, pressing the start button and leaning against the wall. The copy machine whirred and she heard the satisfying smack of paper hitting the bin as the machine spat out each page. She shuffled the stack, bringing both stacks back over to her desk, stapling them, and then with a second, cursory glance at the copied documents, reached inside her uniform collar for the slim chain that hung hidden around her neck. Removing it, she reached down and inserted the tiny intricate silver key into the locked bottom drawer of her desk. The lock beeped once and the drawer clicked open. She deposited the papers inside and pushed it shut. It clicked again and she replaced the chain around her neck, scooting her chair forward and signing her name to the original document, tossing it into the basket on the floor.

Putting her pen down, she stretched, feeling the muscles in her back tighten and then relax, hearing her neck crack slightly. She glanced at the clock, then looked out the window at the lights that were just beginning to brighten the cloudy Swiss dusk. It hadn't rained, but the sky had been threatening to do that all day, and the setting sun cast bloody red spears of light over the tops of the buildings of the base.

A knock on the door.

"Enter," she called, picking up her pen and touching her neck to make sure she had replaced the key and the chain. It was probably Gonzalez.

The man who entered was in his mind-thirties, twice her age, but wearing technical sergeant's stripes. "Are you ready for me to take the next batch, ma'am?"

She affected a tired yawn, and waved at the papers in the basket. "I'm done with those." Glancing ruefully at the high pile still on the desk. "And I've got hundreds more to go, I think."

He gave a sympathetic chuckle and picked up the basket. "I'll be right back with this, ma'am."

"Thank you," she said as the door closed behind him. She put down the pen again, got up and walked to the corner, flipping open the control box by the door. Taking the chain from around her neck again, she carefully placed the key into one of three identical locks in the box. Two beeps. The security camera which was supposed to be monitoring the room was still turned off.

She replaced the chain, closed the box. She had had the camera off for two days now, and she'd been afraid someone would start wondering, but apparently Preventers security wasn't as wonderful as they made it out to be. Either that or security figured that she was entitled to her privacy.

If this was any other situation, she would have called head of base security up to her office and had a little chat with him, but this was perfect. The less prying eyes, the better. Things had been…busy lately, and having the camera turned off was essential. 

Glancing at the time again, Li returned to her chair just in time to hear the knock and see the door open as Gonzalez came in again with the empty basket.

"Just by the desk, where it was before," she said before he could ask. He nodded and set it down.

"Good luck ma'am." Another sympathetic glance.

"Thank you," she said, flashing him a smile which hopefully he'd take to be a part of the typical sweet Asian girl. He did.

She hated being labeled as the typically sweet Asian girl, but sometimes, disguises were necessary. And the less people who believed that she was even capable of being up to something behind the backs of the authorities, the better.

Twiddling her pen through her fingers, she contemplated filling out more forms, then decided against. She got up, locked the door, and reaching to her neck, she unclasped the key a third time. Inserted it into the drawer, drawing out two pieces of paper and a data disk under the package she had deposited into the drawer earlier.

It was 1905 hours, so she had about ten minutes to finish this before her…appointment. Scanning the sheets, she calculated that it would take about eight minutes, if she worked fast.

She smiled grimly and inserted the disk into her computer, dimming the lights from the remote located under her desk. The computer screen shone bright white in the darkness as the disk whirred and then the processor hummed.

STATUS REPORT, the screen read. ENTER CODE AND PASSWORD. WRONG CODE AND PASSWORD WILL CAUSE PROGRAM TO SELF DESTRUCT AND DESTROY THIS SYSTEM.

She placed her fingers to the keyboard, rapidly keyed in a long string of letters and numbers, sitting back as the system worked and then beeped once. She was in.

Her face darkened as she quickly processed the terse orders in front of her. This was far more serious than she expected. It would take much longer than eight minutes. She looked at the clock. Four minutes. Sighing, she logged out, opening the drawer and stuffing the papers and disk back into it. She would look at it later.

Two minutes.

One.

It was time.

Silently, she padded to the door, made sure it was locked, and then went back to her desk. Put her hand on the keyboards and entered the security network.

As a top Preventers officer, she was allowed into most of the classified parts of the military and government networks, but there were secret places into which the top government official of the World Nation could not enter. Not even Une. These were the Holes, as they were called in networker talk, and the government had been trying to get rid of them ever since the twentieth century, when the internet was invented. They had been called different things back then, but it was still the same. Hackers setting up bugs and rooms on high-profile networks, stealing data, stealing money, stealing information, stealing the very lives of the individuals who were still trying to combat them using their petty techniques.

It was almost sad. Almost, if she and her Holes on the net weren't the ones on the top list of wanted criminals.

Oh, they didn't know her name, only her handiwork, and it was impossible for them to find out. Nearly impossible, anyway, with the camera blacked and the door locked. She would prefer to access the network from home, but that was too traceable. The Preventers network was vast, covering the world, all five original colonies, and several others besides. And who would ever suspect her, the innocent Chinese girl, so devoted to her military duty? Only a superhuman would be able to hunt her down. 

Only a superhuman…like the Gundam pilots.

Her lips compressed in a thin line as her fingers flew, maneuvering her way through security checkpoints and firewalls with deft speed, the lines of code scrolling across her screen almost too fast to be read by anyone less skillfull. Bulwarks of data crumbled before her as she moved deeper and deeper into enemy territory. This was her world, her battlefield. This was her war, and damned if she was going to let freaks like the Gundam pilots take it away from her.

She believed in personal freedom. She also believed that all personal freedom came with a price, and if people weren't going to be willing to pay that price, they would be swept aside for the ones who would.

She was willing to go as far as it took.

Spotting her destination, she jumped two other Holes, sneaking a peek at them in passing. Amateurs. There were a thousand things wrong with their work that would get them caught by any remotely skilled programmer, and she bet that neither one of them would be there tomorrow when she logged on again. Her work, on the other hand, was flawless. Skillful. Perfect.

General Une knew that a damn good aide was working for her. A pity she didn't know how good. Li maneuvered her way between the last bytes of scrolling data. And she was in.

The data disappeared and a cube appeared, moving closer and closer to her on the screen and then she saw it fill her screen. A small red light on the corner or her screen and she reached beside her, pulling out the goggles. Slipping them on and plugging them into the computer, she adjusted the focus. The blank gray screen of her computer had become, through the goggles, a virtual city.

The city today was 20th century London, the streets eerily empty. The sky was a pale pink color and the clouds drifted across the sun with abnormal speed. She decided she didn't like one of the buildings, tapped a key on her keyboard. It vanished, replaced by a small fountain. Much better. She moved forward, putting one virtual foot in front of the other. If she looked down, she would see her feet clad in traditional Chinese sandals, the loose pants and long shirt of a typical Chinese peasant boy swishing around her. She preferred to dress in male clothes in her Hole. It was her prerogative, a sort of freedom she didn't have in the waking world, and besides, it was her territory.

She made her way to the arranged meeting place, a square with a good view of Big Ben, and sat down on one of the benches. A group of pigeons waddled over to her, and she frowned. She hated pigeons. With another click of the key she made them disappear, changing them to a flock of eagles who all looked at her with disdainful eyes and then vanished.

"You're early."

She saw the figure approaching from the far side of the square, stood up to greet it. The voice was sexless, the clothing a messy mixing of black and red silk and silver medieval chain armor, covering most of the face which seemed to be made of silver as well. She sighed.

"Can't you ever pick something that looks normal, for once?"

"You can wear boys' clothes and put eagles in London, I can be the Tin Man if I want," it retorted. "This will be short…I haven't much time. And they'll be suspecting something if I stay in here too long."

"Duly noted," Li said. "I read your disk."

The figure might have raised a silver eyebrow. She wasn't sure. The sun shining on all that silver made her eyes hurt. With another click, she was wearing sunglasses. "And?" the silver figure said.

"You're crazy."

"I've been told that before."

"I can't do this!" Li exclaimed. "This is suicide. No one on the networks would be STUPID enough to take this, and even if they were-"

"Why not?"

"The Breaks, for God's sake, the Breaks! Don't you think? No one in their right mind would go there, and even anyone in their wrong mind would think twice!"

"If I was an assassin these days," it said, "if the commission was high enough, I'd take it."

"I think you're wrong," Li said bluntly. "I'll put out the request, but…I think you're grasping at straws."

"It has to be done, Li. We can't let someone like him run loose on us anymore. I was taking a big gamble with him, and it's worked out so far, but I don't know how far he'll test his leash. I don't want to find out. And we'll kill two birds with one stone."

"If we kill anything at all," Li muttered.

The silver figure twisted its face in what she thought was a smile, but its lips were hidden by the red silk and silver mask. "No harm in trying. And you're well known around the community and the Holes. No harm in you dropping by a few more…" it gestured to the empty city around them, "…populated ones and spreading the word."

"If I don't get laughed out of them," Li said darkly. "Why don't you do it?"

"For one thing, I'm busy," it said. "You know that as much as anyone. For another thing, you're one of my top subordinates. I delegate important things to you, you take care of them. I wouldn't think of giving this to anyone else. And thirdly because I don't know shit about this networking thing, and you know it. The only reason I can get in here is because you gave me one of those goggle things and a password."

Li laughed. "You have me trapped here."

"Anything else?"

"I found another report that looks fishy," she said. "I'll send it to you first chance I get. It's in the drawer right now."

"Good. No suspicions?"

She shook her head. "None. The camera's been turned off for two days and no one seems to have noticed yet, and the duty day is over anyway. And Une's been in meetings all day for the past two weeks. She doesn't suspect a thing."

The figure shook its head. "Yes…time zone differences. I keep forgetting about those. All right, I'll leave you. I have things to look after here."

Li gave it a wry smile. "I bet. See you here same time, same place?"

"Right."

Without another word, it vanished and Li took one last look at London around her before removing her goggles, blinking several times to reorient herself back into the small office. The computer screen was once again a blank gray, and she exited, not bothering to take the fancy way out. Placing the goggles back on their hook under her desk, she reached up yet again to take the key from around her neck.

It was time to do some dangerous work.

  
_Link to information on William Gibson's cyberspace novel Idoru, on which Li's virtual world is based._

  
Act VII Part II | Act VII Part IV | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	28. There's a Voice that Calls the Soul

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2002 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT VII, PART IV

** Subete ga kirameite ita osanai  
Hi no kiseki torimodoshite**

I just feel rhythm emotion  
Ayamachi mo itami mo  
Azayaka na isshun no hikari e to michibiite

I just feel rhythm emotion  
Kono mune no kodou wa  
Anata e to tsuzuiteru so faraway  


** We're reviving the days of youth  
When everything was shining**

I just feel rhythm emotion  
Mistakes and pain  
Guide us towards a moment of light

I just feel rhythm emotion  
The beat of my heart  
Carries to you so faraway  


**--Gundam Wing, _Rhythm Emotion_  
[Second TV opening theme]**  


  
  
**Scene XII: Keeper of an Assassin's Soul**

  


_"I am not a pretty girl; that is not what I do.  
I ain't no damsel in distress,  
And I don't need to be rescued."  
--Ani diFranco, Not a Pretty Girl_

  
"Do I know you?" the blond woman said.

Atsuki sized her up for a moment, taking in the long, immaculately dressed blond tresses, the simple but elegant white gown, the wide, innocent blue eyes, the high cheekbones. They looked enough alike, she decided, that they could have been sisters in another life.

She hadn't really seen the face of the Queen of Cinq on the news or in the papers, but she had expected a tall woman with a stern voice and a quick temper, someone like Fatima Bint Narish. Political women, her father had drummed into her at a young age, were scheming, ruthless and bitter. They had to be, to survive in a world where men were naturally dominant.

But at first glance, Relena Darlian Peacecraft was none of these things, and for a moment Atsuki felt a stab of doubt. Was this the woman to whom Heero Yuy had reportedly been attached? No, not even a woman. Relena Peacecraft was still a girl.

"No, you don't," Atsuki said at last, not bothering to keep the disdain from her voice. "But before we're through here, I think you'll know me better than you want to."

"I think," Relena said calmly, "that you should get out of my way."

Atsuki raised an eyebrow. "And why should I?"

"I'm the Queen of Cinq," Relena said, perhaps louder than she needed to. Atsuki didn't move. "I have important business to take care of. Now if you'll excuse me."

"I won't," Atsuki said, moving to block her way. "Now, really. I'd think that the vaunted high-profile Queen of Cinq would be more polite to a mere commoner."

She saw the fire rise in Relena's eyes for a moment, then saw the queen check herself with a visible effort. "What do you want with me?" she said tightly.

"Oh, nothing much," Atsuki said. "I'd just heard rumors that you were once…involved with Heero Yuy, and I wanted to see for myself if they were true." Looking her over again. "You look like a nice enough girl. Why would you want someone like him?"

"Heero and I were never involved," Relena said tightly. "We're acquaintances. That's all. I don't know where you heard the rumors from, but they are mistaken."

Atsuki narrowed her eyes. "Are they? Didn't you know? He talks in his sleep."

She had the satisfaction of seeing the shocked look on the other girl's face. Taking a step forward. "I just want you to know…Wing - Heero - is mine."

"What makes you word it like I have a contract on him?" Relena demanded. "Heero isn't anyone's…he's a person. A person can't belong to another person."

"Can he?"

Relena narrowed her eyes. "I don't know who you are," she said, "and I don't know why you're attacking me when I've never seen you before in my life. But I advise you to kindly step out of my way before anything drastic happens."

"Let me tell you about myself," Atsuki said. "I've spent the last six years of my life in the Breaks of L1. I'm what you'd call a whore. I sell my body to men…and some women, if necessary…to survive. I run drugs from dealer to buyer. I drink, I smoke, and I have so many substances floating in my veins that you probably couldn't extract pure blood from me if you tried. What can you say to that, Relena Darlian Peacecraft?"

Relena looked shocked. "What?"

Her mission had been to catch the queen completely off her guard, and it was working. "Let me tell you something, your majesty. Your perfect little world is about to collapse in on itself, and you'll be at the center. It'll pull you in. Life's not all you make it out to be, Relena. You're not living in a cocoon anymore."

Relena's face was white. "How dare you?" Her voice was shaking with barely restrained fury. "How dare you threaten me? Who are you to say things like this?"

Atsuki laughed, spinning lightly on one foot out of Relena's reach, pausing with hands on the wall, leaning forward. "Haven't you guessed?" She laughed again. "I'm Quatre's sister."

She was around the corner before Relena could react, jogging quickly up the carpeted hallway, up a half-set of stairs, into a small, circular foyer filled with display cases. She slowed to a walk, catching her breath. She couldn't hear anyone behind her, and she didn't think Relena would have followed her anyway.

She continued forward, passing through to the entrance of a hallway on the other side of the room, walking blindly, the memory of Relena's stunned face still before her eyes. That was one of the stupidest things she had ever done…yet she'd felt like she had to do it. She had to make sure that Relena's claim on Wing was not stronger than hers.

_I told myself I'd never fall in love again…and now I remember why._

Stupid, really. She didn't even know the other girl, and now she'd probably have the Queen of Cinq hating her for the rest of her life. Quatre wouldn't be happy either, when he found out that she'd been going around insulting royalty.

But she really didn't care.

The hallway ended abruptly in a sliding glass door which looked out onto a green atrium of some sort. She hesitated, then stepped forward. The door opened automatically and she found herself amidst carefully potted shrubbery. A fountain tinkled in the center of the atrium and she tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear, wondering why a military base had a place like this.

"Atsuki?"

She jumped and spun around to where the voice had come from behind her, taking a step back in surprise. 

"Darkflight?" she stammered.

The dark-skinned boy frowned at her, obviously as stunned as she was. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were back home."

"I could ask you the same thing." She looked him over with a critical eye. He had cleaned up a bit, combed his hair somewhat, and shaved. His clothes were still the old garments he'd had in the Breaks, but they looked like they'd been washed. For a moment she felt slightly embarrassed at her own fine silk garments, courtesy of Scheherazade Winner's wardrobe.

"Talk about coincidences. I thought it was you from the back…but…"he trailed off. "How'd you get here?"

She sighed. "Long story. I should have guessed you've have come along with Wing…"

"I almost didn't," Darkflight said, then paused, narrowed his eyes. "Wait. How did you know Wing was here?"

She almost laughed. "Well, he is the vaunted savior of the colonies, after all. And apparently the world's most wanted criminal at the moment. Wasn't too hard to figure out."

"You figured out who he was?" Darkflight sounded even more incredulous. His eyes were wide.

"I'm not as stupid as you think," Atsuki said.

He looked hurt. "I didn't say-"

She waved off the rest of his statement. "Right. I know. Look, I'm not in the best mood right now, so…I don't really feel like talking to anyone."

"Fine," he said, but she caught a trace of hesitation in his voice. 

"Darkflight?"

"What?" he muttered, turning away.

To all appearances he was still the Darkflight she had known back in the Breaks, but something was different. Wrong. She couldn't pinpoint it, but it was there. He seemed more…fragile, somehow.

"You've changed," she said.

"So have you," he returned. A silence, then "I hardly recognize you…I feel like I don't know you anymore."

"Did you ever know me?" she shot back, strangely nettled by his comment, but he didn't even snap back at her. 

"It's only been a week…" Suddenly he looked up at her with wide, stricken eyes and she almost jumped. That was what had changed about him. Why it felt wrong. The air of mystery and confidence and deadliness that had always surrounded both him and Wing was gone, vanished as though it had never been. Here, in the Preventers military headquarters, Darkflight was just another frightened boy.

"It'll be ok," Atsuki murmured, trying to force some honesty into her words. "It'll…it'll all be all right."

"What will be all right?" he said. There was a surge of anger in his words. "What? Atsuki, what the hell is going on?"

"I wish I knew," she murmured.

"Gundams and war and royalty and politics," Darkflight said vehemently. "I don't belong here. I want to go home. I…I don't know what's going on, anymore, Atsuki. I feel like I've been dragged along for the ride and then left on the side of the road when they didn't need me anymore."

"Maybe you have," Atsuki said. "Where's….Wing?"

"You mean, _Heero?_" Darkflight's voice took on a sarcastic edge. "I have no idea. He's too important for someone like me now…they took him away. Told me I couldn't come with him." He sounded a little panicked. "Atsuki, we've always been together. If…"

He didn't finish the thought, but she knew what he was going to say. _If they take him away from me, I don't know what I'll do._

Suddenly she felt like crying, but tears were no use now, and she hadn't cried since she had heard Jaffa's voice on the speaker in the phone booth, seen her sister's face on the vidscreen and known with a chilling certainty that nothing would ever be the same again.

"Well," she said, "there's no use sitting here. Let's go find someone who will tell us what's going on."

"You go." Darkflight sounded miserable. "There's no point in me going anywhere."

"Moron!" she snapped. "You can't let the situation control you. You're stronger than this. I know you are."

He looked at her like she'd grown a second head. "Even if we did manage to find someone, no one would tell us what's going on anyway. Atsuki, we're nobodies."

There was a second in which she debated whether or not to tell him. He was confiding in her because he believed that they were the same: unwanted fugitives without a purpose, drawn here by the central figure of someone neither of them could bear to lose. And yet, he had to know some time. And she wanted him to hear it from her. It would lessen the shock that way.

"Darkflight," she said gently. "I'm not a nobody. I can…What do you want? I can get it done for you. Anything you want."

"Are you crazy?" he blurted. "You think you can compete with the likes of that queen and those other pilots for Wing?"

"Not only for Wing," Atsuki said, moving so she stood in front of him, grasping his shoulders. "For anything. You see, Darkflight, I came here with Quatre Raberba Winner."

His eyes locked onto hers and he went still. "You…with him? Why? How?"

For the second time that day she found herself uttering the words that had been both her birthright and her destruction, the words that even now she wondered if she still believed to be true.

"He's my brother."

  


* * *

  
**Scene XIII: The Prison of His Mind**

  


_"Down once more to the dungeon of my black despair!  
Down we plunge to the prison of my mind!  
Down that path into darkness deep as hell!"  
--The Phantom of the Opera, The Point of No Return_

  
And after, came the dawn of a new day. 

He had been doubting that; even his normally optimistic outlook on life had been severely tested. He had survived so much before- being on the L2 streets, the Maxwell Church massacre, piloting Deathscythe, the Zero… he had survived them all. But politics and their repercussions would be the death of him.

He looked at Hilde, who sat curled up on chair beside him, her head resting on his right arm. Something had happened during the flight; he wasn't sure exactly what it was, but during his confrontation with Shinobu, she had snapped back to herself, preventing him from overreacting. Now she slept, a true, deep sleep that was untroubled by the nightmares that had plagued her since she had piloted the Zero. He was relieved; for a while he had wondered if she had truly broken.

And if he had broken with her.

Over in the co-pilot's seat Sally hummed softly, her voice pleasant, though slightly off key. Duo wasn't much of a musician, but he did have perfect pitch. She tapped a course correction in, and then turned over to him. In her hands was a VR set, a training tool that he knew the Preventers were incorporating into their basic training. Very expensive, and very addicting. He'd heard of cases where people had literally starved to death while attached to one of the things.

"You might like to use this," she said softly. The headphones and goggles dangled off the tips of her fingers enticingly.

He shivered. "No thanks," he said.

She smiled. "I thought you might want to brush up on your piloting skills- it's been a while since you sat behind the controls of a MS. One of the programs is designed for Mobile Suit training."

His scowled deepened. "I don't think so. I really don't like those things. They screw with your head. I prefer to live in the real world."

Sally tossed it to him, and he instinctively caught it instead of letting it fall. "Une gave it to me- you can trust there's enough fail safes involved that you'll be in no danger. Besides, it's not even connected to the net. No need to worry about hackers."

He looked at the intricate mix of wire, chips, padding and plastic. G had hooked him up to this type of device very early in his training, and he hadn't liked it at all. He valued reality, and VR was so "real" to the participant that sometimes a person lost the sense of self. What point was there in dealing with a harsh and uncertain world when all you had to do was throw on a headset and live out your greatest fantasy? Why would anyone want to return to the real world? He'd read about people who'd been hooked to systems for years, their families forced to take care of them or send them to nursing homes.

But it was a tool, and Sally was correct in indicating that his piloting skills might be a touch rusty. Aside from his brief flight to Earth chasing Hilde, it had been over eighteen months since he had sat behind the panels, since he had fought a battle. He knew he was still exceptional, but that wouldn't help- he needed to be extraordinary again. "Does this just work on visual and auditory senses, or is there a tactile component as well?"

"It's the latest. Works on everything- smell, sight, touch, taste and sound. The wiring actually interfaces with your brain and stimulates different parts of it depending on what you do while in it. It shuts down after four hours automatically, and takes another eight hours to restart to prevent addiction. It also has an emergency shutdown that Hilde or I can invoke if your vitals start to destabilize."

He shivered. "It sounds like you're going to be making me into a cyborg."

"Some of the technology may someday be used to create one."

Before he could change his mind, he slid away from Hilde to go sit into the co-pilot's seat. It was a complete-body support, which he would need- if this VR set was as good as Sally claimed, he would forget about his body and become immersed in full-sensation simulation, designed to respond to his mind. 

Hilde sleepily opened her eyes as she was suddenly deprived of his warmth. "Are we there?" she asked.

"Another hour before we get to Beijing, and then about ten minutes to the place where Wufei was living," Sally said. "Shinobu and Helena are getting some sleep, and I wanted to give Duo a brief refresher in MS combat."

Hilde's hand reached up and brushed sleep out of her eyes. "How about I train with him? It's much more effective for him to face a human pilot- machines always are too... mechanical." She laughed light at her joke. "And I'm a pretty good pilot- I outflew Mercurius and Vayeate, after all... and those things were programmed with Heero and Trowa's flight data!"

Sally smiled at her. "I only have the one set. And I don't advise you to go into an VR right now, anyway.... you're still not recovered from your encounter with the Zero."

Hilde shuddered at the name. 

Duo crammed the intricate mesh netting over his head, trying to ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't a phobia, exactly. He'd just been attached to one too many simulations. His last ones had been at the hands of a rather sadistic Oz officer who had shoved him into the Zero system. Not a pleasant memory.

He felt Sally clip a little chip to the optical pad, and paste another right behind his left ear with some kind of gel. "These will record your vitals, and let us know if you need to be brought out. I've scheduled your session for an hour- if it goes well, we can do a few longer sessions later. It'll also let us know if you get overstimulated mentally," she said, hooking the newest gadgets to box of some sort with long wire relays.

His fingers secured the contact points carefully before he tucked the small headphones into his ears. Hilde watched him carefully as he lifted the heavy goggles over his eyes, plunging himself into utter blackness. Someone started fumbling for his hands, and he obligingly let them slide the gloves onto him. 

"If you want to end the simulation early, raise your right hand and tap your ear three times- Hilde and I will bring you out immediately. We'll also bring you out if your vitals become too erratic. Ready, Duo?"

"Ready."

Suddenly he was in the cockpit of a standard Taurus. From the configuration, it was a White Fang model, the very best of the best. He'd never liked Virgos, so he considered the Taurus the superior "common" machine. They had nothing on a Gundam, but if he had to pilot a suit of a line, it was better that it was a Taurus. Noin and Trowa had both relied on them. Besides, the stick and panel configuration was eerily familiar. He had always suspected that G's work had been used.

Almost instinctively, he checked the straps that help him to the seat, and adjusted one. He preferred them slightly loose, so he could move around. Heero had called him an idiot for that, but Duo knew that a pilot's comfort was important. How could you fight feeling like you were tied down to a chair?

His fingers reached out and grabbed the stick, pulling back slightly. If it had been Deathscythe, the suit would have sprang into action at that slight bit of nudging from him, but the Taurus wasn't nearly as responsive. He frowned as he pulled a little harder, wondering if this training really had any point. This machine felt different... he couldn't "feel" it the way he could Deathscythe; he couldn't understand it or make it understand him. Hilde had teased him about talking to his MS, but to him, Deathscythe was very real and very much his friend.

The suit engaged, and he checked his coordinates. According to the sim, he was somewhere off L3, which was just fine with him. He liked space combat, though it'd be infinitely more difficult since he didn't have Deathscythe's stealth capabilities on his side. His favored tactics had always been to sneak up on the enemy, and attack them from behind. Unlike Wufei, he had no qualms about honor- he was a terrorist, and there was nothing wrong with knifing a man in the back.

The scanners alerted him to the presence of an incoming bogey. Glancing down, he saw that it was a Leo. "Come on, give me a challenge," he muttered. 

It took him three deft movements to engage the Taurus's beam rifle as he deftly avoided the half-hearted attempt at an attack the simulated suit launched at him. He watched it explode, and sighed.

How boring.

Two more Leos came at him at complementary angles. With a few more programmed commands, and a lazy jerk of the stick, he destroyed them as well. 

"Oi, Sally! Did ya start me on the beginners level?" He laughed lightly at the notion, not feeling that amused. Surely she didn't think his skills had atrophied _that_ much?

More Leos, trying various different strategies. He fended them off almost half-asleep, wondering how much longer this playing was going to last. If they were going to start him in a sim, he wanted a real fight.

Two more Leos, and then the CMD identified a Taurus. He brightened, focused his sensors, engaged it. It feinted, dodged his first blast, and fired. He felt a shudder as his sim suit took a hit. Impressive - this was definitely simulated full-body immersion. Feeling slightly more impressed, he let the other Taurus swoop around him before he twisted to starboard and took care of it with three carefully placed shots, grimacing as he did so. Once upon a time, he could have done it with one.

Another Taurus, same result. The old moves were coming back to him and he started to feel almost nostalgic, the suit rocking back and forth just as a real Taurus would in battle. He was thrown once against the back of his seat, but his straps held, thankfully. Even though it was only a sim, he knew the mental anguish the training program had been design to inflict on the user wasn't light. The Preventers believed in the old saying, "No pains, no gains." 

And then came the mobile dolls.

Virgos.

He hated them more then anything- to him, they had always seemed like a cowards' trick. He remembered the final battle, when Dorothy had flown an entire complement against him and the others using the Zero system. He gritted his teeth, giving increased power to engines, draining power slightly from his guns. Fighting mobile dolls required intense, precise maneuvering rather than heavy firing, and he needed all the power his engines could give him.

This was only a Taurus, after all.

There were only three dolls, but that was enough to keep anyone busy. Their movements were perfectly coordinated...eerily perfect.

_Is this a sim, or have I been dreaming? Is this real?_

He winced as the sim rocked with another hit, then another. The goggles jolted against his cheek, jarring his teeth, causing him to bite the inside of his mouth. Each Virgo had its own particular pattern, since the minds behind them were unique. He sat up straighter in the seat, forced himself to concentrate on one doll at a time instead of setting the targeting system on nearest enemy craft automatic target, which he usually preferred when the opposition wasn't too tough.

He caught the first one as it attempted to slip by his port side around behind him. The second one, apparently seeing his buddy's downfall, came zooming in above him, careened too far in on his trajectory, and Duo simply dropped down and behind it, catching it perfectly in the engines. The fireball was spectacular. The third one was in the middle of a standard delta pattern flight run when he finished it off with two well-placed shots.

The explosion faded away and he found himself staring at the colony before him. It was quiet. His hands were cold.

_What's happening?_

There was a quiet beep as the CMD registered an enemy craft coming in at ninety-five klicks and he wiped his sweaty palms on the sides of his pants, prepared to engage.

Sucked in a breath as the craft registered on his screen.

"Shit," he breathed.

It was Wing Zero.

There was no mistaking the crested head, the frighteningly bright eyes and the green saber that lit like a torch as the Gundam swooped in on its approach trajectory. He watched in horror as it raised the blade, swinging it high above its head, and his hands were frozen on the stick.

"Oh fuck," he mouthed, and forced his fingers to move, to push the stick forward, and spun into a diving roll just as the sword began its downward descent. He could feel the heat of it through the back of his Taurus as it narrowly missed.

He could almost imagine it was Heero in there, Heero with the grim lines of his face and the hard eyes, emotionlessly raising the energy blade again for another kill. Targeting the enemy, no matter who it was. No matter if it was the boy who had once been his best friend.

_Were we ever friends, Heero?_

Maybe…maybe it was Heero in there. His hands trembled on the fire controls and he felt himself shaking against his seat restraints. What if it had come to this? What if he had to kill his best friend?

"Heero!" he yelled, fumbling for the comm button. "Heero! Don't do this…it's me…it's your friend, Duo…"

The Gundam turned, eyes flashing, and the blade raised once more. Duo spun to the side but it was too late. He could tell as soon as he began veering off to port that it would do him no good. Felt his mobile suit shudder. Heard the tearing sound as the sword sheared one of the Taurus' legs off and felt the immediate loss of balance and the grinding of internal gears as the Taurus tried to compensate for the sudden shift in its center of gravity, and failed.

As he frantically adjusted the thruster controls, fingers flying across the board, he could see Wing Gundam turning again, this time in a killing stance.

Hot tears squeezed from his eyes as he brought the heads-up-display to focus on the Gundam, abandoning all self-control and gunning the mobile suit into a straight course, squeezing the fire control with all his might. He closed his eyes. If he was going to kill his friend, he'd go down with him in the process.

_No…Heero…_

"HEERO!" he screamed, and braced himself for the impact of collision.

Instead, he felt the Taurus jolt with a thousand tiny impacts, opened his eyes to see shrapnel pelting the windshield. Turning around behind him, he saw the billowing smoke of an explosion.

His fingers dropped nerveless from the controls and he gasped for breath.

_What have I done? What have I done?_

He barely heard the beeping of the CMD announcing another enemy craft, transfixed by the explosion behind him, at the knowledge of what he had just destroyed. His vision blurred and he could barely read the craft statistics, saw the readout scroll down the screen in a brilliant haze of digital blue and green.

_Gundam Deathscythe Hell,_ the targeting display read.

His heart almost stopped.

"No," he choked,shaking his head violently, as the Gundam came in low and smooth between the stars, just the way he remembered her, heartbreakingly and almost blindingly beautiful. The Angel of Death.

The targeting display on the CMD blinked again. _Pilot: Duo Maxwell_.

Deathscythe fired. He couldn't seem to control the Taurus and it took the hit, wobbling on its axis, spinning and falling. Deathscythe gave chase, like a bird of prey diving for the kill, and he raised his hands to his eyes, clawed at the plastic and metal encasing them, aware that he was drawing blood. It trickled hot and thick down his face, into his mouth.

"No…no…no…"

Deathscythe opened fire again, blasts spitting from the gun like shooting stars across the landscape of heaven.

"Oh God!" he screamed, raising both hands to his face and the sticky blood. "Let me out! Let me out of here, let me out of here, _LET ME OUT_-!"

"DUO!"

Suddenly the suit around him dissolved, and Hilde knelt in front of him crouching on her knees. From the way she held the goggles, he guessed that she'd just jerked them off of him, bringing an unnatural ending to the sim Hilde took his hands, still encased in the black VR gloves and stripped them off. "Your hands are so cold..." she whispered softly. "He's going into shock, Sally," she said accusingly. "We should have brought him out ten minutes ago!"

Sally gave the girl a hard look. "He's a pilot- he'll adjust. I didn't bring him out because he's going to be piloting Deathscythe. He can't have us mothering him- he needs to get back into shape."

"By giving him nightmares?" Hilde said. Her gentle fingers took off the net and unhooked his head from the wire mesh, taking the earphones from him. He was aware that he was trembling, but did his best to ignore it, gratefully accepting the tissue that Hilde handed him to wipe off the blood from his face.

"You should have let me bring him out of it," Sally said stubbornly. "It was only another eight minutes, and it's not good to jerk someone out of a sim, especially when they're having problems. The sudden shock of tranferring between realities can be damaging to the individual."

"Sally..." Hilde growled, started to rise to her feet, appearing as though she was quite prepared to wring the General's neck.

"Hush, Hilde," Duo said to her. It was only three shallow gashes, from what he could feel with his fingers, but the bleeding wouldn't stop. "Sally is, as usual, correct. It's her most annoying quality. I'll be fine."

"But-"

A pinging from in front caused the three to stiffen and turn towards the pilot, who had remained quiet throughout their argument. "We can argue later," Sally said. "We're here."

  


* * *

  
**Scene XIV: The Angel Without Wings to Fly**

  


_"Down to the earth I fell with dripping wings  
Heavy things won't fly."  
-- Nina Gordon, Tonight and the Rest of My Life_

  
The girl sat in a makeshift office, her eyes staring blankly at the fax machine, which was cranking out ream after ream of paper. Her long blonde hair was slightly mussed, and her long white dress looked like it had seen a hard day's use. Chris glanced out of the window, surprised by the gathering twilight. Sixteen hours before, he had been at Cliffside Heights; now he was in Geneva, standing before the legendary Relena Peacecraft herself.

Status.

Power.

Prestige.

Christopher Johnsen had never wanted to lay claim to any of them in his life. He was content to remain in relative obscurity, spoiled by the wealth his parents would one day leave to him. He was rich, and money was power, but what good was it really? He'd grown up surrounded by bodyguards, having his life chosen for him. Cliffside Heights was another school in the long lines of schools and institutions that had taken care of him, carefully shepherding him to a life that would be a carbon copy of theirs. He would marry an appropriate wife, have children, and work at increasing the family fortune. Then the cycle would repeat.

It was weird to think that one person could throw centuries worth of family planning into chaos just by being. If Duo Maxwell had chosen another school, been assigned a different roommate… but he hadn't. Helena and Shinobu had been right- Chris had been hiding his head in the sand, hoping that somehow the last month was some kind of nightmare that he would wake up from.

Well, who could really blame him?

Still, he had had just about enough. He may have been a staunch pacifist (why fight when throwing money at a problem usually made it go away?), but even he had his limits. And he'd reached his. Getting kicked out of his room by his girlfriend so she could plot on how to bring the Gundams back to Earth had been the final straw.

Fine.

He would stop going with the flow. His friends had, using their surprising connections and resources, taken matters into their own hands. Well, he had the same things. He was rich, his family was important politically, and he had friends in high places- well, his father did, and that was pretty much the same thing.

He really should have said goodbye, but… he wanted nothing to do with Helena at the moment. He loved her, or thought he did, but sometimes love just wasn't enough to make a relationship work. You needed respect, and trust, and a whole slew of other things that he and Helena apparently didn't have. They had been shallow people before this crisis blew up in their faces, and he recognized that Helena had grown tremendously in the short amount of time that had passed. And he hadn't.

Part of him wanted to blame Duo for turning his life upside down, but he knew that would be unfair. Duo had tried to keep them out of it, but it was just their bad luck that they got sucked in. Life was like that. He hated the idea of the Gundams, hated the fact that someone might be bringing them back. He knew of the devastation that had wrought last time, and he had a hard time equating his smiling trickster of a roommate with the heartless terrorists who had killed thousands.

He wasn't exactly sure what he was doing here; Relena had been nothing more then a distance figure to him, a paragon. But when it had become apparent that no amount of talking to Helena would stop the Gundams from being brought down to Earth, he knew that he would have to warn someone they were coming, someone who could make a difference. The Preventers were involved up to their necks, since Sally Po was supplying transport. The World Nation... he didn't trust. He'd been about ready to pull his hair out, when he caught a clip of Relena's taped interview on the pilots.

And that gave him his answer. The former Queen of the World had the power to condemn the return of the weapons, and persuade the public not to take up arms in retaliation. The Johnsen name had been enough to get him an appointment with her- after all, no matter what happened politically, economically the world still went on.

The girl looked up from her daze, surprised to see him, even though he'd been standing in the room for over a minute, staring at her. "Can I help you?" she asked politely enough, though her voice wasn't at all like the vibrant soprano that he was used to hearing speak on vid.

"I'm Christopher Johnsen," he said quickly. "My father called your secretary to let him know I'd be speaking with you."

She nodded absentmindedly, obviously recognizing his family name as a financial leader. "I haven't talked with my secretary in almost a week. You should talk to Mr. Javert, he's in charge of Cinq's economics." She turned her attention back to the papers, obviously dismissing him. Her slender hands picked up a pile of them, and she started to scan them, nibbling on the tip of her pencil.

"That's not what I'm here about," he said.

"If you're here to complain about my politics, take a number," she said with great fatigue. She scribbled something in the margins on one of the reports, thoughtfully pursing her lips before continuing. "I have more important work to do than to listen to yet someone else I've infuriated." Her words were impertinent, yet again he noticed the lack of passion behind them.

"Please, your Majesty, I have some information which you might find important."

"What is it?" she asked, sounding entirely not interested.

"They're bringing the Gundams back to Earth, dammit!" he swore, losing his temper. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

She blinked, dropping her pencil. Then she blinked once more, eyes narrowing and lighting up with the life they had been missing. "Catherine?" she called.

Another girl poked her head out of an adjoining room, bright eyes fastening on the stranger in their midst. "Yes, Relena?"

"Mr. Johnsen says that they're going to bring the Gundams back to Earth," she said.

The other girl looked startled. "Who is? Trowa doesn't have Heavyarms, and the others are all accounted for... except Duo, but.." The girl's eyes widened substantially, and she stepped all the way into the room. "Damn it. That's just the kind of half-cocked thing that loony American would do," she growled.

"Um.. excuse me... but who are you?" Christopher asked curiously. He had assumed the girl was one of Relena's assistants, but the casual way she took a seat and began to look at him inquiringly made him reconsider his first thought.

"Catherine Bloom. Trowa Barton is my brother," the girl answer, tossing her shoulder-length hair back from her face. "And what I want to know is how you come by this information, and if you have any details? I doubt they'd let a crackpot get this close to you..." This last was said to Relena.

Relena sighed wearily. "You'd be amazed. I once had a person try to attack me with a pie. It takes all types, I guess. Still, Mr. Johnsen, Cat does bring up a good point. Who are you speaking of exactly, and what makes you think this?"

"Duo Maxwell- he was my roommate at Cliffside. I'll give you a minute to verify that if you need to."

"And we have a winner," Catherine said, rubbing her head as though she was developing a headache. "I don't suppose you know where he is right now?"

"Last I knew, he was going to... Maxwell's Parish? No, Maxwell's Church. It's on a colony somewhere. But he's already been and gone by now. My girlfriend and best friend are helping him hide them."

The girls exchanged glances. "And why are you telling us?" Relena asked cautiously.

"Because I know that you'll help me figure out some way to stop another war," he said fervently. "Please, your Majesty... you helped end a war before..."

Her eyes were sad as she looked at him. "I was merely a pawn, saying things I didn't even begin to understand." She rose to her feet and walked over to the window, turning her back to him. "When I was fifteen, everything was so black and white. I didn't see any of the shades of gray that make life what it is. I didn't realize that people aren't all good or all evil- they're just people. Everyone has hopes, dreams, fears, reasons... even though we may not understand them.

"You get to a point where you start believing you know enough, where you know someone and what they stand for. And then life hits you upside the head, reminding you that you're merely an actor in a grand drama." She turned back to him, leaning against the frame. "I can't do anything to stop the Gundams from coming back. Duo has made that decision, and we're going to have to let Une and the military deal with it. Maybe if we're lucky, they'll do a good job. It's not a political matter- it's a military one. It's time we started to trust others to do their jobs- I can't do everything."

"But- that doesn't sound like absolute pacifism," he said. "That sounds like... capitulation." The girl who stood in front of him was slender and proud, but he was starting to realize she was human.

"I don't think it is. It's facing reality, Mr. Johnsen. Let the Gundams come- trust Duo to do what is right.

"When I was younger, I thought I could solve all the problems in the world. I can't. I thought I could save... someone special, show them the 'right' way to live. I can't do that, either. I just had a very vivid reminder that we all must be free to make our own mistakes, and chose our own course in life. While it may hurt the ones who love us, being true to what you are is what's best."

While Relena spoke, Catherine had risen to her feet, and put a mothering arm around the other girl. Catherine was a good three inches taller then the politician, and at least fifteen pounds heavier. Relena seemed as fragile as a butterfly, and just as ready to take flight. There was an ethereal quality to her, and Chris became aware that the last month must have been very trying. "Relena, go take a nap. You can speak to Heero later this evening- I'll show Mr. Johnsen out."

"But-" Relena started to protest.

"It'll be ok. Shoo!" Catherine propelled her gently towards the door Chris had entered by, shooting her a mothering look of admonition. 

"Good-bye, Mr. Johnsen," Relena said, pausing at the doorway and looking over her shoulder at him. "I appreciate you taking the time to tell me of this, it's just.... I'm not the one to deal with it. I advise you speak to General Une."

And then she was gone.

Christopher felt like someone had taken a two by four and hit him upside the head. This hadn't been what he'd been expecting. He'd been hoping that Relena would take up his cause, and find some action to prevent a disaster. At the very least, he'd been expecting to fire her up, and hear some words of wisdom, something saying he'd done the right thing. Something to convince him that abandoning his friends in pursuit of a higher ideal hadn't been a mistake.

Instead he'd been treated to a young woman who seemed tired by reality, imprisoned by her own exhaustion; a woman who seemed unable to take action anymore. He stared at the doorway where she had stood, unable to believe that that slender girl had been the Queen of the World, the Advocate of Absolute Pacifism, the Dove of her Peace. He didn't want to believe it.

"Don't be too hard on her," another voice said, and he jumped slightly. He'd forgotten Catherine was still there.

"Shouldn't I be? She's just going to let it happen, when it's in her power to possibly stop it!"

"Oh? And what's she supposed to do? She's a politician, when it comes down to it.... a politician of a small country with no standing military. While it may have one of the strongest economies, Cinq won't be able to do much aside from threaten sanctions- and who would she sanction? You and I both know Duo wouldn't care. Her pretty words won't get her anywhere this time... and she has other matters to worry about. Quatre is about to go on trial, she found out today that one of her close friends just died, and another of her close friends is a drug addict who won't have anything to do with her. It's not pretty, Mr. Johnsen. She's human, and a human can only take so much before breaking."

"But-"

"Listen to her. She advised you to speak to Une- go do that. Drop a request off here tomorrow and I'll have Relena sign it to give you admission. Okay?"

"What good will talking to Une do? They're supplying the transportation!"

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "I hadn't heard that, but then again, I'm just a civilian, one with very little standing. Une's a remarkable woman, though- talk to her, and see what she says. She may surprise you."

  


* * *

  
**Scene XV: Things that Blow Up in the Night**

  


_"Liberté , Egalité, Fraternité."  
[Liberty, Equality, Fraternity]_

  
The boy slid like a shadow across the darkened pavement of the ally, silent like the onset of night, his movements catlike and sure. The air was quiet with the quiet of deep night, still and heavy and dead, with fitful gusts of wind skittering dead leaves across the broken pavement. The boy slipped into the shadow of a tall building, crouching low just beneath one boarded up window, feet moving swiftly and surely through the broken shards of glass that littered the area just beside where aging brick met the rings of a chain link fence. He stopped. Waited.

Someone coughed.

That was enough for the boy, and he moved back the way he had come, back through the alleyway, through the inky blackness, avoiding the wells of light that pooled at the foot of lone streetlamps jutting out from the shadows of crumbling buildings. The long unlit end of the fuse in his hand was cold to his fingers, and he palmed it from hand to hand, staring up at the sky.

He had arrived at the outskirts of Milan four nights ago, with a pack on his back and a few coins in his pocket, but he hadn't been worried. Cash was useless here. The people who had what he needed wouldn't take just any money, because it was a dangerous business that they were in, and a wrong glance could mean death. He knew that better than anyone, and so he had bided his time, waiting invisibly in the alleys smelling of rotting sewage and under the neon signs of bars as the evening had dwindled and turned into night, and he had seen what he wanted.

The man was heavily built, his neck as thick as both of the boy's forearms together, but that meant nothing to the boy. He had followed the man inside the bar, stood in the thick smoke cloud that obscured the air like poison, as the man had ordered some cloudy yellow drink and sat, sipping, staring into space. Then he had moved softly, unheard under the grating, pulsing, music, and tapped the man on the shoulder.

The man turned.

"I need something from you, sir," the boy had said, in English, half-bowing politely, as if he was not facing a grizzled drunk but instead had been ushered into the presence of a king.

The scarred mouth twisted in a faint sneer. "How much you pay?" The broken English was uttered with a heavy Italian accent, but the boy understood him well enough. Wordlessly, he untucked his shirt, drew back the heavy material from his stomach.

There were two black rings around his waist, obvious tattoos, thin rings but still visible in the murky air of the bar. The man's eyes widened and the boy pulled up the shirt further to reveal a third ring, this one red, a dragon's shape, like the other two rings, wrapped around his stomach, curving around to his back.

"What you want?" the man demanded, obviously shaken.

"Come with me," he said, "and I'll show you."

The man looked at him warily, but the boy stared steadily at him, unmoving, and finally he rose, towering at his full height above the boy. "Show," he ordered.

The boy made his way effortlessly back through the smoke and the crowd, emerging outside into the cool night, moonless with the cold pricking of stars the only light besides the harsh street lighting. A dog howled somewhere far away. It was getting colder.

"If you trick me," the man said from behind him, his voice rough and threatening, "I kill you."

The boy smiled.

"Would you?"

There was an uncertain silence behind him, and the boy spun around in a combat crouch. The big man was taken by surprise and he stumbled backwards, hand grasping for the gun that all inhabitants of this realm carried under their clothes.

"I'm not here to lie to you," the boy said, and shifted fluidly out of the crouch, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pouch. The man's eyes widened as the boy pulled at the pouch's strings, lithe fingers moving quickly and efficiently, pouring a little bit of the pouch's contents into the palm of his left hand. The powder glittered like snow.

"It's pure," the boy said. "All of it. How much can I get?"

The man was still watching the powder warily, unbelievingly, eyes going to the boy's face in wonder. "How you get?" he demanded, one hand still resting awkwardly on the gun under his jacket. 

"I have my contacts," the boy said. "The nature of which you do not need to know."

"You-" the man pressed, harshly. "How old? How you get? How many you have?"

The boy closed his hand over the powder, holding the fist upside down, ready to scatter it over the ground. "If you don't want it-"

"Stop! Wait." The big clumsy fingers were groping again, this time at his right side, taking out a bit of scrap paper and a broken pencil. Scribbling. "Here. Go here."

The boy siphoned the powder back into the pouch and took the paper. "Thank you." He turned to leave.

"You liar! You no give me what you bring!"

The boy stopped in his tracks. "When I know you're not lying," he said, "I'll give you what you want."

"You no come back?"

There was a short pause and then the boy reached into his boot, drew out a small, slender pistol. "If I don't come back," he said, "You're free to keep this."

The man reached out to the offered weapon, clearly not convinced that this was not an elaborate game. "I keep?"

"Only if I don't come back," the boy said clearly. "If I return…It's still mine."

The man's eyes gleamed at him once from the darkness, and then a hand suddenly snatched the gun and then there was silence. The boy stared at the spot where his contact had been, then shrugged, looked down at the paper in his hands. There was an address scribbled there, an address and a name.

The gun was an old one, highly prized, and very rare. It would be a shame to lose it, but he had other bargain tools, and he could easily take it back even if the man decided to keep it. Though he'd done his research well before he had decided to take the chance. The Italian Mafia was still as closed as it had been to outsiders, but no one would dare question the authority of a member of the Japanese yakuza to get exactly what he wanted, in any country.

He rubbed at his stomach where the tattoos were, hidden back under his clothes. It was not an official designation, the tattoos, considering that he was not even Japanese, and they had been gotten long ago, when he was still a child. But they meant that he could be trusted, and that was a valuable asset, especially since the World Nation had begun to truly turn its attention to the various organized crime groups throughout the world since the war had ended. 

The boy didn't know what to think of the World Nation's current pet project, and he preferred not to think about it, if possible. He did know that it would not succeed. Where old groups died, new groups would be born, whether they called themselves the yakuza or the Mafia or the Tong or the Shionji Cartel or any other name. The name was not important. And after a while, the World Nation would give up.

He fingered the piece of paper in his pocket and resumed walking, glancing at faded street signs, picking his way steadily south. A few blocks later, the streets widened slightly and a few cars passed him by, their blinding headlights raking their way over his vision, but he didn't look up, didn't stop, kept walking.

Another few blocks and the streets abruptly shifted back to the narrow maze that he had just exited, except here the buildings were closer together, a little more well-maintained. Laundry still hung outside some rusted fire escapes, and there were lights in the broken windows. A residential neighborhood?

The address was of a street he was not familiar with, but the street names seemed to be following a regular pattern, and it was not long until he hit the street he was looking for. There were no streetlamps at all lighting the dark pavement, and as he stared into the blackness, he felt the prickle on the back of his neck that signaled he was being watched.

He straightened but did not turn.

"I'm looking for Gietti," he said. "Where can I find him?"

A whisper of sound. "I am Gietti," the voice said, low, deep, with only a trace of accent. "Who are you?"

"Yakuza."

"What brings the yakuza to my door?"

"Nothing," the boy said calmly. "I do not represent my clan. I am here on private affairs."

The voice did not respond, perhaps studying him, perhaps doubting that he was telling the truth. The boy waited. He had told the truth, as far as the man would ever know. It didn't matter that he no longer belonged to the yakuza, or that he never really had a clan in the first place. The tattoos on his stomach spoke louder than any words ever could, and he would be believed.

Apparently, the man came to the same conclusion. "What do you want?" he said.

"Goods," the boy said calmly.

"Those are not easily bought," Gietti returned. "How much are you willing to pay?"

Again, he reached down, pulled out the pouch. There was a intake of breath, and he was undoing the tie of the pouch when a hand reached out of the blackness, clamped down over his wrist.

"Come with me."

The boy shrugged, stuffed the pouch back into his pocket, and followed the dark shadow of the man's back down the black street. The stones were uneven under his feet, and he almost stumbled and fell several times, but kept his eyes on his mysterious leader's back, knowing that to lose this man in the darkness of the street was to risk certain death. The Mafia did not appreciate strangers wandering its territory alone, no matter who they were.

The shadow stopped and there was a snick of a lock and the creaking of an open door. He followed the footsteps through the door, fumbling blindly up a flight of stairs, heard the opening of another door.

There was a sizzling sound as a match was struck, and as the light flared he found himself in a small, square room. He didn't know what he had expected this Gietti to look like, but the thin, hook-nosed, tanned man in front of him was definitely not what he might have pictured in his mind's eye.

"Proof," Gietti said, and the boy again untucked his shirt, revealing the tattoos. Gietti stared hard at them for a moment, then nodded once. He was in.

He stood quietly as the man crossed to the other side of the room, carefully unlocked a cupboard, took out several packets and laid them carefully in a metal box. Closed the box and looked up.

"If you drop this, it will kill you."

"I know," said the boy. "Is it pure?"

"Mostly." Gietti said. "It will do the job. What you do with it isn't my problem."

"I know," said the boy again. He waited until Gietti had crossed back, holding out the box to him, then took the pouch out of his pocket. Box and pouch changed hands, the tanned Mafia member suddenly gazing at the boy uncertainly.

"Do I…know you?"

The boy had turned to leave, business complete, but a ghost of a smile crossed his lips.

"You might."

"Wait-"

But the boy was already opening the door.

"There's a flashlight on the table to your left," Gietti said. "Killing yourself by falling down the stairs in the dark carrying nitroglycerin isn't a good way to go."

"Thank you," the boy said simply. He hadn't looked back.

He had gotten his pistol back from the burly man with little argument. He had been ready for a brawl, though he really hadn't wanted to fight, but surprisingly, the man gave him back his weapon with little argument, grabbing the pouch of cocaine eagerly and taking off. The boy didn't watch him go. As long as he got what he wanted, he did not care.

There was an anti-Gundam faction in one of the outlying cities in France which had caught his attention first, but he hadn't been sure what to do about it. He was not angry. People had the right to express their feelings, and he understood that on a purely intellectual basis, if nothing else, because he had never needed to let his feelings take control. It was something that fascinated him, and he watched the activities of the cell group for a few days, watching as they traded information back and forth, watched as they deliberated on their course of action.

They were confused. All of them were, he decided, not just this particular group, because it was no concrete enemy they were fighting, but something that couldn't be named, five enigmas who embodied ideals rather than facts. If that had not been the case, if they had planned a set course of action, he would have had to retaliate. But as it was, he simply sat and waited.

It was not that he wanted vengeance. It was because he had once been a soldier and a warrior and it was an eye for an eye. The old code was burned into his blood too strongly, and they needed to know that they were not fighting any simple enemy. They hadn't hurt his friends yet, so he would not hurt them. But it was something that had to be done.

A warning.

Then he had heard about the faction in Italy, heard that they were going into action. They were an American group, he learned, that had relocated to Italy and had connections with the Italian and American Mafia. He hadn't been too worried until the French group had gotten word about possible action, as they called it. Tempers and excitement ran high. Something was going to happen. The killers, as the resistance cells termed the military, were going to pay.

He had made it his mission to ensure that nothing would happen. At least, nothing that they were expecting. They had ties to the Mafia, but so did he, and he would use them.

The fuse in his hand was ice-cold to the touch and he stood there for a split second longer, then bent down and drew out the lighter from the front pocket of his coat. Lit it and watched the flame waver in the rising wind, then touched it to the fuse end.

The blue flames ate their way along the line, hungry, ravenous. He dropped the lighter back into his pocket, feeling as he did so the hard, flat, surface of the other object that was stored there. He pulled it out, not looking up as the flames licked at the broken wood of the trash heaps along the road and as those burst into flames as well, not watching the fire as it raced down the line into the blackness. The book's surface was tattered with age and the letters on the cover stood out sharply silver in the crimson flickering light.

_Les Misérables._

The boy smiled, a gentle smile, as he bent down and placed the volume at his feet. They would find it, and he would let them make of it what they would, but it should be sufficient enough to let them know that they were being watched.

He heard the frantic running of feet and straightened quickly, fading into the darkness. Shouts of "Fire! Fire!" echoed through the night air and he closed his eyes, imagining the controls in his mind. Grasped the imaginary weapons controls, moved his hand into position, and squeezed the trigger. 

"You're dead," he said softly.

The wind was cool on his cheeks, and the heat of the flames was warm on his skin, and as the first explosions began, the boy turned his back on the fire and began to walk.

  
_Link to information on the Italian Mafia._  
_Link to information on the Yakuza, the Japanese Mafia._  
_Link to information on Nitroglycerin, the chemical compound used in explosives such as dynamite._

  
**END SAINAN NO KEKKA ACT VII**

  
Act VII Part III | Act VIII Part I | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	29. The Dangerous Brilliance of a Pure Cause

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT VIII, PART I

** Iiwake wa shinai ze  
Nagusame mo iranai  
Ore dake wa shinjiteru **

Hirosugiru sekai o  
Kizutsuita tsubasa de  
Kakete yuku tori ni naru

Chi ni nijimu kono te de mamoritsuzuketai  
Kono inochi nante  
Kiete yuku ryuusei  


** I do not make excuses  
Neither do I need solace  
I will only believe**

I'll turn into a bird  
That flies with wounded wings  
Above a too-wide world

I want to defend with these bloody hands  
A life like mine  
Is a fading falling star  


**--Gundam Wing, _Ai wa Ryuusei_  
[_Love is a Shooting Star_, Trowa Barton image song]**  


  
  
**Scene I: Playing for Keeps**

  


_ "Tatta hitotsu no mayoi ga  
Chansu wo dame ni suru  
Arashi no naka datte  
Hitomi sorasanai"  
_
_ [It just takes one loss of will]  
[To make that chance just slip away]  
[Even in a raging storm]  
[Never turn your eyes away]  
_
_--Macross 7, Try Again_  


  
Duo had insisted on going outside to scout first, before allowing any of the others off the shuttle. Sally was a Preventer, and Wufei would be suspicious of her; the Shenlong pilot wouldn't know Shinobu or Helena, Preventer Krushchev was out for the same reasons as Sally, and he wasn't about to risk Hilde's life on whether or not Wufei remembered her. 

Sally wasn't happy about it, but she understood his reasoning. She wished that she hadn't been so eager to put him in the sim; the bright red marks of barely congealed blood on his face standing out in stark accusation, but she hadn't had any choice. Duo was still off his game. If he had been up to his old standards, Hilde never would have gotten the better of him and taken Zero without his permission. Besides, she would need time to work with each pilot on the sim to make sure they were back in top form. And if she was careful, she could even get a hint of what made them able to pilot Gundams, rather then just being good regular MS pilots.

It had always been a fascination for her; the thing that made the pilots unique. She'd been following them ever since meeting Heero during the war, aiding them when she could. The nice thing about the VR sim was that it automatically recorded the user's data... heart rate, breathing, stimulus/response. She had gathered plenty of information on all of her Preventers, but she still was missing one vital piece of the puzzle.

The Gundam pilots themselves....

She shook her thoughts away from her latest research project. She had other things to worry about- Wufei would shortly be joining her, and she had to remember how to talk to him effectively. Chang Wufei has always been something of a conundrum; he didn't think in a manner most people would consider "rational", and dealing with him could be tiring, exasperating, and dangerous. Most wouldn't have bothered, but Sally liked and respected him.

She understood him.

And Heero...Heero had always been the one she'd seen as an avatar, someone who was not quite of this world. Someone too pure and true, perfection incarnate. Shinobu's report that he'd been working as an assassin on L1 had been a surprise, and she wondered how much the intervening months since she had last seen him had changed Heero. Would he even care for what the world thought? Would he care about peace anymore? About truth? She had so many questions that haunted her. Hilde sat in her passenger's seat uncomfortably, her eyes fastened on the hatch Duo had exited. She had been against letting him go, but he had quieted her objections with a look. Shinobu sat stoically, but Helena was fidgeting, nervous. Sally understood quite well the reality of what Helena's actions were doing was just hitting home. 

They could hear the tick of the clock, an unnaturally loud sound that echoed in the cabin. Sally was uncomfortably aware of her own breathing, and wondered why the wait seemed so endless. Wufei would either agree to come or not- providing Heero hadn't beaten them there. If he had...

Her overly fertile imagination supplied images of a dead Wufei, killed by Heero's hand. She didn't think Heero would kill a man he had once called a comrade, but then she didn't understand this whole assassin business. Heero had been too noble for that. She remembered watching him put himself between the falling Libra and Earth- that wasn't the action of a man would would kill for the highest bidder... right?

Would Wufei defend himself? If Heero attacked? His honor might not let him... but Heero could just as easily be the one dead. Wufei was a trained terrorist himself, and would not be an easy kill.

The sound of the hatch opening brought them all to their feet, ready for... something. To Sally's immense disappointment, Duo entered on his own, nibbling on his lip thoughtfully.

Hilde rocketted across the cabin into his arms, giving him a quick hug before stepping back and gazing at him with interrogatory eyes. "Well?" she asked, that one word containing many layers of meaning.

He shook his head, wrapping a casual arm around her shoulders as he led her back to her seat. "Nobody's there. Looks like there was a fight... maybe a week ago? And then whoever was there left." He held up a black mask like a trophy. "Typical assassin's issue. It looks like it was torn off... and there's signs of blood."

"Fuck!" Sally exclaimed, pounding her fist into the armrest angrily.

"Calm down... there's not enough blood for a fatal wound. Chances are that they're both ok. My guess if that Wufei somehow managed to talk Heero down, and maybe ally with him."

Sally looked grim. "And if not?"

"Then Wufei has been taken hostage, though it's anyone's guess why Heero would do that." Duo's word's held an unusual note of seriousness for the usually laid back colonist.

"Chang Wufei would be a valuable hostage," Shinobu noted quietly in Japanese. "People would pay astronomical amounts to have him in their possession. Yuy himself couldn't ransom him, but if he had an accomplice... and he probably does- my grandfather mentions something about a partner." Helena looked lost, but her face cleared as Duo translated for her quietly.

Sally wanted to throttle him. "And you didn't think to tell me this?" she demanded in a deceptively calm tone.

The Black Diamond scion's dark eyes were mysterious and Sally couldn't read any emotion in them aside from a little bit of amusement. "You did not ask," he returned in English.

Helena pinched him in the side hard. "Is there anything else you're neglecting to let us know, Shin-chan?" she asked, sweetly. "Time for full disclosure, dear."

He seemed like he was about to say something else just as vague, but Helena pinched him again, eliciting a wince. "Yuy is part of an assassination team known as Shadowwing- there are only two members, but they are good, better then any other team. My grandfather did not have the place where Chang was living until after they left, so I was hoping that we would arrive before."

The Preventer general clenched her hands in an attempt to keep her temper. She succeeded, but only by the barest margin. "Matsuura, the next time I catch you withholding any information on me, no matter how minor it may seem at the time, I will string you up by your toenails over a baited tiger trap." The smile on her face was in direct contradiction to her words.

Shinobu nodded hastily, suddenly self-conscious. The woman across from him could make his life very difficult if she decided that she didn't like him. Sally Po was reputed to be the calm Preventer General, but he was sure that she had a temper... and he had just agitated it.

"Well, what now?" Hilde said.

Sally tugged one of her braids and ground her teeth, the sound irritating the other people in the cabin. "I'm going to contact General Brown and see if he has any suggestions. He's the head of Military Intelligence for the Preventers."

"Talk about an oxymoron," Duo muttered.

Sally just gave him a superior look as she went to the cockpit, ignoring the giggles Hilde and Helena let slip. _Teenagers_... she thought with disdain, ignoring the fact she was barely out of her teens herself.

The person who answered her call was one she barely recognized. "Captain Lopez?" she asked after a moment.

The young man blinked at her tiredly. "General! General Brown isn't here! May I take a message for you?"

"Where is he?"

"He's in Milan. Last night there was an attack on an anti-Gundam cell. No one was killed, but there was a lot of explosives used, real high-grade stuff. Brown thinks that Barton may be involved, seeing as how he was spotted in the area not long ago."

Sally thought for a second. "Blowing things up is his style... but normally he'd need orders. Are you sure it wasn't one of the others?"

"Well, aside from Maxwell, the other three were accounted for last night. And Maxwell is most likely on the Colonies- there was a reported citing of him in C Side, on L2."

"You know where the others are?" she demanded, rising to her feet in anger. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"There's been an order on radio silence. We weren't allowed to contact you, but... since you contacted us... General Brown left orders that I was to tell you when you called."

"So where are they?" she asked sweetly.

"Winner's sister managed to have his arrest declared illegal, so he was released to his family. They've come to HQ. Yesterday morning was the real surprise, though. Did you ever meet an agent named Varis? He brought in Chang and Yuy..."

"They're there?" she asked, feeling the blood drain from her face. _I went through all this for nothing?_

"Yes... well, as there as they get. Chang's sick and from what I hear, Yuy's been acting... abnormally. Even for him. Une almost had a fit after meeting with him."

"When isn't Une having a fit," Sally murmured to herself. "So is there anything else I should know about?"

"Brown also said to let you know that Relena Peacecraft was on base, along with Catherine Bloom. If you check the vid, most of the networks keep replaying the interview periodically... you can't miss it."

He looked hesitant, like a person about to relay news that he knew the listener wouldn't want to hear. "It's also my sad duty to inform you that Major Lucrezia Noin was killed in action on A007, and Colonel Peacecraft has been transported back to his manor on Earth due to wounds sustained in the same engagement."

Sally nodded slowly. Brief memories of the short-haired woman flashed through her head but she had already mourned Noin once. Her sudden return from death hadn't really registered. It was like she'd been given time for a more honorable death, a death worthy of the soldier she had been.

_What we have done for ourselves alone dies with us; what we have done for others and the world remains and is immortal._

Noin had died for something she believed in; there was no reason to mourn her.

"Thank you, Captain. Please let the General know that I'm returning to base- and that I have some company. Level 10 security to be at the landing pad."

His pupils dilated slightly, but aside from that, he displayed no sign of his surprise. "Aye, ma'am."

She nodded once more to him courteously, then cut the transmission. "You heard me, Krushchev. Back to base."

"You're sure you want to, General?" he asked. "You want to put the Gundams there?"

"Just do it. I know what I'm doing."

He still appeared unconvinced, but the soldier in him was used to following orders. "Take-off in five minutes. Let the children know, ok?"

She laughed. To the fifty year old, they must all seem like children. "Sure thing!" she teased, her tone reminding him who had the rank.

He waggled a finger at her. "You may be a General, Missy, but I've been flying crafts since before you were born. On a plane, the one who sits at the controls is Lord and Master after God. Capiche?"

"Aye, Aye, sir!" she said, standing and saluting like someone just out of the Academy, with exacting precision. They laughed together, and then she moved into the back. Krushchev's teasing had lightened her mood considerably.

"Well?" Duo asked. He was draped comfortably over Hilde. The girl was half-asleep, but sprang immediately back to life when Sally entered. Shinobu and Helena were seated by each other, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"We're going back to Preventer's HQ. Quatre, Heero and Wufei are there."

"Talk about a wasted sidetrip!" Duo said, laughing. 

"Yes. Buckle up, ok?"

The all complied. Krushchev's take-off was as smooth as anyone could have wished, and Sally looked at Duo, reaching behind her seat to retrieve something.

She gave Duo a hesitant smile. "Are you up to another round?" She held out the VR gear to him. "You can't be weak right now."

"NO!" Hilde protested, but Duo silenced her with a quick kiss to the cheek.

"I am, Sally. You're right. There's no time for weakness right now."

Sally smiled and started to turn the monitors on, handing Hilde the connections. "This simulation will run for an hour and fifteen minutes.. I'm sure you can do it."

Duo nodded with determination. It took two minutes to have him suited up properly. Sally sighed as he lowered the goggles to begin the simulation. _I'm sorry, Duo_, she thought, _but this needs to be done. This isn't a game I can afford to lose..._

  


* * *

  
**Scene II: The Space Between**

  


_"We're strange allies with warring hearts…  
Take my hand, cause we're walking out of here."  
--Dave Matthews Band, The Space Between_

  
They wouldn't tell her where he was.

Atsuki had eaten dinner alone, politely refusing Jaffa's invitation to join the rest of the family at the officer's club. Yaminah had needed to meet with two JAG officers that night to discuss the details of the upcoming trial and to compare notes, so she had decided to make it a family gathering, with Quatre in tow.

Quatre had asked her, begged her, even, to come when Jaffa had told him of her decision. She didn't know why it was so important that she be there, and she had flatly said so when he wondered why.

_But you are important_, he said, his blue eyes intense. _You're important to me._

She could tell that he wanted to call her by name, but he knew that the old name was too painful to her and that it was too painful to him to even attempt to address her by what she now called herself, so he had simply tried to reason with her. In the end, he'd given up and left her alone, but at six 'o clock, when the family had been supposed to meet to head over to the mess, a large tray filled with all kinds of entrees had shown up at her door. She'd glanced at it warily for a moment, then taken it inside and eaten all of it.

It wasn't every day that a girl from the Breaks got room service.

She had planned to go visit Darkflight after she had eaten. Darkflight's room wasn't top security and General Une's aide had willingly given her the building and number when she had asked, but when she knocked on his door, the electronic monitor device attached to each of the officers' quarters doors informed her that the room was presently unoccupied.

"Where'd he go?" she asked it, to which it replied that it was not programmed to answer such questions at this time.

She left his room and wandered the halls aimlessly for a while, wondering if she would stumble upon something interesting, but the building seemed to consist only of hallways of rooms. The blinking halogen lights that lit the corridors began to wear on her after a while and she decided to find her way back outside only to discover that she wasn't sure where she had come from.

Great. Her first night here and she was lost. She imagined what Quatre would say when he found out, if she couldn't find her way back by the time they came back from dinner. Jaffa would probably lock her in her room for the rest of their stay on base.

Darkflight was right. She belonged back in the Breaks, as much as she hated it there. It was familiar, and this world, this life, was entirely foreign to her. She could see the looks her sisters gave her, the pity in Quatre's eyes when he spoke to her. She didn't doubt that they all loved her, but it was as if she was the fragile one, the long-lost sister who needed to be coddled and catered to, because they believed she would somehow return back to the happy, confident Winner sister she had been.

She wondered how long it would be until they discovered that they were mistaken.

Feeling miserable, Atsuki wandered the hallways for a while until she found one that looked vaguely familiar. Followed it hopefully until she emerged into the lobby of the building, breathing a sigh of relief. Darkflight's room was the second one on the right side of the left hallway leading in from the lobby, and she backtracked until she was standing in front of his door.

The monitor device beeped.

"I'd like to leave a message for Darkflight," she said, feeling faintly self-conscious about speaking to a machine. They didn't have these in the Breaks, but her room in the Magunac compound had been equipped with one, and it had taken a patient Jaffa several days to persuade her to make use of it. "Video and audio."

The monitor beeped again and the red light came on, indicating it was recording. She cleared her throat nervously, trying to work up the courage to leave a voice message, then decided that it wasn't worth it. Raising her hands in front of her, hoping the video screen was large enough to pick up her movements, she began to sign in the Breaks assassin sign language. _Came by but you weren't there. Come find me_.

She was about to add more, but perhaps because it wasn't picking up any sound waves, the machine clicked, indicating that recording was done. Oh well. What she hadn't said she could tell him in person. She hurried through the lobby and back outside, feeling the cool mountain night air wash over her. She hadn't realized how tired she was until now. The flight here had taken more out of her than she had thought, and suddenly all she wanted was a hot bath and to crawl into bed and sleep till morning.

To forget.

She felt a flash of guilt, realizing just how casually she had thought of the hot bath, as if it were something she had always taken for granted. How easily she would be able to slip back into the role of Lilah, upbeat and carefree Winner daughter.

If she let herself, it would be so easy.

There were still planes and mobile suits coming and going at this hour, which she found amazing. Granted, it was a military base and it was to be expected, but still, it seemed that as the light faded, the roars of engines increased. She had been heading back to her own quarters, but the feeling of curiosity overwhelmed her and she changed direction, making her way across the green lawns and white sidewalks towards the noise of the planes, needing suddenly to touch that piece of reality that had been part of Heero Yuy, long before he had been Wing. It was a part of her that she had realized she could never have, could never experience with him, but it had never bothered her. Until now.

_I'm losing him…I'm losing him, and I'll never get him back._

She wouldn't let Relena have him. That girl was too high for someone like Wing, too bright and glorious, someone who might have been appropriate for the boy Wing had been, but not the one he was now. Relena was the goddess to a fallen angel, and Atsuki hoped that Wing wouldn't be too blinded to see it.

It wasn't fair, really.

A car passed by with a quiet whir and the street lights lining the edge of the road flickered on and with a start she realized that it was almost completely dark. The blinking takeoff and landing lights of the aircraft blinked through the sky, bright clusters of red and yellow. She kept to the sidewalk, hearing the roar of engines louder in her ears, wondering how close she could get before they spotted her and escorted her off the premises.

Surprisingly, no one seemed to notice her. Whether it was that they didn't think a lone girl was too harmless looking to be of any threat, or if they just were lax on security that night (which she doubted, since the base was practically on Threatcon Delta), she reached the side of a huge concrete building which after a few glances, she identified as a hangar. It was certainly big enough to house mobile suits and other aircraft, and in fact had some of its doors open and a few maintenance workers scurrying up and down mobile suits that were parked inside, looking like small rodents scavenging for food under harsh spotlights. But she'd grown up in a pacifist family, with no need to know about hangars and mobile suits and military bases.

The aircraft were clearly visible on what must be the "flight line," as Quatre called it. She still couldn't dismiss from her mind how easily he bandied about the term, her peaceful, perfect little cherub of a brother. She slowed her pace, eyes drinking in the sight of the huge craft taxiing back and forth along the landing pad, the airmen running back and forth toting hoses and tools, cars scuttling back and forth between craft carrying what she assumed to be pilots.

The wind changed and she shivered, rubbing her arms. The sound of a cargo plane taking off raised the hairs on the back of her neck, and she began to wonder if coming here was such a good idea after all.

"Miss?"

She jumped.

It was a young airman with a tool bag slung over his shoulder, taking in her long silk wrap and sandals, looking faintly apologetic and helpful at the same time. "Miss, are you lost?" he said in English.

"Oh," she said, managing a shaky laugh, wincing at the sound of her own mangled English accent. As a Winner, she'd been taught English as a child, but it had been years since she had used it. "Oh, no…I was just…well, I wanted to see the planes, and…"

The airman smiled. "I'm sorry, miss, but we really don't allow civilians over on the flight line, for safety reasons. Can I escort you anywhere?"

He looked nice enough, she supposed. If this had been the Breaks and it had been a good enough night, she would have considered making a pass at him for the promise for an easy two thousand yen or so, but this wasn't the Breaks. Instead, she blinked at him, then tried to smile. She hoped it looked friendly enough.

"I-" she began, and then a familiar voice said from behind her in perfect English, "She's with me."

The airman looked surprised, then took a step back. "Oh, I'm sorry." He sounded apologetic. "She just looked like she was lost." Flashed a grin at her. "Have a good night, miss."

She gaped at him as he walked away and then jumped again as a hand grasped her shoulder.

"Fancy seeing you here," Wing said, sounding not the least bit surprised.

For a long moment she just stared at him, drinking in the sight of him. He was cleaner than she had ever seen him, clean-shaven and long hair neatly combed and tied back, and he was dressed in decent clothes that managed to transform him from a penniless assassin into a young, well-to-do gentleman.

_Where have you been?_ she wanted to shout at him. Wanted to wrap her arms around him and kiss him hard, to make sure he was real. Instead, she managed a steady smile, looking him in the eyes. He looked more weary and harder, leaner, more dangerous at the same time, if that was possible. She wasn't sure what it was about him that had changed, but there was something.

"I was just going for a walk," she returned.

"Never knew you were interested in planes," he said.

She shrugged. "Maybe I am."

"Walk with me," he said suddenly, turning away. "It's good weather for a walk." The breeze whipped at his ponytail, sending it cascading across his shoulders and back in a dark wave.

They cut back across the lawn which she had crossed to get to the hangar and the flight line, back across the street and then back onto the white sidewalks that glimmered in the streetlights. Wing was silent, and she didn't press him for answers. It was always like that with him, she had found. If he wanted to talk, he would talk. If he didn't, no amount of prying would get him to open his mouth.

"How'd you get here?" he said at last.

"Flew out of L1, like everyone else," she said, knowing that she was being evasive and knowing that he knew. But he wouldn't question her further if she chose not to talk. It was just something you learned in the Breaks.

"All right," he said. "I assume you know who I am…was…" He sounded unsure, and she smiled in the dark.

"Yes," she said simply. "I know. I figured it out. You don't have to say anything," she continued as he started to reply. "I've got my own reasons for coming here, though finding you was part of them. Don't think my universe revolves around you."

"I'm not that arrogant," Wing said serenely. "Not yet, any way."

She almost laughed. It was like old times, except it wasn't, because they'd only had these kinds of conversations in bed after sex, and she didn't know what to think. "I know you got here this afternoon," she said. "But I haven't seen you."

"They questioned me for a good two hours after we landed," he said, sticking his hands in his pockets, "and then Une came and got me, questioned me for another two. Then they let me go take a shower and all that. I've been asleep since then."

"What time is it now?" she wondered.

"Half past ten PM," Wing said.

"Good lord," Atsuki said, horrified. "Fuck."

He stared at her. "What's wrong?"

"Quatre…I need to get back to my room…they're probably all wondering where I've gone…Jaffa will have a fit…"

Wing caught her arm. "Wait a moment. I think I'm missing something." She glanced at him and found herself transfixed by those blue eyes, as she always was, but his grip on her forearm was almost bruising, and she winced.

"Wing…please. That hurts."

He released her and she rubbed at the painful ring that his hand had left, wondering just how she was going to explain all this to Quatre, just as they had-

"Atsuki."

She didn't look at him. She knew what he was going to ask her, but she didn't want to tell him. "Yes?" she whispered.

"Look at me," he said quietly. Startled, she did so, flinching slightly as he took her chin in his hand, his eyes roving over the features of her face as if he'd never seen them before. "I see," he said softly, then repeated it louder. "I see." Sighing. "I…it's been a long time since I've thought of the others." He smiled grimly. "My brain wasn't exactly functioning at a hundred percent. There were times though, through the fog when I could actually think, when I thought that you looked familiar."

"If you hate me for it," she mumbled, "you can leave."

He didn't say anything for a long time. The street light beside them illuminated the sidewalk in a gritty white light, but the space in which they stood was a comfortable sort of darkness, enveloping them. "Quatre…was…" he said at last.

"Was what?"

"He was one of my best friends." The acknowledgment sounded like it had been pulled from him, a phrase he had been unwilling to utter. "I don't hate you. Why should I?

"I don't know," she said. "Just…you've never talked about this. You being a pilot." Aware that she was broaching the topic first, but it had to be broached some time. "You-"

"If anything," he interrupted, "I should love you more for it."

She stopped. Looked at him. "Say that again?" she said.

"I said it once," he said quietly. "I don't need to say it again."

"Do you mean it?"

"If you think I do," he responded. "You know, Atsuki, this might be the last time I'll see you in…a long time."

"You told me that when you went off to Earth," she said. "And look at us now."

"This was different. It's not every day that you find out that the person who's your next target happens to be a long lost friend from your past."

She laughed, trying to keep it lighthearted, but a trace of the bitterness crept in nonetheless. "Isn't this weird? Both of us…we're related in ways that we'd never imagined."

His eyes were intent. "Is that bad?"

"No…I…" She turned away. "Wing, what about Relena?"

"What about her?" His voice was cold. The mood of the conversation had changed suddenly. She could feel it chilly about her shoulders, like a shroud, and the darkness in which they stood was no longer comforting, but distorted and angry. A truck roared past, hot air wafting over her, and she shivered. She felt dirty.

"Were you two ever…" She couldn't finish the sentence. "I…I just need to know. About you and her. I don't want to compete with her…I don't know if I could compete with her."

"I haven't thought about Relena in years," he replied, but there was an odd quality to his voice. "What does she have to do with any of this?"

"Wing, you talk in your sleep," Atsuki said. "You've mentioned her name…I just wondered. At first I didn't believe it could be the same Relena, but when I put two and two together…"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"Fine," she said. "If that's how you want it."

He snorted. "I've never slept with her, if that's what you mean."

"Do you think that's all I care about?" she demanded.

His eyes glittered hard and dark in the streetlight and she felt like she hardly knew him. "How should I know?"

She grabbed his arms, lifting herself up on her tiptoes, catching him off guard. There was a flash of something in his eyes, quickly smoldered. "Wing, I love you. You know that and nothing is going to change that. But you need to make up your mind."

"What are you talking about?" He sounded bewildered now, and a little hurt. "I told you, Relena…I haven't thought about her. Since the end of the War…we were partners during it, I suppose, if you could call it that. But nothing more."

"If that's how you want it," she said again.

"Call me a liar, if that's how you want it," he returned, his tone hard. "Why are you so fucking difficult, Atsuki? Take me at my word, for once."

"I always do," she said softly, bringing her face close to his and kissing him in the shadow of the moonlight, quickly, then releasing him. The scar was ridged and ugly in the dim light and she reached out, traced it with her fingers, removing them as he jerked his face away. "That's the problem."

"Atsuki-"

"Choose one," she said. "One or the other. You can't have both."

"You're not making sense."

"I need to go," she responded quietly. "It was nice…it was nice talking to you. I'll be with the Winners, if you need me."

It hurt to leave him standing there watching her go, because so many things had changed and yet so many things were still the same, and neither of them had been the same people they had been. Because she knew that he wouldn't come after her unless she asked him to, and she was too proud to do that.

The clock on her wall read just after eleven when she opened the door to her room. The hallway was empty and the cracks under the doors to all of the rooms were dark, and when she checked the machine for messages, there were none.

  


* * *

  
**Scene III: The Letter of the Law**

  


_"Remember how they tried to hold you down?"  
--Remy Zero, Perfect Memory_

The papers were strewn around the room, and four Winners were browsing through them intently. Yaminah and Aisha were working side-by-side, Quatre was reading through old legal precedents, and Lilah -no, Atsuki- was sitting on a chaise flipping idly through some papers without really looking at them.

Quatre spared a glance for his wayward sister. He wasn't quite sure what to do with her- she was nothing like the quiet girl he remembered. This Atsuki -it was becoming easier to think of her by her self-appointed name- was a wild child. Her emotions blazed fast and furious, and it seemed that she was unconsciously doing her best to make his life even more difficult. He'd heard reports of her visiting Relena the day before, and her vanishing act when she should have joined them for dinner had upset Jaffa- and Jaffa was the LAST member of the family you wanted to annoy.

Still, she had shown up in the morning, volunteering to help with whatever. Her offer had immediately been welcomed by Aisha, who handed over a huge stack of newspaper clippings that she wanted organized by date and subject. Atsuki was complying with something shy of enthusiasm, but she was doing work.

"Well, what do you think of this?" Aisha was murmuring.

"That's Soviet legal precedent, love," Yaminah answered. "You want either American, European- WESTERN European, Arabian or Global. Right now the only thing I've found is the Nuremberg Trials right after the second World War... not what we want."

"I don't see the point," Atsuki said finally. "Some of this stuff is hundreds of years old- how in hell can that help get Quat and W- I mean, Quat off?"

Quatre heard the slip, and wondered. Had Atsuki known Wufei? He had a hard time picturing it- the woman his sister was didn't mesh well with the mental image he maintained of the Chinese pilot. But it had been a while, so...

He shook his head. Now was not the time for idle speculation. His preliminary hearing date had been set for three days hence, and he wasn't looking forward to it. He felt like a victim of a witch hunt. And the fact that it was Fatima who was leading the charge didn't help. She would be an implacable foe- she hated him on a personal level.

In a way, he respected her hatred of him more then the hatred of those who were merely prejudiced against him for his perceived crimes during the war. He'd done many things he hadn't been proud of, but it had been war. People died in war.

He hated being a scapegoat.

The door swung inwards and he looked up, surprised to see another of his sisters enter. Dr. Juju Winner was a respected geneticist and scientist- he hadn't seen her since the family had met prior to his global disclosure. Her red hair was braided back intricately, setting off her bronze skin and deep gray eyes to perfection. She was the family's only redhead.

"Juju?" he asked in surprise.

"I had something I wanted to talk to you about." Her voice was low and sensual, and he knew that she would roll her r's. She spent a lot of time in Latin America, and had picked up an accent because of it.

"Sure thing," he said, sliding over so she could sit on the couch beside him.

She took her seat like a queen taking her throne, then looked at Quatre, her gray eyes grave. "I know I've never been much help, but I think I have something that could help you this time."

"What?" Quatre asked, trying to remember her discipline. She was a scientist, and there was no way science could help his case. He was guilty; the question was to determine if his actions constituted a war crime.

Juju looked down into her hands. "I spend a lot of time of the net... I've even met a few... acquantainces. People who can be bought, and have the skills to make computers dance."

"Huh?" Aisha said, coming over to her younger siblings. "You want to get a hacker?" She knelt down on the floor, tucking her feet neatly beneath her.

"If we contacted them... we'd be able to get this done a lot faster... and maybe even screw Fatima over while were at it. If she's dealing with some legal issues of her own, then she's bound to be slightly distracted...."

"Juju!" Aisha exclaimed. "We're not going to break the law!"

Her eyes hardened, deepening in color. "Why bother when the laws are unjust?"

"Juju!" This time it was Quatre exclaiming. "You have to work from within the system if you want things changed!"

"Really..." Her raised eyebrow threw a mocking question at Quatre.

"We have a system to work within! If they decide I'm guilty, then I'll take it, since that's what I fought for."

"But you're not guilty of a crime! Will they punish all soldiers for following orders?" Juju rose to her feet, tall and graceful. "I can see you're not going to agree, but... I can give you the contact information. Aidoru is due in a certain hole at a certain time- I know that you're a good enough hacker to find him...."

_Aidoru...the idol..._Named by the cyber police for a cyberpunk fantasy book written four hundred years ago, Aidoru was rumored to be the best hacker in generations. No security measures were able to prevent the hacker from getting in.

Quatre choked slightly as he recognized the name. "Juju, Aidoru is the number one on the cyber police's Most Wanted list! How the hell do you know him?"

"Quatre... you really don't want to know."

He looked at her. "Why don't you report him, then?"

She snorted. "To whom? My political philosophy is as close to anarchy you can get. Besides, he'd get away, be able to trace me as the whistle blower, and then he'd destroy me. I've seen him do it before, and its not pretty. He can erase you from existence- no bank accounts, no comp accounts, no records... he's a vengeful bastard, but I think he could help. He's very much against the World Nation- I think he's an anarchist."

_Which would explain how they met,_ Quatre thought. Juju had a reputation in the family for her radical political beliefs. If she hadn't been such a good doctor, their father might have disowned her as well.

"Thank you for the suggestion, but I want to handle this in court." He smiled, touching her hand in reassurance. "It'll be ok," he promised.

She nodded, and started for the door. "If you change your mind..."

Three hours later he was wondering if she was right. The political system was certainly corrupt. It was true that there were people like Relena and Une, but there were also the Fatimas as well. It was depressing to consider what had replaced the Federation- the World Nation was supposed to be something better, but scum always seemed to rise to the top.

His other sisters had left for lunch, but he had declined their invitation. He hadn't been hungry for days. He would be damned if they'd take him down without a fight, but he was starting to wonder if he even had a chance, or if this was simply a farce set up to appease the letter of the law.

Quatre sighed as he started to thumb through a pile of precedents from the founding of the colonies. The legal jargon was incredibly dry, and he was just about to call it quits for a while when footsteps sounded down the hall.

"Aisha?" he called, wondering why his sisters would be back from lunch so early.

He had turned around in his chair, preparing to ask her what was wrong, when the footsteps stopped and the face of a man peered around the corner.

"I thought I would find you here," the stranger said.

…or perhaps not so much a stranger. With a shock, Quatre realized who it was. The face had thinned, becoming even more angular, if that was possible. The silky black hair was longer, falling in a familiar ponytail to mid-back, but he'd gained little in the way of height. His body had become more sculpted, losing the last traces of childhood. 

He swallowed. "Wufei?"

The Asian man -not a boy any longer- entered the room, and Quatre found himself rising to his feet. His normal instinct would have been to hug his friend, but Wufei was not one for tactile contact, no matter how long the separation had been. "Hello, Quatre," he said, nodding his head graciously. "It's been a while."

Quatre gave him a blindingly bright smile. "It's been too long! I never thought I'd see you here, of all places."

Wufei shot him a level, if polite gaze, and Quatre lowered his eyes, realizing that they were both older and neither of them were the boys they had been during the war. There was an awkward pause.

"So, um…" Quatre said at last, trying to think of something they could talk about. Something they had in common. He couldn't come up with anything.

Wufei's smile was only slightly forced. "I don't want to disturb you, if you're working…" he gestured at the papers. "But they told me you were here, so I decided to come let you know I was here as well."

Quatre shook his head rapidly. "No, no! I've been worried that an extremist group had gotten to you... or one of the others. I'm so glad to see you're all right!"

Wufei nodded slowly. "I guess I am..." His pensive expression belied his reassurance.

"What's wrong?" Quatre asked, forgetting the awkwardness for a moment. He'd always been the observant one, watching out for his comrades' emotions and mental state. 

Wufei gave a slight half-smile. "I'm not the one you should have worried about."

"Who?"

"Heero..."

Quatre shut his eyes slowly, and inhaled deeply. "Is he here, too?"

"Yes... or what's left of him..."

"Don't be cryptic!" Quatre said, alarmed. "We don't have time for that…What's wrong with Heero?"

Wufei sank to the floor, assuming a lotus position without any thought or effort. His right hand rested on his knee, the fingers dancing nervously over the white silk of his pants. Quatre sat down beside him, used to it. It was much like the time he had spent among his relatives' tents in the deserts... furniture was a luxury. "Yuy seems to have spent the time since the war as an assassin... in the Breaks. He's totally fried his mind with more mood altering substances then I care to contemplate. He didn't even recognize me... and he doesn't remember any of you, even Duo. And you know how close the two of them were."

"Heero did that?" Quatre asked in disbelief. The blonde looked at Wufei. He and the pilot of Shenlong had never been particularly close -Wufei had never been close to any of them, for that matter- but he trusted him as he trusted few others. 

"I swear that I don't know him anymore." The other pilot sounded hesitant, something he had never been back in the old days. "His memories are little better than swiss cheese, and his current taste in companions... leave something to be desired. He actually tried to kill me."

"What?!" Quatre exclaimed again. He inched closer to Wufei, placing a hand on the Chinese man's shoulder. "How??"

Wufei's expression was one of weary amusement. "That was my reaction when I recognized him. I was amazed I was able to win- he was always better then I was, but he attacked with hand-to-hand weapons, rather then a gun. If he'd remembered me, he would have known that was a mistake."

Quatre nodded. Wufei was a martial arts expert. If Heero had been thinking, or really wanted Wufei dead, he would have selected a way to remove him from a distance.

"He's not up to his old skill level. He's still good, but not as good. The old Heero would take down this new one in seconds."

"I see," said Quatre quietly. "I'm glad you're all right."

"So am I," Wufei said. He looked down at his hands. "I was just released from the hospital, actually. Not for that," he said hurriedly, when Quatre looked alarmed again. "A bad case of exhaustion, that's all. I just needed some sleep and food."

"That's good," the former Sandrock pilot said fervently, for the first time realizing that the thinness of Wufei's face was not entirely due to the maturing of his features. "You don't look well. Maybe you should go get some more rest?"

Wufei shrugged. "I'm fine. The hospital was stifling. I needed to get out…I needed to talk to…a pilot. A sane one."

Quatre swallowed. "I'm not quite sure I'm even that anymore."

"What's going on?" Wufei asked sharply, and Quatre found himself spilling out everything about the breaking of the Gundam news, the attacks, his flight and capture and subsequent release, Fatima and Jaffa and Atsuki. When he finished, he found that he was trembling, as if all the strain of the past few weeks had suddenly caught up with him.

"I'm just…so tired, you know?" he mumbled. "I don't know what to do anymore. What's right and what's wrong. Juju offered to help me by using a hacker…and I almost accepted. I'm that desperate."

There was a moment of silence and then he was shocked to feel Wufei slide an arm around his shoulders and give him a quick, short pat on the back. He glanced over at the Chinese pilot, and though the other wouldn't meet his eyes, it was enough.

"You've changed, Wufei," he said, unable to hide the surprise from his voice.

"So have you," the other returned. "Perhaps for the better. Which is more than I can say for the rest of us."

Quatre managed a wry grin. "Thanks." 

He saw the corner of Wufei's lips twitch in return. "I know we've never been close, Quatre," he said, "but you and I both know that we can't do this alone. None of us can."

"So... what does this all mean? Duo and Trowa are still missing, Heero's out of it... I'm about to be tried as a war criminal, Une and Relena are fighting political battles..."

"It leaves us with our backs against the wall," Wufei said, his smile widening. "Just like old times- and just like old times, we'll fight even better for it."

  


* * *

  
**Scene IV: Upholding the Lantern of the Damned**

  


_"And when your fears subside and shadows still remain,  
I know that you can love me when there's no one left to blame."  
--Guns 'n Roses, November Rain_

  
He'd booked an early shuttle out of Milan for Geneva the following day, but even as he started off for the airport at a brisk walk, Trowa wondered if he should really bother.

He had figured it would be best to get out of Milan in case anyone started asking questions. The Italian police were savvy, having dealt with the Mafia for centuries, and though he knew he could probably outwit the best policeman alive, it wasn't really worth the trouble. Besides, he had no reason to stay in Milan. Even if the police didn't come looking for him, the Mafia would, whether to recruit him or to kill him. He didn't want to be there when that happened. Those ties, back in the days where he had been Nanashi, nobody, were ties that he hadn't wanted to remember.

But now, for the first time, Trowa wondered if he had done the right thing.

Well, it was too late now. It was still early morning and there were few cars out on the road, but he hugged the shadows of the buildings tightly as the sun began to rise over the horizon. He'd put on a hat to conceal his easily recognizable haircut, and had a pair of sunglasses on just in case. To complete the disguise, he'd exchanged his formerly bulky traveler's pack for an old backpack, in which he kept his spare change of clothes and some food. Along with a battered pair of sneakers and jeans and a t-shirt, he could be any college student out for an early morning study session or perhaps embarking on a cross-continent trip to spend the summer with family.

It was a wistful thought, but he didn't really envy those who did have those privileges. Trowa Barton was a soldier first and foremost. He had to remember that.

The airport gates were already bustling with activity. He slipped through one of the checkpoints easily, trotting to the baggage check and waited patiently in line to place his backpack on the moving belt. Security was tight nowadays, with people frightened of the "Gundam terrorists," and it took almost twenty minutes for him to finally get to the counter. The lady behind the desk stared at him for a moment, as if looking for a way to detain him, but he pretended not to notice behind his dark glasses, hoping she would lose interest. She did after a few seconds, and he stepped into the body scan, again waiting as the machine analyzed his body data. 

The attendant finally nodded and opened the door to let him pass, and he collected his backpack, slightly amused that the tough security measures had let the real Gundam pilot get away. One obstacle down.

He'd managed to get a fake ID for a cheap price back in Bangkok, and he slipped it into the electronic ticket machine at the terminal entrance. The machine blinked, then beeped once. His name and identification information scrolled down the screen. _Kevin Leger, 18 years, American, University student._

He punched in his ID code and there was a whirring sound as the machine spat out his shuttle ticket. 0800 hours departure time to Geneva, Switzerland, FS seat. FS for _futsusha_, coach seat, one of the many Japanese loanwords which had gradually filtered into the international traveling vocabulary. Trowa scanned the ticket once more, then logged out of the machine, retrieved his card, and headed towards the waiting area.

There weren't many people at the terminal gate at this hour of the morning, though not many people in their right minds, he would expect, would want to go to Geneva with all that was going on. A frail-looking old woman was nodding off in a seat near the window while two little girls played in excited whispers at her feet. There was another couple seated at the far end of the waiting room eating breakfast. A lone boy wearing a ski hat sat a little ways off, nervously bouncing his pack on his knees. His face was screwed up in a frown and he looked tense.

Trowa slid into one of the closer seats, looking at his ticket again, then at the clock on the wall. It read 0730 hours, 30 minutes until takeoff and probably at least ten until boarding. He stared out the window, watching the shadowy reflection of passing people on the glass, seeing the bright silver bodies of the airplanes and shuttles gleam in the rising sun. It hurt to watch, and he turned his face away.

The seconds ticked by slowly, and he got up, slinging his pack onto his shoulders. He had to go to the bathroom and there were still five more minutes to spare. Following the picture signs, he found the men's room and proceeded to take care of business, emerging from the stall and starting to wash his hands when he saw, out of the corner of his eye, the nervous boy from the waiting room entering the bathroom. Trowa turned off the water and moved over to the hand dryers, and as he did so, his foot slipped on a puddle of water. He felt himself starting to trip, quickly caught himself, but the sunglasses came loose and clattered to the tiled floor.

He reached for them, but another hand was there first. "Here you go," the boy said, straightening to hand them to him, and then froze.

"YOU!"

Trowa blinked, then realized that the boy was staring, horrified, at his uncovered face.

_Oh shit._

He lunged for the door, but the boy was ahead of him, and before he knew it, there was the cold sensation of a stun-gun pressed to his skull.

"One move," the boy said in American-accented English, "and I'll kill you."

He saw their reflections in the mirror, the boy's face white with terror, holding the stun-gun in a shaking hand, his own calm, composed expression left carefully blank. Inside, his mind was racing, trying to figure out how the hell he could have been so stupid. That boy had been watching him…to think about it, that boy had been there ahead of him at the baggage check line too…perhaps even farther back?

He could feel the boy trembling beside him. This child was no threat to him as far as strength or expertise was concerned, but untrained terrorists were in many ways more dangerous than they appeared, and he was about to take no chances.

"What do you want?" he said, as calmly as he could.

"You're Trowa Barton. Aren't you?" The boy was breathing heavily. Trowa stood very still. "Aren't you?" the boy shrilled, pressing the gun down on his head.

"Yes," Trowa said. "Who are you?"

"Don't play word games with me! If you move, I'll…I'll kill you!"

Trowa doubted the boy would act on his word, but one never knew. Better safe than sorry. "I'm not going anywhere," he said quietly. "What do you want?"

"I want you dead, you bastard," the boy spat, the nervousness of his voice accenting the roughness of his words. "You don't deserve to live."

"Then kill me," Trowa said. He was still facing the mirror and he saw the boy's eyes dart frantically from side to side, as if looking around for help from someone else. Interesting…a green untrained boy sent by someone to kill him. By who?

"Don't-Don't change the subject!" 

"You're the one who wants to kill me," Trowa said in a reasonable tone. The minutes were ticking away. They were probably boarding now. Ah well. A wasted ticket. "I wouldn't do it in the airport if I were you. It'd be pretty messy, and then you'd just get yourself in more trouble."

"SHUT UP!" The boy screamed, but Trowa could hear his breathing grow heavier. If someone were to come into the bathroom just then…

But apparently the boy had already thought of that. "Let's go. We're leaving."

"Where are we going?"

"Shut up and walk!" the boy snapped angrily, jabbing him in the head with the gun one more time. "If you try anything-"

"I know, I know," Trowa said wearily. "You'll kill me. Which way?"

"Right," the boy said coldly as they emerged from the bathroom. He turned right down the long terminal corridor, passing people trying to get onto the moving walkway. Funny, how he had just ridden that same moving walkway down to the terminal of the shuttle that he would never take now.

_Catherine._

"Hurry up!" the boy hissed from behind him.

They emerged out of the airport into the early sunlight, passing back through the checkpoint gates, and the boy flicked out the gun again, jabbing him in the ribs. "Left. Don't argue."

The rundown neighborhood near the airport was a maze of streets and rickety houses, and he just barely managed to keep track of the twists and turns, though someone less trained probably couldn't have. The boy poked the gun back into his ribs every so often when they came to a turn, but other than that they both were silent. He wondered what lay in store for him.

"What-" he began, but the boy jabbed him in the ribs again.

"Shut up."

One more turn and then the boy stopped before a large sewer cover, glancing around furtively before lifting it with some effort. It banged onto the cobblestones and he motioned with the gun. Trowa crouched down, trying to peer into the blackness, but a boot came down hard in his face and he lost his grip, tumbling back into the sewer and landing hard with a loud splash.

The water wasn't too deep, but it was enough to wet his pack and the rest of him that had fallen into it, and it smelled, very prominently, of waste. The sewer lid closed above him with a sharp bang, cutting off the daylight. He stood up with a sigh, trying not to breathe, as the boy dropped down lightly next to him.

"Let's go," he said.

This was beginning to get very tiresome, but rough hands pushed him forward and he began walking again blindly through the darkness, wondering if he shouldn't just overpower his captor in the dark and make his way back to the airport. The flight he'd booked was probably long gone by now, but he could always get another. He stopped and turned around, started to lunge for the other's throat, but some strange impulse gripped him and he stepped back, let his hands fall limply to his sides, squeezing them into frustrated fists.

"Keep going!" The boy shrilled, as if suddenly realizing that in the dark, even with a gun, he was no match for a former Gundam pilot.

_I could have gotten him. I could have killed him then. Stop, Trowa. Stop. Turn around. This is ridiculous._

No…I can't. He's too young…I…

You bombed a terrorist hideout last night. You're a soldier. An assassin. You've been doing this all your life. You don't have to kill him. Just knock him out and take his gun.

But I-

What's wrong with you? He's going to kill you! Do it!

He saw a light suddenly bloom in the far distance and the dialogue in his mind faded as he stumbled towards the brightness, wanting to just get out of the darkness. The slimy sewer water swirled about his legs, seeping into the cracks of his worn tennis shoes and curling like snakes around his feet. As they approached, he saw that the light was coming from a small round opening in the wall of the sewer, just large enough to fit a man's body and reachable by a metal ladder.

"Climb," The boy said, as if Trowa was incapable of doing even that. He gritted his teeth, adjusted his soaking pack on his shoulders, and scaled the ladder quickly, swinging one foot and then the other through the hole and dropping to the ground below in a crouch.

The room was small and dim but there was daylight nonetheless coming through slits in the sides of the walls. A basement of some kind? The stench from the sewer was still present, though in less quantity, and he let himself stand dripping on the dry floor as the boy squeezed himself through the hole and motioned with the pistol.

"Sit there. Over there."

Trowa moved quietly to the corner to which the boy gestured wildly, watching curiously as the other rummaged through some drawer and drew out a pair of rusted handcuffs.

"Take off your pack."

He let the boy handcuff his hands behind him and then push him roughly to the floor, where he sat with his back against the wall. His young captor began to move towards the door, then stopped suddenly, biting his lip, gun wavering.

"What are you going to do with me?"

"Shut the fuck up," the boy shot back. "I'm going to go get the chief, and then we'll see how big you talk then! You better not move till I get back!" With that, he unhinged the heavy wooden door at the opposite end of the room, slamming it behind him. Trowa heard the sounds of chains being fastened and then all was quiet.

"I missed my plane," he said to the empty air.

He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he heard were the sounds of the chains being unfastened from the door, and he sat up, expecting an unfamiliar face, but instead the same boy entered the room, shutting the door and staring at him.

"Where's your chief?"

The boy looked lost for a few moments, and Trowa could see him screwing up his courage. "They're not here. But they'll be back! And then you'll see!" The gun was back in his hand again.

Trowa sighed heavily. "Look. I'm not going to run. I just want an explanation."

"There's nothing to explain, you murderer!"

Trowa blinked. "Murderer?"

"Don't play innocent!" The boy yelled. "I know you! You just like killing, don't you? The more people the better! People are just playthings to you, aren't they? AREN'T THEY?"

"I don't quite-" Trowa began, but the boy's eyes filled with tears and he bunched his fists, his face contorting with rage.

"You bastard! You killed my sister!"

Trowa stared at him.

"She was an OZ pilot…she was killed by the Gundams." The boy raised his face, wet with tears, hurt and rage quivering in his voice. "It was you, wasn't it? Cold blooded murderers - that's all the military is! That's all they'll ever be!"

"I wasn't-" Trowa said, a little more firmly, but the boy's words tumbled on like an avalanche.

"Shut up! If you ever had a sister, you'd understand!"

"I do-"

"This is all your fault! You've ruined my life, you son of a bitch, and I'm going to make you PAY!"

"I-" Trowa said again, alarmed, but the boy was rushing forward and he tried to throw his hands up to protect himself before he realized they were handcuffed. "Stop!" he yelled, feeling the boy's weight fall suddenly on top of his, and then pain exploded in his head, bright red bursts one after the other, as he felt the cold, hard, metal butt of the gun slamming against his skull.

"DIE! DIE! DIE!"

"Stop!" Trowa cried again, and he tried to stand up, to throw the boy off him, but it had been a while since he had practiced hand to hand combat, especially when he didn't have any hands. He stumbled forward one step and then the boy tackled him again, throwing him against the wall. He staggered and fell, hitting his head on the way down against a hard metal panel, throwing his assailant off him again as he went with one hard jerk.

There was a snap and then a female voice filled the room.

"-nd your name is?"

Both of them paused, startled, and Trowa blinked, trying to see clearly through his pain-fuzzed vision. The sound was coming from an ancient-looking television set on the table across the room. His mind went back to the metal panel he'd fallen against, and he realized that he must have triggered the on switch for the television. The speaker was a crisp-looking woman, fashionably but sensibly dressed, holding a microphone. Trowa recognized her: Vanessa Curtis, one of the reporters who did biographies of the famous on the international news network.

The camera shifted to her companion, and his mouth dropped open. He blinked rapidly, convinced that he was seeing things, but as the girl started to speak, there was no doubt.

"My name is Catherine Bloom. Trowa Barton is my brother."

"Cat?" he whispered.

He heard the boy's harsh breathing, heard him struggling to sit up, and braced himself for the next round of attacks, but nothing happened.

"We're here today to hear Catherine's account of her brother," Vanessa Curtis said on the television, "the one most of us know only as the Gundam pilot 03. Catherine, tell us a little about him."

"Well," Catherine said, turning a thoughtful, sweet face to the screen. "The best word to describe Trowa, I think, would be loyal." She paused. "Trowa's always true to everything he believes in. You won't find anyone who's more trustworthy, more honest and kind. He keeps his promises. But that doesn't mean he's misguided," she continued, her eyes hardening. "Characterizing someone like Trowa as a blind follower is as far from the truth as you can get. Trowa's not a coward. He'll stand up for what he believes, but not until he's sure that what he believes is right."

"Ms. Bloom, describe your relationship with your brother."

Catherine's face softened a bit. "Trowa…we're both circus performers, so most of our time is spent rehearsing routines and getting ready for the next show. He's a hard worker, but he also knows when to wind down. I'd like to say that I take care of him, as the older sibling, but really, he takes care of me just as much too. It's…it's hard to explain, I guess."

"Explain what you mean by 'take care'," Vanessa said.

"Well, I don't really mean 'take care' as in he buys me things or anything like that. Though he does on occasion…but I'm more the one doing that. He has a strong set of values and a strong code of honor that the military has fostered in him. I suppose you could say that he's like my conscience, in a way. He's a very simple person…Trowa isn't concerned with material wants or needs. He's more concerned about the heart."

Vanessa pursed her lips. "That makes him sound like a little bit of a passive type, Ms. Bloom."

Catherine's eyes flashed. "There's no way that Trowa is passive. If he sees something he knows is wrong, he'll take action right away."

"I see," Vanessa said. "What about his actions in the war?"

Catherine paused for a second. "I hate war," she said firmly. "I hate it. It killed my family and nearly killed me and Trowa as well. There's no way that I'd condone any kind of war. But Trowa isn't me. He's a fighter. He saw what was needed to be done…he saw that this war was tearing apart the lives of not only the people on the colonies but the people on the Earth as well, and he knew that he needed to do something to stop it. Trowa didn't fight because he enjoyed fighting or killing. He fought because it was the right thing to do!"

"So you're saying," Vanessa said thoughtfully, "that you hate war, yet you condone your brother's actions?"

"I hate war," Catherine said, speaking directly to the camera, her gaze honest and piercing, "but I believe that sometimes, war is necessary. Only then will people realize the true treasure of peace. Trowa is, I believe, one such person."

Vanessa opened her mouth again, but there was a quiet click and the TV screen went blank. Trowa glanced up to see the boy standing quietly, one hand on the switch and the other still holding the stun-gun but hanging loosely at his side.

"Was that true?"

"The interview?"

"The girl," the boy replied. "Catherine. Was she really your sister?"

"Yes," Trowa said. "She was."

"Oh," the boy said, falling silent.

Trowa sat down heavily again, feeling his head start to throb, but he ignored it. He'd suffered through much worse and lived. A fractured skull wasn't going to keep him down. 

"Was that true?" the boy asked at last, a bit timidly. "What your sister said. About you fighting."

"I suppose it was," Trowa said thoughtfully. He glanced at the boy standing there, his posture helpless and hopeless, and felt a wave of pity. "You know…"

The boy raised his head. There was no emotion now in the blank eyes, only emptiness, the eyes of someone who had nothing left to live for.

"You know," Trowa said again. "Going to war isn't as much of a conscious decision to go out and kill people as it is an act of courage to stand up for what you believe." He paused, thought. "I saw what needed to be done, and I did it. If I had to kill in order to accomplish it…then I would, but I never once pressed the trigger and enjoyed it. I knew that I was going out there to either kill or be killed, and I was prepared for the consequences of either of those actions, because the cause that I fought for was stronger than love of my own life."

The boy said nothing.

"I believed that with all my soul. The other Gundam pilots did too. As did, I think, your sister."

"So it doesn't matter then?" the boy mumbled bitterly. "The people you leave behind don't matter? As long as you're doing what you think is right, then it doesn't matter if you hurt those who love you?"

"It hurts," Trowa said softly. "There's no way around that. But…if they really loved you…I think they'd understand, why you did it."

In the silence that followed, neither of them moved. The boy was still breathing heavily, little gasping sobs in his throat. Trowa opened his mouth and was about to speak, but there were suddenly voices far away down the hallway outside the door, voices and footsteps.

The boy froze, then flew to the desk, rummaging around in the drawer and drawing out a keyring, racing back to Trowa and forcing him to bend down as he fumbled with the handcuffs. A click and he could move his arms forward again. He turned and saw his pack flying towards him, catching it as it slammed into his chest.

"They're going to Geneva," the boy said, moving across the room and talking quietly over his shoulder. Trowa could see another door there, one that he hadn't previously noticed. "They're going to attack. You'd better go warn your friends."

"What-" he began, but the boy was unlocking the door with another key on the keyring and beckoning him inside frantically.

"Hurry! Take two left turns and then a right and another left and you'll see a flight of stairs that'll lead you back outside."

Trowa looked at the boy, then at the door. The footsteps sounded closer. "Oliver? Oliver, are you in there?"

"Hurry!" the boy hissed.

Trowa moved to the door, putting one hand on the handle, preparing to draw it to. "Why?" he asked softly.

"I…" the boy said, but a knock sounded on the other door, and the last thing Trowa saw was the boy's tear-filled eyes as he pushed the door shut. Light streamed in through more of the slitted windows at the tops of the walls and he stared at the door, listening to the murmured exchanges of voices through the heavy wood before he turned and started down through the maze of tunnels.

It wasn't until he had emerged back into the morning sunlit world above that he realized that for all he'd vowed to protect his sister, it was she who had just saved his life.

  
Act VII Part IV | Act VIII Part II | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	30. The Dangerous Brilliance of a Pure Cause

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT VIII, PART II

** Itsuwari no jiyuu ni  
Shibareta kokoro ja  
Shinjitsu wa tsukamenai **

Genjitsu mo mirai mo  
Tatakai no honou ni  
Tsutsumarete subete wa yume sa

Dakara ore-tachi no inochi to  
Kiete yuku egao ga  
Atarashii sekai o tsukuru kanarazu  


** A heart which is bound  
To false freedom  
Cannot grasp the truth**

Present and future  
Are engulfed in the flame of battle  
Everything is a dream

So our lives and  
Our waning smiles  
Will surely make a new world  


**--Gundam Wing, _Ai wa Ryuusei_  
[_Love is a Shooting Star_, Trowa Barton image song]**  


  
  
**Scene V: The Valkyries' Dance**

  


_"But I just can't be  
The girl that you want to see  
I'm who I am  
What else do you expect from me?"  
--Matt Murphy, Tale of a Daughter_

  
They finally managed to land the plane after a stopover in Lyon due to a terrorist attack somewhere. Milan, she thought they had said; she hadn't really been awake enough to pay attention. Dorothy had ranted and raved at how impractical it was to stop the flight, but the stewardess had gently informed her that all inbound traffic for Geneva had been suspended. It would be three hours before flights resumed, and would she please go wait in the visitors lounge? Maybe a cup of tea would help her pass the time?

The look she gave as an answer had sent the stewardess scuttling for safety.

After two coach flights in a row, Dorothy's infamous temper was just below the boiling point. The seats had been cramped, and on the trans-Atlantic flight, a crying baby had been right behind her. No matter what the child's mother did, it refused to be calm, and Dorothy had been about ready to offer to euthanize the thing to put it out of its misery. Her plans on catching up on her sleep just weren't feasible because of the brat. She really wished that they had bumped someone in First Class- really. Either that or she just should have chartered her own plane.

The unexpected three-hour layover did little for her mood. She considered renting a car and driving the rest of the way, but she realized that in the long run, it would still be quicker just to wait it out. Still, as she reboarded the plane to continue her journey, she was ready to strangle the next person who irritated her.

By the time she arrived in Geneva, all she wanted was a decent meal (airline food would not pass her lips to save her life), a hot shower, and to sleep at least once around the clock- not necessarily in that order. She wasn't a fan of travel, and whenever she arrived at her destination, she was always cranky and tired.

Dorothy hired a cab to take her to one of the many townhouses that the Catalonia family owned across the world. It was actually part of her estate, and while not the largest or most elaborate, it was a favorite of hers. Her father had spent a lot of time there, due to its location. Geneva was the world's political hotbed- it had been for centuries. Sometimes she thought she could almost feel his presence there, and it was comforting to a girl who had grown up almost as an orphan. The small house was elegant and contained a salle, which was all she needed.

That and a wonderful water heater.

As she pressed her hand against the palm lock to let herself in, she started to fantasize about the shower she'd be taking shortly. Reaching up, she dragged the hair tie out of the remnants of her ponytail, and shook her head, finger-combing some of the worst knots. Her nails caught easily, and she winced, dreading the inevitable battle she would face with a comb. She was vain about her hair, but the long blonde locks carried a price.

Most people would have been ravenous or exhausted and seen to those needs first, but Dorothy felt grubby. She was dirty, and she simply couldn't stand being that way. Cleaning up would obviously take priority. She wouldn't be able to do anything as long as she could feel the dirt against her skin.

The lock beeped as it recognized her fingerprints, and she sighed with relief as she swung the door open. "Swenson!" she called. "I'm here- do me a favor and have one of the maids get me a bathrobe while I duck into the shower, okay? And burn the outfit I'm wearing."

"Yes, my Lady!" a voice echoed back, not questioning the unusual request.

"Well, at least that's one good decision," she head someone else say, and she spun around with a feeling of dread pooling in her stomach. She would have recognized that voice anywhere.

"Mother."

Duchess Emily Khushrenada Noventa looked her daughter over with a raking glance, one that stripped Dorothy to the bone. Her eyes noted the worn uniform, messy hair, and dirty face, and narrowed. "I must say that I don't approve of your wardrobe. Really, Dorothy. What were you doing with the Preventers?"

The contrast between mother and child was dramatic. Emily was her usual perfectly groomed self, with her hair swept back into an elegantly braided crown accented by pins decorated with precious jewels. While she wasn't entitled to a wear a tiara, the complex hairdo gave her the appearance of royalty without overstepping her social bounds. Her long flowing dress was a deep red, one that accentuated her pale gold hair. She looked every inch a lady, and Dorothy was self-consciously aware that her clothes had seen better days.

She ground her teeth. "That's really none of your business. If you'll excuse me, I need to get a shower."

Uncharacteristically, Emily stepped aside, gesturing. "I couldn't agree more. You smell a little rank from the downwind side. I'll have Swenson tell the chef to get dinner started, and we can have a discussion while we eat."

Dorothy barely refrained from wincing. She hated "discussions" with her mother- they always ended up at each other's throats. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Until you turn twenty-one, I am your guardian. I have the right to go to whichever of the Catalonia estates I want to. And right now, Geneva is the place to be. Things are… interesting. But we'll talk about that after you've cleaned up. I'll even be nice and have dinner delivered to your sitting room- that way you don't have to dress for it… though even your nightgown would be a vast improvement to what you are wearing right now." She sniffed derisively and started for the stairs.

"Mother…" Dorothy called to Emily's retreating back.

Emily paused on the stares, turning around gracefully in a carefully studied movement of dignity. It was a pose designed to draw attention, but Dorothy had seen it before. "Yes?"

"Is he here?"

She didn't need to elaborate further. Emily's current husband, who was her seventh, was not one of Dorothy's favorite people. Duke Nicolas Noventa had always struck her as weak and wishy-washy, and she detested spending time in his company. He was a dandy, and while he was the perfect consort for someone as ambitious as her mother (rich, nobly born, handsome and connected), he had little to recommend him as a person. She considered him an airhead; he considered her an inconvenience. The mutual antipathy made Emily's life trying at times, for the fights between the two people who were supposedly closest to her could erupt in a moment's notice, and were notorious for being ugly.

"Yes. And I will thank you to be courteous. He is your stepfather." 

"One of many," Dorothy muttered, heading for her suite.

The hot water from her shower did much to ease the tension in her muscles, and gave her time to regroup. She hadn't been expecting her mother's presence- she had been planning on merely getting some clean clothes, a decent night's sleep, and a hot meal before heading off to see Relena, for Relena was undoubtedly involved in the political fray. Now, though, the equation had been changed, and she was sure it wasn't a good thing.

She stayed under the hot spray for a good forty-five minutes, until her skin started to wrinkle. Her hair had been washed three times, and she'd scrubbed her skin until it turned red. She wanted A007 off her body permanently. 

Stepping out of the shower, she wrapped a plush towel around her slender body and headed to her dressing room. To her relief, a satin set of pajamas had been set out with a matching silk kimono to go on top. It slid onto her exhausted body easily, and she luxuriated in the sensual feel of the smooth fabric on her skin. For a moment she contemplated skipping supper and headed straight to bed, but avoiding the upcoming confrontation would only serve to annoy Emily. And lord knew that this was going to be difficult enough without Emily feeling like she had been slighted.

Dorothy pulled the bell rope to summon a maid. Normally she did her hair herself, but today the effort of managing it was simply too much for her in her current state. Besides, she had servants to pick up her slack, and they were well-paid to do so. To her relief, it was Rosalie who answered. Rosalie was one of her favorites- a forty-something woman who had served as her nursemaid, confidant, keeper, and now lady's maid. She was confident and had a tart tongue, but could keep anything secret even under the pain of torture- and her loyalty was to the Catalonias, not Emily. Rosalie had always disliked Dorothy's mother, considering her an interloper, a gold digger who had traded on Leon Catalonia's love for her shamelessly.

"Could you do my hair, please?" Dorothy asked.

The woman nodded, picking up a silver comb from the dressing table. She tsked reprovingly when she saw the state of Dorothy's hair. "What have you been doing to your poor hair?" she asked as she liberally doused it with a heavy-duty detangler. 

"The question is what I haven't been doing," Dorothy admitted. "I haven't had time to deal with it properly lately. I've sort of been just knotting it back."

"If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times- if you're going to have knee-length hair, you have to take care of it. Otherwise cut it off."

Dorothy pouted playfully. "I don't wanna!" she declared, putting her hands on her hips the way she had when she had been five years old.

Rosalie laughed and started to work on the ends. "In all honest, you need a trim. The split ends are horrid. If you want, I can arrange to have Georgio come over with his scissors later this week."

"Could you please?"

"In a couple days, then." She was silent for a minute as she pulled through a particularly nasty snarl. "Have you been keeping up to date with your family?"

"It's been hard. I've been a colony away," Dorothy admitted. "From your tone I'm guessing my much-respected mother is up to something?"

"You could say that. She's fallen in with Fatima bint Narish- that women's even been over here a few times, if you can believe it," she said, her tone scathing. "Her Grace has officially declared her support for the Winner trial, and has even gone so far as to suggest that the Preventers be disbanded and replaced with a more… reliable military force with a non-military commander as the Commander-and-Chief."

Dorothy could read between the lines better then most. "A military under the control of the World Nation?"

"Yes. Needless to say, she wasn't happy when she heard that you were with Colonel Peacecraft. Luckily the newsies didn't find out, or else they would have been crawling all over the house. You and your mother's political philosophies don't mix that well."

"Teach me to suck eggs, why don't you?" Dorothy muttered. Rosalie gave her hair a warning tug. "Sorry, Rosalie. It's just that I'm tired, cranky, and in no mood to put up with my mother."

"When are you EVER in the mood to deal with her?" Rosalie asked. "Though I can't say I blame you. That woman could try the patience of a saint."

It took another fifteen minutes to finally run a comb through smoothly, and then they decided to braid it back. When it was done, Dorothy couldn't help but reflect on Duo Maxwell. A small part of her gloated that her braid was longer then his had been.

"I'd better go," Dorothy said reluctantly.

"I'll turn down the bed for you," Rosalie said. "Chin up, child. You're ten times the woman your mother is."

Dorothy smiled in thanks for the compliment and headed to her sitting room.

Emily was sitting on a chair, her skirts carefully arranged around her. She set down the delicate china cup she had been sipping from and studied her daughter. "Much better," she approved after a glance. "That horrid uniform did nothing for you." She gestured at the table, white was set with two platters covered with silver lids. "I had Swenson get us something refreshing for mind and body- you need it. Have you been eating?"

"I eat when I remember to," Dorothy replied, taking the chair across from her mother. All she really wanted was to collapse into her bed, but Emily wasn't about to let her do that. So she might as well make the best of it and eat.

"You're looking thin," Emily said, daintily wrapping a bit of pasta around her fork.

"I have a high metabolism," Dorothy answered, deciding to start on the soup. She was starving, but she doubted her appetite would remain. Her mother had a way of making her forget about things like that.

Emily nodded, and they were silent as they ate for a while. Finally Emily broke it. "I've been patient long enough. Would you please explain to me why you were the Preventers?"

"Because a friend asked me."

"Milliard Peacecraft?" her mother asked. "Still chasing after him like a bitch in heat?"

Dorothy clenched her fist. "You're one to talk. I'm not the one with five ex-husbands."

"Six," her mother corrected calmly. "Tea?" She held out a teapot.

Dorothy accepted by offering her cup, wondering if she could get away with slipping a little arsenic into her mother's. Surely no one could blame her for committing matricide… "Five. Papa died, you didn't divorce him."

The Duchess nodded and continued to eat her pasta. After swallowing, she said, "I must compliment you on your taste. He's well connected, rich, handsome, and royalty to boot. A little bit strong-willed for my liking, but he'll make a wonderful ally on the political field. I was beginning to despair of you, you know."

"Nothing will come of it. We're merely friends," Dorothy replied as she added a little pepper to her soup. Emily liked bland foods, but Dorothy had acquired the taste for spicy foods- the hotter the better. Much like their respective taste in men. She wondered if Milliard even considered them friends anymore. She would like to be his friend... maybe. She had so few of them.

Emily sighed. "Then what were you doing?"

"Classified."

"You can't even tell your own mother?"

"Not when she's one of Fatima's allies. Really, mother," she said in an uncanny mimicry of he mother's earlier irritation, "I thought you had better sense then that. Fatima is one of Une's worst enemies. We need the Preventers now to keep things as stable as possible."

"When they're part of the problem? Right now the general public views them as scapegoats, and supporting them is political suicide." She watched her daughter dip a bit of bread in the soup, frowning. "That's disgusting," she said.

"Tastes better this way," Dorothy retorted as she swallowed, ripping off a larger piece and dunking it with deliberate slowness. "Just because it may not be popular doesn't mean it's not right."

"What do I care about right? It's not good politics..."

Dorothy dropped her food. "What do you believe, then? Personally?" 

Emily shrugged. "What does what I believe in matter? I'm siding with the winner."

The two women glared at each other, neither willing to back down. Emily's lack of principles disgusted Dorothy, and Emily couldn't understand her daughter's ideals.

"What about what's right? What about doing what you believe in? What about standing for yourself. You have so little principles that you let that bint Narish chit dictate what you think?"

Emily's gray-green eyes flashed dangerously. "I don't let anyone "dictate" what I think... I think for myself. Right now Fatima's star is ascendant, or else I would have nothing to do with her. When she falls, I will be there, and I'll scoop up the remains. I've been waiting for an opportunity like this for years- now that the Federation and OZ are gone, the field is wide open for new players."

Dorothy felt rage wash through her. "So it's a game, is it? What about the people who are dying?"

Emily sensed her daughter anger, but didn't comprehend how deeply it ran. "I have nothing to do with that. People die all the time, whether through war, or famine, or old age. I'm not holding a gun to their heads; I'm merely taking advantage of the situation."

Dorothy had to swallow the bile that rose in her throat. "Don't you care?"

Emily's knife cut through the tender veal on her plate like it was made of butter. She chewed on a small piece delicately before washing it down with a sip of wine. "Of course I'd prefer them not to die- I'm not completely heartless, you know. But since they do die, I am merely being an astute politician. Politics is a fascinating game, one you must use every advantage you can find to get ahead. You should know that, dear. It's why I keep telling you to get married- Duchess Dermail will be much more influential then Lady Dorothy Alicia Veronique Catalonia."

"Whatever happened to marrying well? Working behind the scenes? I thought that was your strategy?"

Emily snorted almost rudely. "Nicolas isn't the brightest bulb, but he's exactly what I need right now. A docile husband with a title. The fact that he's handsome doesn't hurt, but I could cope with him even if he was ugly. This time it's going to be me in power- I'm not hiding behind anyone anymore. I've had enough of that. Besides, I'm not getting any younger. You're old enough to make me a grandmother."

Since Emily had pretty much just confessed to Dorothy's own opinion of her, Dorothy couldn't find an argument. Still, having such a conniving, unscrupulous mother infuriated her. "You're a bitch, you know that?"

Emily shrugged. "That makes you a bitch's daughter, and everyone says children learn what they are from their parents."

"I hate you!" Dorothy hissed, unable to think of anything more damaging then that.

"I don't like you much, either. Just because you're my daughter doesn't mean liking goes along with it. I honestly can't understand where you got some of your ideas.... I honestly shouldn't have let your grandfather have you for so long. He warped you."

"If it means I'm not like you, then I'm glad," she retorted, setting her plate aside.

Emily picked up her teacup again and calmly took a drink. "You're too much like your aunt. Every time I see you, you look more and more like Alicia. That woman got herself killed for those pointless ideals that your grandfather brainwashed you to accept. Not only content to ruin his own daughter, he had to warp mine as well."

It all came together for Dorothy at that moment. For the second time in less then a week, she had been compared to a woman she had never met, but one who had had a profound influence on her life... one whom she resembled more than she had realized.

_The dead live on through the children of the living..._

An epiphany... a realization of something she'd been denying for so long that she hadn't even been aware that it existed. 

_Causes don't stop mattering. People do._

"I am not your daughter," Dorothy said calmly. "You may have given birth to me, but that means nothing. You did not raise me; you instilled none of your beliefs into me. I am a Catalonia, something you can never understand. Catalonias understand honor and duty... and know that power must be used for the betterment of all, rather then the service of self." She rose to her feet, leaving Emily searching for words as she headed for her bedroom.

Rosalie was waiting for her. "My Lady, are you all right?" she asked with concern as she help Dorothy slide out of her kimono and into the bed.

All of the sudden the fatigue of days caught up with her, and she realized she was on her last legs. Still, even that knowledge couldn't stop her from smiling. "I'm all right... in fact, I couldn't be better." Then her eyes shut, and she plunged into the most restful sleep she had had since Operation Meteor began.

  
_Go to Dermail side A Daughter's Sacrifice_

  


* * *

  
**Scene VI: Acceleration Towards Destiny**

  


_"All I wanted was a piece of the night;  
I never got an equal share."  
--Jim Steinman, Original Sin_

It was down seven floors through two locked doors and more security alarms that had been set to trigger if someone with the wrong genetic structure even attempted to pass through. When he had been younger, Milliard had wondered about the Khushrenadas' seeming obsession with security, but he was glad of it now. No matter what happened to the mansion, even if it was a nuclear holocaust, whatever was stored down in the lower basement levels would survive.

Whether the owner survived to claim those items was another matter.

He passed the last barrier and placed his hand on the auto-lock mechanism panel beside the heavy lead door. It beeped gently, twice, and there was a click as a lock sprang open. Taking a deep breath, Milliard removed his hand from the identification panel and gave the door a gentle push.

The space behind the door was dark and as the door slammed shut with a resounding bang, he couldn't help feeling a little tingle of fear rush down his spine. The pitch black lasted only for a second. With the sound of the door slamming, there was a humming sound and the automatic lights flickered on with a harsh snap.

He was standing in what could only be described as an underground hangar. The walls and floor of the cavernous space were of cement, and steel beams crisscrossed the high ceiling in a dizzying pattern with various hooks and pulleys attached at regular intervals. Walkways lined all four walls and the hangar doors were set into the middle of the ceiling. Not as large as a regular military hangar, certainly, but it was large enough to comfortably house at least ten mobile suits, or even four or five Gundams.

But he wasn't concerned with any of that now. He hadn't been down here since after the war had ended. He had hoped he wouldn't have to.

It had been almost a week since his fever had broke and he had awoken in his childhood room with the old Greek servant by his side. Dimitrios had been with the Khushrenadas for years, Treize had told him, long before Treize's parents were married and Treize had been born. As the majordomo of the estate he was the one to turn to if anything went wrong, and both Treize and Milliard had grown to trust the old man immensely with any number of important tasks and even secrets. When he'd gotten up this morning, knowing what he had to do, he had considered telling Dimitrios. The old servant had no access to the underground hangar, but perhaps it would be good to let someone else in on what was about to happen.

_Dimitrios?_

Yes, Master Zechs?

Where is my Epyon?

The old servant hadn't known, of course, but Milliard hadn't exactly been in the best state of mind. Every day, when Dimitrios had come into bring him meals or change his bandages or to give him his medicine, he would ask that question.

_Dimitrios? Where is my Epyon?_

And Dimitrios would reply, as if talking to a small child, _I don't know, Master Zechs._

Like most everyone else, Dimitrios believed that Epyon had been destroyed in the last battle of the war, and there was no reason to believe otherwise. Milliard had kept his own survival a secret from the entire world until he'd felt he was ready to show himself, after all. For all anyone knew, his Gundam could have been destroyed along with him.

Three months before he returned to Cinq and Relena, when he had finally decided to go back and see what had become of the mansion that he had inherited from Treize, it had been close to falling into total disrepair. Treize had dismissed all the servants in a fit of…something a few months before the end of the war and had locked up the house and moved out completely. When Milliard had unlocked the gate to enter the grounds, he'd found that the rose bushes that Treize had so loved had grown almost up to the gate, effectively blocking any entry. While it was comforting in the fact that it would deter any would-be-thieves, it was also a damned inconvenience for him. He'd resorted to using his sword to whack off the largest chunks of rosebush so he could squeeze past the gate, leaving them lying like discarded rubble on the entry path.

The grounds inside the walls weren't much better, and neither was the inside of the mansion itself. The front door's hinges had rusted and as he entered, he could have sworn he heard the pattering feet of rats or mice scurrying off back into their holes, suddenly evicted from the domain that had been theirs for the past year. All the furniture and the floors were covered with dust and rat droppings, and there were holes in the sofas and bedspreads and curtains where various vermin had unraveled loose strings and carried them off to line their nests.

In the dining room, on the long, mahogany table, there was a single cup of coffee. Someone had drunk half of it and then left it there, and there was green and white mold growing on what was left of the brown liquid inside.

Somehow though, looking at that coffee cup, Milliard had felt that Treize was right there with him. Perhaps that coffee had been Treize's last meal here.

He'd spent the next month fixing up the mansion. He wasn't particularly fond of home improvement or gardening, but he knew enough about it to be decent, and most of it simply involved tearing down and wiping off, or, in the case of the wild garden, snipping and whacking. At night, he'd build up the fire until it crackled high and bright in the fireplace, and then he'd sit in one of the overstuffed armchairs with a stack of selected books he had taken from Treize's overstuffed library, and read the night away, stopping only when he was so tired that he couldn't hold his eyes open anymore.

It wasn't exactly an ideal life, but he was happy there, and it kept his mind off other things.

Such as the war.

Such as the kingdom that he'd betrayed and the sister whom he'd left.

Such as Lucrezia Noin.

Such as the man who had started and ended everything. As far was he was concerned, there was only one man.

Strange…they'd only been a few years apart in age, but Treize had always been like the father he had never had.

But the most important thing he had done during that month was hidden in the massive underground hangar that lay under the Khushrenada mansion. The hangar had been there, Treize had said, as long as he could remember, and no one had ever used it. He knew that Treize had stored Tallgeese there for a few weeks during the war, and that was what gave him the idea.

In this age of peace, Epyon was useless…but destroying it would be to rip out a piece of him that wasn't quite dead. So he did the next best thing.

He hid it.

He hadn't told anyone, not even Dimitrios, whom he'd decided to seek out during the last week of his stay there. The old man had taken the news of his mysterious survival calmly, though Milliard could see that he was a bit bewildered, and perhaps even a little convinced that he was seeing a ghost.

_Will you look after the house for me, he'd asked, while I'm gone?_

Dimitrios had loved that house, and Milliard of all people could only imagine how the old servant had felt when Treize had dismissed him. There were a few other servants that Milliard would have liked to call back, but he had not the time, and he'd told Dimitrios to look them up.

He didn't say a word about Epyon.

So it was no small wonder that the old man thought that perhaps the incident on A007 had injured Milliard more than it appeared, for him to be asking so insistently after something that didn't exist anymore, but as the fever came and went, he knew that it was here. The memory was not, however. Everything that had happened before A007, everything that had happened before she had died was fuzzy and indistinct, growing fainter and fainter the farther he tried to go back. The only thing he could see was her face and the burning rubble of melted and twisted metal.

He'd awakened on the fourth day feeling well enough to get out of bed, and as he had paused beside the door, his hand on the doorframe, he had remembered. And because his mind was clear now, he knew what he had to do.

Milliard had come close to telling Dimitrios at breakfast, and then during the interval afterwards when his wound was being dressed with the day's fresh bandage. But somehow he couldn't. He'd look at the kindly, wrinkled face, open his mouth, and then feel the ghosts of Treize and Noin looking down on him, staring at him accusingly.

This was something he had to do alone.

He took a deep breath and crossed to the right side of the hangar, where a number of various sliding metal doors, closed and locked, were built into the wall. There was another control panel in between the third and fourth doors, but the standby light on this was unlit. Stopping in front of it, he stared at it, burning the image of it into his eyes until he could memorize every crack of the metal scanning board, every curved and straight line that ran up into the mechanical framework underneath the smooth, deceptive covering of the device. Raised his hand slowly and placed it firmly on the panel.

The panel hummed and the light blinked red and then green. He felt a flash of heat under his hand as it activated and then it fell silent.

With a slow grinding, the doors began to open.

He closed his eyes, seeing the image of her face imprinted on the surface of his eyelids. Seeing her smile at him.

"I'm sorry, Noin," he said. "Forgive me."

The grinding came to a halt and he opened his eyes slowly, as if afraid of what he might find, but behind each open door there were only crates and metal boxes and chests upon chests of…something. He sighed.

Might as well.

Most of the crates and boxes were on automated carts, but that required him to start the carts and drive each of them out into the center of the hangar floor. He'd forgotten how much trouble it had taken him to store all of them inside the doors, and when he had finished, he looked out at the mess of boxes and wondered if it was worth the trouble.

_Without you, Zechs, OZ ends up allowing worthless actions by worthless people._

What do I do, Treize? he wondered silently, staring at the carts and boxes and crates as if their contents would spill out and magically rearrange themselves back in the order in which they were meant to be. _Where do I go? What have I become? Who am I?_

Open up, Zechs. You're hiding far too many secrets.

The memory of her was like an open wound, still bloody, still too fresh even to fester. He'd never even told her that he loved her, and she was gone.

_If…something happens to me, I don't want you to grieve. To regret…anything. That's happened between us._

His words to her, and yet they'd come eerily true . He heard her voice on the comm, between the bursts of fire and the explosions, say just one word. One word, before she'd headed into the inferno which had become her grave.

_Zechs._

"I did love you, you know," he said to the empty hangar. "I loved you, Lucrezia. I did." Hearing the echoes of his voice come back to him. "I did," he said in a small whisper, feeling his knees give out beneath him and he fell to the ground, staring at the blank, gray, concrete, as if it would somehow comfort him.

_Zechs_, she had said, not knowing that she would never have the chance to tell him anything else, but that in itself spoke volumes.

_Is that my name?_ he wondered, as he pushed himself to his feet, carefully unpacked the ancient tool chest he'd found in the back of the storage unit, laying the tools straight, parallel, side by side. _Treize, help me…_

He straightened, went to the first crate, and pried open the top with a crowbar. It was full of metal scraps, as was the next one, and the next one, and the next one. He wondered why he'd ever even thought of taking Eypon apart. He could have left it here in the hangar, whole and safe, awaiting his return.

_Because I thought that maybe…maybe there was the chance I wouldn't need to use it again._

The largest box was a steel container set upon a large flatbed mechanical sled, and he had to pry that one apart with the mechanical drill, making the incisions at the right point so that when he released his hold, the front side of the box simply dropped away and fell to the hangar floor with an ear-splitting crash. He'd almost been afraid of what might have happened to the contents of this container, even though there was no possible way anything could have touched the inside in a sealed environment such as this, but…

It was almost with a shock of relief that he looked up and saw the great head of Epyon silently staring back him from inside. The rest of the Gundam was in pieces in the crates scattered around the hangar, but this he had kept intact. He held the drill in his limp hand, staring at the haunting features of the machine which had become almost human to him, and then hesitantly set it gently down on the floor, reached out and fiddled with the wiring, pushing the small emergency switch on the side of the box.

The green eyes of the Gundam lit with a sharp pinging noise, and the green luminescence flooded the hangar, a tiny room compared to the vastness of space.

_As long as mankind exists in this world, there will always be war._

"Is that true, Treize?" he said, placing a hand on the side of Epyon's face, wondering at how dwarfed, how small, how insignificant he was compared to this machine of mass destruction, and wondering just how he had come to be here.

_The value of life versus war is something you can't even compare!_

Which one was right? he wondered. Noin or Treize? The angel or the devil? Or perhaps Treize hadn't been so much of a devil after all.

"To me," he said softly, "you were angels. Both of you."

And he looked straight into Epyon's glowing eyes and took a deep breath.

"I'll do it, Treize," he said, feeling very much like a traitor returning home, asking for forgiveness. "I'll go back…I'll finish what you started. Can I…can I still do that? Even after so long? You believed in me…I failed you. I failed you both."

_I won't let your deaths be for nothing...I'll take back what I threw away. When the Libra was destroyed, I should have died. Milliard Peacecraft should have died._

He saw that now, that there was never a Milliard Peacecraft, that there never had been, because Milliard Peacecraft had died in that last battle in space, along with Treize Khushrenada, and all that was left was the mask. But that didn't matter, because he was a ghost now just like them, and they were counting on him to set things right. That last battle, which should have accomplished so much, meant nothing at all in the grand scheme of time. There would be continue to be war, and people would continue to die. And he wouldn't let that happen, because they had believed in him, and he couldn't let them down.

They had believed in Zechs Merquise.

_I'm sorry, Relena. I couldn't be what you wanted me to be after all._

Epyon seemed to stare accusingly at him, and he squared his shoulders, picked up the mechanical drill from the ground and addressed the Gundam.

"My name is Zechs Merquise," he said. And smiled. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

  


* * *

  
**Scene VII: Phantoms of the Waking Day**

  


_"Maybe there's a God above,  
And all I ever learned from love  
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you."  
--Rufus Wainwright, Hallelujah_

  
Helena had been asleep for at least half an hour against Shinobu's right side when he finally got up the courage to gently place her head back on the headrest behind her and stand up to stretch and use the restroom. Across the shuttle, Hilde and Duo were also asleep. The young pilot, who was so vibrant in waking, was slumped bonelessly against the seat back, exhaustion showing in the lines of his face. Hilde was snuggled up against him, but she looked peaceful. Safe.

He looked down at Helena. Her mouth was slightly open and there were red marks on her cheek from where he face had been pressed up against his shoulder. Wisps of fine blond hair fell across chin and fluttered in the slight exhale of air from her lips. He almost reached out a finger to brush them away, then realized what he was doing and snatched his hand back, heading to the back of the shuttle, closing the door of the bathroom and leaning against it to stare up at the ceiling.

_What was I thinking?_

He'd always considered himself a noble person, had tried to be, no matter what his family had said. There was more to life than the scheming and the squabbling and the occasional feuding that went on with the cartel, and that was why he had left L1. Cliffside had been a breath of fresh air, and he would have been content to stay there forever. Compared to the Breaks, the little dramas between students were like heaven to him, and he had vowed never to go back to the Black Diamond. That he would do everything in his power to sever the ties between him and that organization that called itself his family, that he would grow up and go out and make an honest living.

He'd broken his promise when he had asked his grandfather for help.

Granted, Duo had needed that information, and there wasn't any other way he could have gone about getting it, but it burned at him. It was like stooping to a criminal level. He knew his grandfather had been surprised. Their last parting had ended badly, and it had been almost two years since they had spoken, and he knew that his grandfather would ask something of him in return for the information. And he did it anyway, because Duo was his friend, but still, it burned.

And now here he was, having spent a few days close to a pretty girl who he hadn't even really known before all this happened. A pretty girl who happened to be someone else's girlfriend, who was still grieving for the loss of the boy she had loved and who would never look at him in that way, even if he were to tell her. He wasn't even sure when it had happened…perhaps he hadn't even realized it when he'd started thinking of her like this. All he knew was that this was happening too quickly, and it frightened him.

This was even lower than crime…it was like petty thievery. Chronic petty thievery, because he couldn't get her out of his mind.

When he emerged out of the bathroom, he found that Helena was awake, staring out the window at the sunlit clouds out the shuttle porthole, and he sat down by her wordlessly. His stomach did a little flip when she turned to smile at him.

"It's beautiful outside!" she said. The sunlight accented the blue of her eyes and he could barely restrain himself from blurting out something he would regret. Instead, he nodded and looked out the porthole and the scudding clouds beneath.

Footsteps sounded from the cockpit and Sally emerged, looking tired. "We're almost there," she said. "A few more minutes and we'll be over Geneva." Gesturing to Duo and Hilde. "You might want to wake those two up."

"I'm awake," Duo said in a deadpan voice, though his eyes were still closed and he hadn't moved since the shuttle had taken off.

Shinobu expected Sally to say something in response, but she simply turned as if she hadn't heard him and slammed the door to the cockpit. Duo's eyes opened and he stared at the door. "Geez, what's wrong with her?" he wondered.

"It has been a long journey," Shinobu said quietly. "She is maybe tired."

"Definitely tired, you mean," said Duo, reached out a hand to shake Hilde softly awake. "Hil? Hey love, time to get up." Hilde mumbled something and buried her face a little deeper into Duo's chest, making him laugh softly. Shinobu turned away. 

Ridiculous…he wasn't jealous of Duo and Hilde. He couldn't be.

A soft hand on his shoulder made him jump. "You ok?" Helena said worriedly.

"Yes," he replied shortly. "Fine."

"Are you sure?"

He allowed himself a nod, then gently shrugged her hand away from him. "We should put on our seatbelts," he said. "We are landing soon."

"That's my man," Duo said, grinning. "Always prepared. So serious. But I guess he's got a deadly side too, huh?" Shinobu made a non-committal grunt, and Duo grinned even wider. "You know," he began, then a spasm crossed his face and he fell silent.

"What?" Hilde wondered groggily, and he patted her absently.

"I was just gonna say that Shin reminds me of someone."

"Who?" Helena said, now interested.

"I forgot," Duo said roughly and pushed himself to his feet. "I gotta go use the bathroom."

As the bathroom door slammed, the three of them looked at each other, and Hilde sighed.

The click of the intercom brought them out of their thoughts, and Sally's voice filtered into the cabin. "We're approaching Geneva. When we drop down out of the clouds in just a moment, you can see the city out the windows. We'll be landing at the Preventers' Base in about ten minutes, so be sure to buckle up. Duo, get out of the bathroom. You've been in there for five minutes."

Helena and Hilde were still snickering when an affronted-looking Duo emerged back out into the cabin, water dripping from his hair and face. "Hey, a guy needs his beauty prep time, you know?"

Shinobu turned to look out the window, feeling the shuttle drop in altitude. As they passed through some clouds, the sunlight vanished for a moment and then reappeared. Beside him, Helena made a little "ooh!" sound of wonder.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Duo said, sounding impressed. "Oh, look! That must be the base."

Shinobu and Helena hurried over to peer out of the portholes on Duo's side of the shuttle. The city of Geneva lay beneath them, not sprawling and obese like most large cities, but surprisingly neat and compact, almost exquisitely refreshing in its layout. Shinobu guessed that the square block located a little off-center, with what looked like a large tower jutting from the middle, was the base.

He knew he was right when the shuttle banked a little to the left and began to descend. Landing pads and buildings came into view, tiny at first and then larger, condensing from square building blocks and pieces of cardboard into large, imposing structures even from the air. They could hear the pilot from inside the cockpit communicating with the radio control tower. The shuttle flew in low and fast, circling once before settling with perfect precision onto the landing pad.

"There sure is a lot of security here," Hilde observed. Shinobu peered out the window again, for the first time registering the light armored vehicles and uniformed personnel that stood armed and silent in a ring around the pad.

The cockpit door slid open again. "This is it," Sally said. "Let me get off first, and when I signal, Duo comes first and the rest of you follow."

"Why me first?" Duo objected, "These guys need to get out of here…it's me that those guys are here for, right?"

"Which is why," Sally said, "they need to see that you're indeed you before any of the others get off. No objections?" Duo opened his mouth but she ignored him. "Good. Don't do anything stupid while I'm out there." The hatch opened and sunlight flooded the compartment, and then it slammed shut again.

Duo blew out a breath. "Mattaku."

Shinobu smiled, then blinked as Duo tapped him on the shoulder. The two girls were absorbed in staring out the window, and he didn't object as the American boy pulled him to one side. He felt something cold and smooth being pressed into his hand, looked down and saw it was a pistol.

"Take this," Duo said in a low voice in Japanese. "It might come in handy."

"You don't trust the Preventers?" Shinobu wondered.

Duo gave a short laugh. "At this point, Shin, I don't trust anyone."

He nodded and tucked the gun into his boot with expert ease, noting the lack of a surprised expression on Duo's face. Obviously, Duo had picked up on the fact that Shinobu was definitely not what he seemed, and he seemed to be fine with that. Shinobu smiled at him reassuringly as they rejoined the girls at the window.

They watched as Sally was greeted by an older man with general's stars on his shoulders. The minutes ticked by and the four inside the shuttle began to lose interest in the proceedings as Sally and the general stood there, apparently having a heated discussion of some sort. Duo yawned, starting to turn away from the window, and Hilde slapped him lightly.

"Pay attention, baka! She'll be calling you out in a minute."

"I hate politics," Duo mumbled, just as the conversation seemed to come to an end and Sally gestured over her shoulder. "I guess that's me."

The hatch slid open and they watched as Duo reappeared outside and walked over to the general, then Shinobu stood and followed him, grabbing his bags.

It was very warm but not hot, a few degrees cooler than it had been the last time Duo had stepped outside in China to look for Wufei, and there was a pleasant breeze. He could hear Duo conversing pleasantly, if a bit shortly, with the general. Sally watched as the three of them came across the landing pad in a huddle, then waved them over.

"This is General Brown," Sally said, gesturing to the tall, white-haired general, who bowed. "General, friends of Duo's. Hilde Schbeiker, Helena Rosenbaum, and Matsuura Shinobu."

Shinobu saw the general arch an eyebrow when she mentioned his name, but there was no other reaction in his face except for a friendly smile. "Pleased to meet you," he said pleasantly. "I get the feeling you'll be seeing a lot of me in the near future."

From the corner of his eye he saw Sally frown at the general's words, but at that moment, Duo jumped in.

"Oi…I'm sure this is nice and all, but didn't you say that the rest of the gang's here? Heero and the rest?" Brown nodded, and Duo crossed his arms in front of him, looking stubborn. "I'd like to see them, before we do anything else."

"I'm afraid that's impossible, at least for the time being," Sally said. "We need to figure out what to do with your Gundams."

Duo set his jaw and Shinobu knew that meant the beginning of a long and exhausting argument, but before the other boy could open his mouth, Hilde crossed over to Duo and touched him lightly on the shoulder. "Sally's right," she said. "This time I'm the one to say it…you need to make sure your Gundam and Wing Zero are safe before you do anything else. We risked so much to get them."

He stared at her for a second, then nodded reluctantly. "Fine." To Sally, "where are we storing them?"

She nodded at General Brown, who offered Duo a sympathetic smile. "It was short notice, but we managed to commission one of the smaller hangars for you. It's classified, of course." He gestured around at the security personnel. "All these people are specialized security maintenance crews who normally work on our state-of-the-art classified projects. They'll be taking care of your Gundams."

"Taking care?" Duo echoed.

Brown nodded. "Well, your Gundams have been neglected on the Colony for more than a year now, so before we store them away, I think it's best we do a maintenance check on them. We need you on hand to help out."

"Maintenance check?" Duo said, now sounding a little stunned and not at all pleased. "But Deathscythe Hell and Wing Zero have been through a lot worse and come out fine…they haven't even been used at all. I'm sure they're-"

"As a precaution," General Brown said. "It's standard procedure here, and you are on a Preventers' Base."

Once again Hilde nudged Duo. "You better do what he says," she whispered.

"How long will this…'maintenance check' take?" he wondered, sounding suspicious.

Sally sighed. "Duo, I swear that your friends are safe and sound on base. It's not a trap. We need these Gundams stored safely away in perfect condition so that they can be activated at a moment's notice. It's not a game anymore, Duo…this is war all over again. You of all people should know and accept that."

"Wing Zero is Heero's Gundam," Duo persisted stubbornly. "Shouldn't he be on hand to supervise it?"

A shadow crossed over Brown's face and he exchanged looks with Sally. "That wouldn't be…advisable right now, I don't think."

"What do you mean?" Duo demanded. But Brown had already gestured to some of the personnel, who were moving towards the shuttle and the cargo compartment in the back. "Hey! I want an answer!"

"Duo!" Sally said sharply. "Show some respect, to him as an elder at least, even if you don't respect his rank!"

But Brown shook his head. "It's all right, Sally. If I were in his place, I would be thinking the exact same thing."

"I doubt it," Duo muttered under his breath, and Hilde elbowed him warningly, then turned to Brown.

"General…if it's all right, I'd like to go with Duo to help check out the Gundams."

"That's a good idea," Sally said. "Brown, take Hilde with you. She could be of help."

Brown nodded and motioned to them. Shinobu watched as the Gundams were lifted out of the cargo hatch by a crane and then transported carefully to flatbed trucks and covered. "All right then. Hopefully this won't take more than a few hours, and then you can go find your friends."

Duo waved a despondent goodbye and climbed into one of the trucks with Hilde tagging along behind him, and the engines roared to life, swinging off the landing pad and onto the road beyond. Shinobu glanced at Sally, who seemed lost in thought, then to Helena, who looked frightened.

"General Po?" he began, but Sally's eyes focused and her head shot up.

"Who's in command here?" she called out to the remaining security troops. One of them stepped forward and saluted. 

"I am, ma'am."

"Kindly send two of your troops to escort the young man and young lady to their guest rooms." She fixed Shinobu and Helena with a glance that, while not threatening, was not kind. "You two, under no circumstances are you to reveal why or with whom you came here. You got that?" Helena nodded frantically and Shinobu longed to put an arm around her to calm her. Outwardly, she was calm and composed, but he could tell that she was scared.

He had hoped to catch her alone after they were shown to their rooms, but Helena had bid him a good day, saying that she was tired and needed sleep. The guard that had taken them to their quarters had given them a map of the base, an intercom number to call in case of emergency, and a mealcard and schedule of mealtimes. If they needed anything else, he said, they were to go to the front desk of the building they were in, and someone would help them.

Shinobu took a long-awaited shower and then sat down on the edge of his bed, staring at the curtained window. He had thought that being on a military base would be an adventure, but so far it wasn't turning out to be much of one. Sighing, he slipped his feet into his old tennis shoes and headed outside. They hadn't forbidden him from going anywhere, and he was going to take advantage of the freedom that he had.

Turning left from the front door of the lodging building, he headed down the sidewalk, his thoughts on Sally and Duo. He hadn't known Sally for very long, but even he could tell that her demeanor had shifted suddenly when they had landed. It was as if she was impatient about something, or perhaps worried, the way she had kept throwing glances at Brown. Perhaps she'd gotten new orders that she hadn't told them about?

He almost smacked himself mentally for that thought. Of course she'd most likely gotten orders that they knew nothing about. He and the other members of Cliffside were just civilian teenagers, after all, and military secrets were military secrets. He thought of Duo, thought of the shadows in the violet eyes and the strange fate that had led their paths to cross each other.

It was getting towards late afternoon and he was growing hungry, and according to the map, the dining hall was just a block away. He crossed the street, glancing around him at the base, so clean and new, as if the entire thing was a sculpture made of white stone. Were all military installations like this? he wondered. The design was linear and spare and almost austere, but with an underlying noble beauty. He'd always loved architecture, had even considered it as a career while he was at Cliffside. 

He'd never be an architect now, but it was still a fond dream.

Entering the dining hall, Shinobu stuffed the map into his pocket and set about ordering food. The hall was built along the lines of a school cafeteria, so he found it easy to navigate, and the people behind the counter waited patiently as he mulled over the English-labeled menu choices. His English was much better now than it had been even half a year ago, but ordering in English still proved a challenge sometimes.

He'd gotten his meal and was turning away from the drink fountain carrying his glass of water over to his tray when he felt someone collide into his left side. His hand shook and dropped the glass. It fell to the ground, shattering, and he jumped, backed up a few steps, looking around for the culprit.

The boy was about his age, with dark skin but decidedly Asian features, slim almost to the point of frail thinness, but there was a strength and agility about him that belied that assumption. "I'm sorry," Shinobu offered, seeing that the other wasn't going to be the first to offer an apology. A young airman emerged on the scene with a broom and dustpan, motioning for them to step out of the way while he swept up the mess, and the dark-skinned boy shook his head an muttered what seemed to be something along the lines of "It's ok."

"I am new here," Shinobu began, wondering what a boy like that would be doing on base, but the boy shook his head at him in confusion.

"No English," he said, and Shinobu blinked. That was a Japanese accent if he had ever heard one.

"You speak Japanese?" he asked in his native language, and was rewarded with a nod. He grinned and stuck out his hand. This might actually not be so bad. "Nice to meet you. Matsuura Shinobu."

To his surprise, the boy glanced at his outstretched hand as if it were a snake waiting to bite him, then shook it guardedly. "Call me Darkflight," he said, and Shinobu raised an eyebrow.

"Darkflight?"

"Yeah."

He didn't seem to be very talkative, but he spoke Japanese, was probably the only person around who did so at the moment, and Shinobu wasn't about to let him go that lightly. "So where are you from?"

"L1," the boy called Darkflight said shortly. "Just got here yesterday."

Shinobu laughed lightly. "I just arrived this afternoon, myself. Where in L1 are you from?"

"Nosy, aren't you?" the boy said darkly. "If you must know, I'm from the Breaks. That help any?"

Shinobu froze. "The Breaks?" he said, cautiously.

"That's what I said the first time. You deaf?"

"You don't have to be so angry," Shinobu said, trying to stay calm. Perhaps talking to this boy was a bad idea. "I was only being polite."

"Well, save it." The boy's dark eyes were angry, the mixed African and Japanese features grim with an emotion he couldn't name.

African and Japanese?

A nagging suspicion crept into his mind, and he put on hand on the boy's shoulder. "Where in the Breaks?"

Darkflight's shoulder muscle tensed, and for a moment Shinobu thought he was going to start a fist fight right there in the dining hall, but he only shrugged his shoulder out of Shinobu's grasp and walked away without an answer. Shinobu stared after him as the door swung closed behind him, then grabbed his tray of food and sliding into an available seat without really paying attention to what he was doing.

There were few people of African descent in the Breaks, fewer even with mixed blood of any kind, much less mixed African and Asian. Of course, there was always the odd immigrant or two, but all in all, it was rare. Except in one certain case.

Shinobu finished his dinner in ten minutes, gulping down his water and dashing out of the dining hall. Back at the front desk of his building, he asked if there was a computer lab he could use.

"Certainly," the lady behind the counter said in a kind voice. "Straight down this hallway, the first right turn. It'll be the second room on your left."

"Thank you," he breathed, heading down the hall in a brisk trot.

The computer was a decent one loaded with only the most basic programs, but that was no obstacle. He was on the network in less than a minute, flying past various level one Holes and Bugs set in place by low-level hackers. Shinobu didn't consider himself to be an expert in the field, but he was good enough to usually get what he was looking for, and in this instance, what he was looking for could only be found on the Black Diamond Cartel's private network.

His grandfather wasn't a believer in storing vital information in places where anyone could access them, but his father had convinced the stubborn man that in certain cases, it would be beneficial, such as to agents who needed information quickly but had no access to a proper communication terminal. The network was still virtually inaccessible to other hackers, even top-level hackers, though there had been break-ins once or twice, but it wasn't really a worry. There was no classified cartel information stored on the network, but there were certain things on there that could be of use.

With a few strokes of the keys, he was in. Hopefully, he would be in and out before the server managed to unravel the encryption code he'd placed on the computer. If that happened, it would leave an identification stamp on the network, indicating access from an unauthorized computer, though the stamp would point to a military computer and not to Shinobu personally. Still, better safe than sorry. He scrolled down, tapping keys quickly and quietly, hoping no one would come into the lab and catch him at work, though there was little chance of repercussions even if someone did, because the information on the network was all in Japanese.

_Got it!_

SHIONJI KOUHITO, the text scrolled down the screen. AC ? - AC 173. There was no picture, but Kouhito's features were easily recognizable to every last member of the Black Diamond cartel. Shinobu scrolled past the few statistics that the network had on the man. Kouhito had been the brother of the last Shionji Cartel leader, Shionji Toburo, and he'd also been the one personally responsible for the downfall of the Shionji drug empire. Shinobu hadn't relished memorizing the cartel history when he had been younger, but now it might actually be of use.

TOKAGAWA MALAKANI, SECOND WIFE, the text read. MIXED AFRICAN-JAPANESE DESCENT. DECEASED AC 163.

He bit his lip, then hit the keys to instruct the computer to run a network search. The box came up on the screen and he thought for a moment more, then typed carefully. OPERATION ARES PROTOTYPE TESTING

The screen went blank and then blinked. NO RESULTS FOUND.

Shinobu sighed. It had been worth an effort, but he should have known that they wouldn't place that information on the network. Shionji Kouhito had been involved in the genetic superman testing that the Black Diamond cartel had sponsored back in the 130's, and though the project had failed, the Black Diamond Cartel had long suspected there had been some survivors. It was only after the project's failure that word had leaked out that it had been sponsored by the colonial resistance group that called themselves Operation Meteor. With that in the open, the cartel had drawn back, breaking any ties they ever had with the project and denying their involvement. When he had grown a little older, his grandfather had imparted to him the basics of the project, warning him never to become involved with the military in any way, shape, or form.

_They'll as soon cut your throat as take your help,_ Seki Hikaru had warned him. _Remember that, or else you'll end up dead._

But that was not the reason he was searching for information on the project now. The myth circulating among the members of the Black Diamond was that the Shionji cartel had fallen because it had impure blood. Because one of their members had married an outsider, a non-Japanese, and had bred impure heirs. As a result, they had been destroyed. Shinobu wasn't one to believe in ethnocentric fairy tales, but Shionji Kouhito _had_ married a mixed African-Japanese woman as a second wife, and he had had two children by her. Neither of them had been in direct line for the succession of the cartel, but the eldest, a girl, had been killed by her siblings when the succession quarrels broke out in AC 173, and the younger boy had disappeared years earlier.

It was the boy he was concerned about.

Shinobu put his fingers to the keys, eyes hardening. If his hunch was correct, which he suspected it was, it might lead to some interesting times. The boy Darkflight was from the Breaks, L1. He'd said that himself. He was gaunt and underfed and had the telltale marks on his arms, which meant that he'd been living on the streets for some time. He was obviously not pureblood Japanese. Of course, for all Shinobu knew, there could be hundreds of homeless African-Japanese drug addicts roaming the streets of the Breaks since he'd moved out, but he doubted it. Besides, why else would such a boy be here, in Geneva, at this time?

Something was going on, and he was going to figure out what before anything worse happened. He didn't necessarily love his family, but it was his duty to protect them, and it was his duty as a friend to protect Duo. This Darkflight was far too young to be the missing boy himself, but if he was even a descendant of the son of Shionji Kouhito, he would have to be…disposed of.

He put his fingers to the keys, but before he could begin typing in the next search, there was a rustle at the door. He froze, then was out of his chair and in a combat crouch in the next second before he could even think, gun in hand with the safety off, pointed up. "Don't move," he growled, "or I'll kill you!"

He heard a startled gasp and then looked up to see Helena backing out of the doorway, a hand to her mouth.

"Wait!" he shouted, as Helena made a sound like a strangled sob and disappeared from view. "Helena! I-!"He could hear her running footsteps down the hallway and swore, lapsing back into Japanese, flinging himself back into the computer chair and logging off, picking up the gun and dashing into the hallway.

"Helena? Helena?"

She must have run outside, he realized, and cursed himself for not thinking, for being so involved in his work that he had forgotten his surroundings. Her best friend was missing, perhaps dead, her boyfriend had deserted her, and she was alone in an unfamiliar base with unfamiliar, even frightening circumstances. And the one person who she had remotely trusted had just threatened to kill her.

He should never have let Duo give him the gun.

He was out the door of the building and halfway down the front walk when the explosions began.

  
_Go to Heero side Scars_

  


* * *

  
**Scene VIII: The Diamond Age**

  


_"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."  
--Semisonic, Closing Time_

  
She'd checked that the security camera was still off before donning the goggles, but she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her.

She'd finished her work early that day, and Une was in another staff meeting, so she wouldn't be bothered. Yet as Li maneuvered carefully past some of the top-level Holes in the system, she wished for once that she wasn't on the network. This time her task wasn't to set a Bug or collect information or even to patrol the area. This time her mission was linked irrevocably to her own position in the non-virtual world, and she didn't like that.

Data connection ports and blinking boxes signifying security keyholes moved past her at a slower rate than she was used to while traversing the network, but she was taking her time, as if on a leisurely stroll through the virtual domain that every good hacker this side of the galaxy knew that she owned. Though of course, they knew her by another name. Still, it was good to know that she was still in fine form. No upstart young computer genius would be taking her title away from her anytime soon.

She skated past several Bugs designed to trap any unsuspecting young acolyte, placing her mark on them in passing to warn whoever had set those that it was not to be tolerated. If they were still there the next time she came through, there would be no mercy. A virtual network on this plane, she maintained, was not for fun and games. People who were here because they had nothing better to do needed to take their simulations and petty revenge elsewhere.

A message drone flashed by, searching for someone's IP address to deliver a message. Li watched curiously, wondering if it was perhaps a message for her, but it passed her without a second glance and she sighed. Things had been very quiet around here lately. She had to wonder if it was the current Gundam crisis that had suddenly caused the network rats to become extra careful about the footprints they left. Whatever the case, many of the most active Holes had suddenly gone into hibernation, and some of them had disappeared altogether.

Which was not making her job any easier.

Wearing the goggles while surfing the network was an interesting experience, since the visualization mode, usually programmed exclusively for work within Holes and not out of them, could be tampered with to produce some unusual effects. Li had worked on hers for months until she'd come up with a visualization option that made it seem as if she was underwater in a sea of transparent liquid mercury. Holes were giant sparkles of silver light, while Bugs were dark spots, quivering black holes. Data transmissions were beautiful diamond bubbles rising and falling from the surface of the mercury ocean to the endless abyss beneath. 

Li usually preferred to tread the middle ground in her ocean of mercury, though sometimes if she was feeling particularly ruthless, she'd venture down several levels into where the ocean became deep and dark, where the scum of the earth and the colonies dwelt and dealt their private business of life and death far beneath the shimmering universe of a normal hacker. Today was one of those days. She wasn't feeling ruthless or even adventurous, but work was work, and she'd been given an assignment.

She just hoped that someone would be crazy enough to take her up on it.

The waters were quite dark and murky by the time she had gone down far enough levels to be sure that the people here had what she was looking for. The Holes were no longer shimmering pools of light but skeletal structures placed upon floating platforms, pyramids of bone-like fragments topped with grinning skulls, crooked, crumbling buildings around which Bugs flitted like bats. It was hard not to be impressed with these structures, which had obviously been constructed with the visualization goggles in mind, advanced to the point that their visualization matrices superseded and neutralized those of her own goggles, making her see what they wanted her to see.

She'd only spoken with the inhabitants of the Dungeons, as they liked to call their home on the network, a few times before, but they'd always been very helpful, even polite, which she hadn't expected from people like them. They held disdain for the term "hacker," preferring to be called "splicers" or "runners," referring to their real-life counterparts who made their living in the narcotics trade. The Runners' drug was the network itself, more powerful and addicting and deadly than any solid substance.

Li slowed her pace and then stopped, looking around at the encircling Holes, each smiling mockingly at her with empty eyes, wondering which one was best for her first gamble. She'd taken two steps towards a smaller one on her right when she suddenly saw digital streaks of light flash before her eyes, which meant that someone was Pulling her, hacking her goggles and trying to force her into one of their Holes without her permission.

Ridiculous…she hadn't been Pulled since her first six months on the network years ago. Before she could even begin to figure out what had gone wrong and how anyone could have found a weak point in her already enhanced goggle system, the black mercury ocean had disappeared and she found herself in Hell.

It wasn't really Hell, but a realistic enough simulation of Hell to make her think for a second that she'd somehow dropped into a storybook. The jagged ground, a nightmare mass of ridges and craters, appeared to be solid enough, but shone as if coated with a sheen of the same liquid mercury that made up her network ocean. Walls of fire roared from the ground up, changing direction midway through the air and suddenly shooting sideways or diagonal, creating shimmering distortions of reflection onto the wet rock-like surface beneath her feet. At first she ducked whenever a tongue of fire spiraled her way, but after a few attempts, she found that the flames crackling around her were curiously cool to the touch. She walked forward cautiously, changing her appearance several times, debating whether to be human or android before settling for a cybernetic-type body visualization, complete with headgear and a deadly looking gun tucked into a holster at her hip.

"Hello, stranger," someone said from behind her in Japanese.

She spun around to see a monstrous spider-like creature waddling towards her on sixteen legs, bulbous eyes fixed on her with a beady stare. Resisting the urge to grimace at the sight, she took a deep breath.

"I'm looking for Masamune," she said.

The spider peered at her. "And who might you be?"

"Tell him," she said quietly, "that Aidoru wants to speak with him." She smiled grimly. "He should know I'm here."

The spider waved one antenna but otherwise made no other sign of recognition at the name. She watched as it scuttled off, wondering what in the world would make anyone want to choose a visualization like that. The hellfire cast strange glows on her metal bodysuit and she reached behind her to smooth down her hair, finally giving up and making it disappear with another quick command.

"Aidoru," a voice said gravely.

This time when she turned around, she found herself staring at a sixteenth-century Japanese samurai in complete battle gear, standing with his arms crossed. The flickering firewall behind him made for impressive contrast.

"You are Masamune?" she said.

The samurai nodded. "I have heard much of you, though I must admit it is a little startling to meet you in person. Or as in person as we may achieve here." He laughed softly at his own joke and she stared impassively at him. If her stare fazed him, he didn't show it. "How may I help the lord of the network domain?"

"I'm hardly that," she said mildly, amused by the fact that he, like all the rest, had never bothered to question the assumption that Aidoru was male. It was an old assumption from when she had been an amateur hacker and one she had never bothered to correct, preferring to remain safely enigmatic. One more puzzle for the cyber police to crack. "More of a…patroller."

"Well, aren't we all?" he said. She was aware that he was testing her, wondering if she was going to give away anything in the first five minutes of her conversation. She stood her ground. If there was any bargaining to be done, it would be done on her terms. He stared at her for a moment more, as if hoping she'd take the bait, then nodded. "I see. Come with me."

The trip over the cratered landscape took less time than she expected, probably because Masamune or one of his cronies had adjusted the visualization matrix in order to make it seem as if the Hole was bigger than it seemed. It was a common practice, and Li had done it herself once or twice. That was a long time ago, though, and she had since grown good enough to increase the size of her networks without any artificial means. It was all a matter of skill, a matter of art and beauty just as much as pure programming.

That was why she was the Aidoru, the Idol, with an almost meteoric rise to fame, or infamy, as it were, dancing through a maze of zeros and ones with balladic grace. But like her namesake, she recognized the success for what it was, a quick jump to stardom that could leave her crashing down in the middle of nowhere if she wasn't careful.

She'd joined the Preventers to test her abilities. To see if she was capable of transforming an idol into something more permanent.

So far, she hadn't found an answer.

Masamune stopped and she almost bumped into him, then found herself teetering at the edge of a vast pool of lava. Flaming bubbles rose to the surface and popped with an oozing , squishing sound, and little crimson lizards crawled in and out of the lava, apparently unaffected by its temperatures.

"All right," he said, turning to her, his voice hard. "What do you want?"

Li pursed her lips in approval. This Masamune was a hard dealer, just like they'd said. "You must be pretty good, to Pull me in here. I haven't been Pulled in years. Anyone else would have said it was impossible"

"I specialize in the impossible," he deadpanned.

"I need an assassin," she said, not bothering with any formalities. Simply laying it down on the table. "A few, if possible. Very very good ones. I pay well."

He raised an eyebrow. "Indeed." A datapad appeared in front of him and began inscribing the conversation. She ignored it.

"I have a big fish to catch and you're the one I trust to provide me with the assets to do it right."

"How big a fish?" he wondered.

"Big," she said. "I'll leave it at that for now."

"I can't get the people for you if you won't tell me."

"Find me the best there are," she said. "And we'll talk."

They stared at each other for a moment, neither willing to back down, and finally he nodded unwillingly. "Fine." Turning, he fiddled with something and a tiny panel opened in the ground, a control panel emerging and floating up to Masamune's hands. He grabbed it, pushed a few buttons. An image of a screen appeared in front of him and she could see he was typing, though in some kind of language that she couldn't read.

"Code language?" she wondered.

He smiled, showing his teeth. "It's called Scat." Paused. The lava pool boiled, and a particularly large bubble popped with a squelching noise. "The best I can offer you for a job like this is a team called Shadowwing. Ever heard of them?"

Li hissed between her teeth. She'd had a feeling he'd say that. "No good," she said.

"Oh? You don't trust me?"

She almost laughed. "No, I trust you implicitly. It's just that Shadowwing is…absent at the moment. They won't be able to do the job."

He frowned. "I haven't heard anything about this."

"It's true," she said. "Trust me. I need someone else. Someone with the same level of talent."

Masamune shook his head. "There are no other groups with their level of talent. You're asking the impossible."

"I thought," she said, favoring him with a disdainful glance, "that you specialized in the impossible."

It was his turn to hiss between his teeth, and for a moment she thought he would walk away from her. But he held down his temper with an air that spoke of long practice and the tension vanished after a second, leaving him the calm, collected man of a few moments before. "Give me two days," he said.

"I need this by tonight," she said. "It's urgent."

"Tomorrow afternoon," he countered.

"Tomorrow morning." Fixing him with a hard glare. "Like I said, I pay well. When the job is conducted according to my standards."

He considered, then shrugged. "Deal."

She was about to reply, to give further instructions, but suddenly her vision blurred and the fire and lava and moon-crater ground turned into indistinct pixellated blobs of matter, and she had the sensation of falling before everything turned black and the network was just a pair of goggles fastened around her eyes linking her to a world that had suddenly disappeared.

Cursing, Li removed the goggles, her mind racing rapidly, wondering what in the hell had caused the network to go down. Only a total on base network failure would cause something like that to happen, and there had never been a total network failure. The connection icon on her computer was blinking, and she clicked it, keyed in the password.

"The network is not available," the computer said, and she cursed at it, throwing the goggles onto her desk and massaging her temples. The sudden disconnection had left her with a headache and a vague sense of distortion and weightlessness, along with a queasy stomach, and she wished she had some medicine with her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm her nerves-

-and nearly jumped out of her skin when the alarms went off, twisted around in her chair to see that the alert light installed in her office was blinking a violent red. "What the fuck?" she snarled angrily, springing out of her chair and hurrying to the window. If this was someone's idea of an evacuation exercise, it wasn't funny.

A large cloud of smoke was rising from one of the outlying buildings at the southwest entrance to the base. As she watched another puff of smoke appeared, then another. Smoke bombs. It had to be smoke bombs.

Before her stunned mind could grasp the entire concept of why smoke bombs would be going off at the entrance to the base in the middle of the day when no exercise was planned, the intercom squawked and a voice filled the room. Une's voice, calm and commanding.

"Attention all personnel. Evacuate the building immediately. We are under attack. Repeat, evacuate immediately. We are under attack. This is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill."

  
Act VIII Part I | Act VIII Part III | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	31. The Dangerous Brilliance of a Pure Cause

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2002 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING **

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT VIII, PART III 

**Sabishige na me o shite  
Tooi sora mitsumete  
Itsumade mo sagashiteru **

Yuujou mo kioku mo  
Tatakai no sadame ni  
Nagasarete subete wa yume sa 

Ima wa arekuruu arashi ni  
Tachimukau yuuki ga  
Atarashii jidai o tsukuru kagayaki  


**Staring at the distant sky  
With sad eyes  
Forever searching **

Friendship and memories  
Drift with the fate of battle  
Everything is a dream 

Now the courage to brave the storms  
Is surely the light  
To begin a new era  


**--Gundam Wing, _Ai wa Ryuusei_  
[_Love is a Shooting Star_, Trowa Barton image song]**  


  
  
**Scene IX: The Price of Freedom**

  


_"I believe in the madness called now."  
--X Japan, Art of Life_

  
It wasn't supposed to end like this. 

When he had imagined this scene, he had dreamed he would be speaking to a sea of people, a veritable army of the righteous who believed in the same cause as he did. That they would march in ten thousand strong and take the place by storm, conquerors coming to shine the light of truth onto the places of darkness. 

But Enjolras had already resigned himself to the fact that it wasn't to be. 

When he looked over the crowd tonight, he'd seen the flicker of torches casting their glimmer not on thousands, but on less than fifty. Fifty brave souls, but only fifty nonetheless. He could see it in most of their eyes that they knew what they were in for. That they knew their commitment to the cause and to him meant following that commitment to the death. But he could also see that they would not hesitate, that the cause meant more to them than their lives. 

That was really all he could ask for at this point. 

"Why's everyone so gloomy?" Jamie had wondered after the convocation, when he'd laid out the briefing and the plan for infiltration of the base. She held a lantern aloft as they made their way out of the underground bunker up to the narrow streets of the outskirts of Geneva. It was windy outside and the lantern flickered, threatening to blow out, but Enjolras wouldn't have any other source of light for himself. The other members of the cell had flashlights and electric lamps and digital powered spotlights, but he had always been a simple man. 

He'd only smiled at her question, patted her on the arm. They walked the rest of the way back in silence. He knew that she had more questions. She was an inquisitive one, yet she definitely knew how to keep quiet and do as she was told, just as much as she knew how to innovate when the time came for her to step up and take charge. An interesting girl, with the odd-colored violet hair and the brown eyes holding painful secrets. Yet she was not unique. All of them, as few of them as there were, held secrets. It was perhaps one of the things they all had in common. 

Perhaps the only thing. 

His own secrets were perhaps not the most terrible secrets ever known to man, nor were they perhaps that fresh in his mind, but they were recent enough that he preferred not to think about them. He had been a soldier once, like the boys who called themselves the Gundam pilots. But unlike them, he hadn't spent his time cavorting about in glorified war machines. He had been a soldier, fighting on the battlefield for what they called justice and truth, and he'd found only lies. 

It was at New Edwards that he finally realized this. He'd seen the attack, seen the Gundams come down from the sky, destroying the very peace that the Federation was working so hard to preserve, and he'd realized in that instant that there was no such thing as peace as long as the military existed. It wasn't about peace in the end. It was about self-preservation. The basic instinct, the animal need to survive, and it disgusted him: the decrepit old men with their long beards trying to reason their way towards their muddled version of a perfect society, the hotshot pilots who didn't care about anything but their own hides and how many kills they made in a day. 

He'd survived, all right. He had lost friends, he'd lost comrades. He'd lost an eye at New Edwards. But that wasn't the thing that made him thirst for revenge, because friends could be mourned, an eye could be replaced. He wanted revenge, because they had lied to him. 

They told him that being a soldier was the noblest thing anyone could do, and he'd seen that refuted before his very eyes at New Edwards. 

He'd been pleading his cause to thousands of groups in the years after the war, but only when the Gundam scare became public had he gained any followers. Sometimes it took a divine act to make people see the light, but as long as he had those who believed in him and the cause, then it didn't matter. They were freedom fighters, just like the men in _Les Miserables_ whose names they had taken as their own. They were fighting for something precious that had been stolen away from them. 

"Enjolras?" 

"Yes, Jamie?" he said absently. His cyborg eye whirled and adjusted as he scanned the darkened windows that they passed. It wasn't the best cyborg piece you could get on the black market - reliable copies were expensive and required sterile, professional assistance to install. For someone in his line of work, that was far too risky an operation. He'd gotten this one at a discounted price, and it seemed to work fairly well for what he'd paid for it. Sometimes the machinery would catch and he'd have to take it apart and then put it back together, and he'd had to replace the chip in it once. That had cost three months and a small fortune. But all in all, it was worth it for the little gadgets and knick-knacks that one couldn't find in a legitimate piece of machinery. 

He used one of those gadgets now to peer inside one of the black windows, reaching up and clicking the little infrared switch. Jamie's face turned a pale, translucent green as he swung his glance up to the window, then up to the roof. Nothing. He shook his head, turned the infrared off. He must be imagining things. There was no way they could have been followed from Milan, and even if they had been, the only people following them would either be Mafia members trying to make an extra coin or two, or members of the French resistance groups up north monitoring their progress. Either way, he didn't care. After tomorrow, it would all be a moot point. The French resistance groups in particular could go to hell, for all the good they'd done him. He'd asked for help, pleaded his cause, and gotten back a stony silence for an answer. 

They had picked up some help in Milan, a small resistance cell of about twenty members who promised him their help, though they had little else to give. But in a battle of this scale, every hand counted. It would not be enough, but no one would be able to say they hadn't tried. 

"Are you listening?" Jamie's voice said petulantly in his ear. He blinked, then realized she'd been talking for a good two or three minutes and he hadn't heard a single word. 

"No," he said sincerely. "I wasn't. I'm sorry. Please repeat the question. I promise I'll listen more carefully this time." 

She smiled. He was like that - if he wasn't listening, he would never say that he had been just to make her feel better. She was young, but she was in this as an adult. They were all adults here in this world, and he would never lie to any of them as he had been lied to by the Federation. 

"I want to help," she said. 

He blinked. "Help in what, Jamie?" 

"The plan, of course," she said impatiently. "You said that you needed an advance team to infiltrate the base. I'm there." 

He stared at her. 

"What?" she said. 

"Jamie," he said as gently as he could. "We already have an advance team…the details have already been planned. I appreciate your help, but the best you can do is to-" 

"Stay behind?" she bit out. The old pain was in her eyes again. "Enjolras, I joined this group for a reason. If we're to be successful tomorrow, I know I can help." 

He didn't have the heart to tell her that they weren't going in with the intention of coming back out alive, but he held that thought. Instead he said, "Explain." 

"In order to infiltrate a military headquarters," she said, "the best way is to allow them to let you in. Am I right?" 

"Yes," Enjolras said patiently, "but that's rather hard for a resistance group to accomplish. That's why we're-" 

"I have connections," Jamie said. They turned the corner into another alleyway and she held the lamp up higher. There was a pattering of little feet in the distance. Rats, perhaps. "I'm sure you've guessed that I'm no common girl…my family's wealthy. My last name is known…if I give them that, they're sure to let me into the base to see someone." 

"I see," Enjolras said thoughtfully. He had long suspected that Jamie was someone special, but she'd just confirmed it. This idea might have more merit than he'd suspected. "Continue." 

"Security is high, I expect," she said. "You said so yourself just now. But…an innocent little girl concerned about the welfare of her family and wanting to help the Preventers in any way possible will be let in to talk to someone. Perhaps not someone very high up, but it's the place, not the position that matters." 

"Very true," Enjolras said, waiting for her to go on, but she remained silent. He glanced over at her. In the flickering of the lamp he could see tears trickling down her cheeks. 

"Jamie?" 

"I was just thinking," she said in a low voice, "I never thought I'd be saying something like this. I…I was raised to believe that if I did what I was told, I'd have a safe, happy life. But things don't really turn out that way." Raising a tear-streaked face to look at him. "Do they, Enjolras?" 

"What would your brother have said?" he returned. "You said he was a soldier. Do you think he regretted the choice he made?" 

"I don't know," she said in a low voice. Beseeching. "What do you think? You were once a soldier too." 

"I do regret that I ever was a soldier," he said. "But that was my choice. Some people…" he stopped. "I do not want to be the one to pass judgments on someone such as your brother, whom I have never met." 

"It's all right," Jamie whispered. "James was…James was a good boy. But that doesn't mean he couldn't have made the wrong choice. We all make bad choices sometimes." 

He put a hand on her shoulder. "Then I'd say that he is blessed to have someone like you for a sister." 

"It's not wrong, it is?" she said. "Revenge." 

" 'Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable.' Who said that?" 

"John Fitzgerald Kennedy." 

"I see you've done your homework," he said. "And I believe he was right. Look at the French Revolution, from which many of us draw our inspiration. The people wanted change, the government refused, and they burned the Bastille." 

"Burning the Bastille…I suppose the Preventers Headquarters is our Bastille, of sorts?" Her eyes were shining again, and he could see the clockwork gears whirring inside her mind. 

"Absolutely," he said. "We are the groundbreakers, the ones who will spearhead the movement. We might not be the ones who will accomplish the actual victory. We might not even be the ones who will convince the world to believe in our cause. But years later, people will look back at us and see that we were the beginning of something far greater than ourselves." 

They turned another corner and he motioned for her to stop. He could see the puzzlement in her eyes; their cell group hideout was still some streets away, but her idea had given him an idea in turn, one that was so farfetched, so absurd, that it actually might work. 

"Hold up the lantern a bit more," he said. She did without question, watched as he felt around on the ground. There it was. He fumbled in his pocket for the key, inserted it into the electronic padlock. For all his distaste of technology, electronics did have use sometimes. There was a whir and a click and the lock snapped open. Grasping the iron ring beside it, he pulled. 

The trapdoor was old, but he had been down there just this morning before dawn to oil its hinges and it opened without a sound. He turned to her, saw her mouth open in a silent O and smiled. 

"There's a ladder," he said. "Can you make it while holding the lantern?" She nodded wordlessly and he dropped lightly into the hole, letting his feet find the ladder rungs. "You'd better hurry then. We don't know who might be watching." 

She nodded again and he began his descent, watching the light of the lantern as it flared, showing her climbing down with one hand and holding the light in the other. 

The ladder was not too long and his feet touched ground in a few seconds. He waited for her to slide down next to him, then motioned for her to hold the lantern up again. She gasped. 

It was a storeroom, one that the Milan resistance group had told him about and given him the key to yesterday. Apparently they'd had the same idea as he had, but for quite some period of time. They'd been amassing supplies here: food, water, explosives, weaponry, paper and candles. An army of their size could live down here quite happily for some time, but if the Preventers ever found out about this place, one well-placed match could send it up in flames. 

"What is this place?" Jamie whispered in awe. 

"That's for you to find out later," he said, and moved to the corner where he knew…there. The canister was small, but it was what inside that counted. 

"Enjolras?" 

"Do you know what this is, Jamie?" 

She shook her head. The canister was translucent and she peered inside. "Looks like someone's lung." 

He laughed. "It's pure sodium. In kerosene. Do you know what pure sodium is?" 

Jamie looked uncertain. "We never learned that in science class. The only thing I know about sodium is that it's found in salt. Why?" 

"Pure sodium," Enjolras said, putting the canister down, "is one of a rare breed of metal that is vigorously chemically reactive in its pure state as a solid. Quite frankly, it explodes when it comes into contact with water. Even very small quantities can do an effective job, if placed correctly." 

Understanding dawned on her face, then confusion. "You want me to blow up something?" 

"Correction," he said, holding up a finger. "I want you to place a distraction. The amount of this stuff I'm going to give you won't have the power to blow up a closet, but it can cause quite a bit of fireworks and noise." 

He watched her work this over in her brain for a second. "I can do that," she said. Smiling. "It'll be fun." 

"Good." He replaced the canister where he had found it, then turned to her. "You're willing to go into the Preventers Headquarters in place of the infiltration team." 

"Yes." 

"You're willing to put yourself in danger." 

"Yes." 

"You're willing to destroy government property." 

"Hell, yes!" 

He smiled. "Well then, Jamie. Here's what I want you to do." 

  


* * *

  
**Scene X: Deceptions of a False Dawn**

  


_"I'm alright, alright, I feel alright,  
I never been better in my life.  
You know the score."  
--Five for Fighting, Alright_

  
As she rolled off the couch out of a sound sleep to land in an undignified pile on the floor, Une became aware of the cricks in her joints from sleeping there. The couch was a comfortable one, but fell shy of letting her stretch out fully on it by about six inches. She was forced to pull her legs up slightly to accommodate for that, an awkward position indeed. 

She hadn't been home in ages. Catching much-needed rest at odd hours was the best she could to manage. Brown and Gils-Reve were doing their best to shoulder some of her load, but Brown had his own hands full with his own responsibilities, and Gils-Reve had only been recently promoted into his duties and hadn't yet developed the autonomy that only experience could teach. 

Still, her sleep had been restless, and this was the second time in a week she'd fallen off the couch. She considered heading over to the infirmary to steal a proper bed for a moment, but a glance at the chronometer on the wall said she'd been asleep for five hours, her longest single stretch in weeks. Une looked around quickly and decided that after reading her daily reports, which would take a few hours, she'd grab a shower. 

The doorchime sounded, and she called for the person to enter. She stretched for her toes, feeling the muscles in her back protest, as Gils Reve walked in, carrying some hard copies, a few disks, and a tray piled high with various breakfast foods. 'Good morning, ma'am," he said, setting the tray down on the table. "General Brown says that you should check out the top report. I had Steward McCreary make you something to eat, as well... you can munch while you review the latest." 

She arched an eyebrow. "Yes, mother." 

"Ma'am, in all seriousness, you have to take care of yourself. Without you...." he trailed off, letting her draw her own conclusions. 

"Fine, fine!" she agreed hastily, not wanting to think. She was holding things together by her fingernails, and the last thing the Preventers needed was a change in leadership right before Quatre went on trial. She rose, her muscles still sore, and she made a mental resolution to find some time for the gym. She couldn't let herself get that out of shape- she didn't want to be a desk jockey entirely! Grabbing a slice of dry toast, she began to munch on it as she reviewed the briefing. 

Brown had managed to find out that the target of the bombing had been a anti-Gundam cell. He wasn't sure where the hell the bomber had acquired nitroglycerin (a highly controlled substance), but Une had no doubt that it was a pilot- and most likely Trowa. 

She remembered a conversation she'd had with Sally a while ago: 

_"I can't believe this. Duo's on the run, Quatre's in hiding, and we have no idea where the other three are." _

"If you sit still long enough, you'll find out. Just wait for the largest explosions." 

"Sally!" 

"Yes?" 

"That wasn't funny!" Une said. 

"But it's the truth. Those three know one reaction to stress, and that is to blow up the cause of the stress. They're terrorists, and that's what they were trained for." 

Sally's words had proven to be prophetic. 

She flipped through the other reports, smiling slightly as she read how Heero's detox was coming along. "I still can't believe he ever got hooked in the first place," she murmured. 

"Ma'am?" 

"Nothing- just thinking out loud." 

She started on her paperwork, giving commands to the specialize teams Sally had implemented. The teams were working out better then she had been expecting- there hadn't been a riot in almost a week. The Italian team had a lead on Barton, and that meant within days, she would most likely have a complete set of pilots. 

Things were looking up, for a change. 

A few hours passed as she sorted through her work; she spoke to Carrington and was relieved to hear that the Preventers' law team had great hopes for the Winner trial. She had two Gundams in her possession, Wufei seemed to be getting better- 

Then all hell broke loose. 

She heard the aides screaming as the klaxon sounded, the din going straight to her bones, causing her to grind her teeth. She rose halfway, her hand digging in her desk drawer for a gun. Why, oh why, had she gotten out of the habit of wearing one? she wondered, furiously thinking. And when has she become so lax? Treize's Lady never would have been caught so unawares! 

One of the Preventers' rushed into the room, a young woman whose cut forehead was bleeding profusely. Une was familiar with head wounds; she knew they bled a lot, but the young lieutenant, by her insignia, probably had a concussion at the very least. It was amazing she was still conscious. 

"What's happening?" she demanded angrily. 

"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!" the wounded lieutenant said frantically, crying slightly. "Bombs are going off all over base!" The tears mixed with her blood, and she sat down, placing her head between her knees. Her hands tried to staunch the flow of both blood and tears, but succeeded at doing neither. 

"Someone help her!" Une ordered. "I want all stations to report in on status! Gather the data!" she ordered, pointed at Gils-Reve, who stood stock-still, the pile of papers he had been carrying scattered at his feet where he had dropped them. She looked around, rapidly trying to figure out what to do next. "I need a lockdown on the War room, security clearance Alpha!" God, she had to keep them AWAY from the nukes- if they managed to get in there and somehow set them off she shuddered to think of- 

Her hand fell on the gun, and the feel of the cool metal handle calmed her nerves. They were under attack, and she was the senior officer. Her mind went through proper procedure. She pulled the gun out of her drawer and rested it against her hip as she took a deep breath, then expelled it slowly. Sinking down into her seat, she held the all-frequencies button on her display, the one she had never used before. It would broadcast her voice across the base, and bring all units in the field in. "Attention all personnel. Evacuate the buildings immediately. We are under attack. Repeat, evacuate immediately. We are under attack. This is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill." To her utter amazement, she sounded calm and collected. 

She released the switch, relieved to have taken care of that. Une hit the button that would bring Sally Po's personal communicator online. "Sally, get the civilians to the designated safe areas." Then she dialed for Li without waiting for an answer. "Li, find the pilots and put them under Level Ten security." She should understand that. She shut her eyes, trying to remember if Brown was on base, and if not, who his replacement was. "Who's in charge of security right now?" she demanded. Dammit, she should know- it was her responsibility to run the Preventers, for God's sake- 

Adrenaline flowed through her veins as the sirens screamed. The door opened and she looked up, anticipating... something. To her surprise, a small squad thundered in, led by Captain Lopez, surprisingly. "Ma'am, it's time to evacuate. There's been explosions in this building," he said politely. "Your plane is being made ready." 

"What?" she asked angrily. 

"You're the ranking officer on-base. Regulations call for you to be evacuated. General Po, as your number two, is to remain on base." 

She remembered writing those regulations. When New Edwards had ended up with all the Federation's brass being killed in one blow, it had made sense for her to rewrite evacuation procedures to separate the command team rather then put them all in one basket; getting the person in charge to safety was obviously the way to go, but she hadn't really realized that it would apply to HER. "Well, I'm overriding that!" She turned to call out more orders to her staff, but the Captain stopped her. 

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, not sounding at all regretful. Lopez didn't seem at all like the shy young Captain she was used to seeing trailing Brown like a shadow. This young man was confident, and not going to back down. "You don't have that authority." He signaled for two of the guards to go flank her. "Lieutenant Gils-Reve will be going with you. Major Li will stay here to be your liaison with General Po, General Brown is en route to Bern, and the remote post there is being activated as per standing procedure. We should have operations completely transferred over to there within six hours." 

She nodded slowly, not liking it at all. "I don't want to run!" she declared. 

"Ma'am, please... I can have the guards... assist me in removing you forcibly, but you don't want that anymore then I do." 

Her eyes blazed. "I'll have your commission!" she snapped, feeling like Colonel Une for the first time in ages. She wasn't listening to some upstart! 

"You do that if it makes you happy," he said coldly. "It's my duty, though, to get you to Bern." 

The word "duty" hit her in the face like a glass of cold water. "I'm sorry," she said in a more normal voice. "You're right." 

He nodded and pulled his weapon, heading toward the escape tunnels that ran from the main building to one of the hangers. Une followed, allowing herself to be surrounded by the guards, with a small continent of her office staff to man the new command post. 

It took only ten minutes to arrive, but the alarms were still piercing the air. She was hustled onto a shuttle and shivered as her staff nervously took seats around her. Gils-Reve opened a link to Li to start a quiet conversation as Li relayed reports, and soon they were taxing down the flightline, which was still untouched by the destruction that was threatening the base. Beside her she could hear the sound of the Tauruses assigned to protect her as them hummed into life. 

Then she was up in the air, gazing out the window at the Preventers Head Quarters, Geneva, mourning for her dream. She placed a hand against the reinforced glass, as though it could touch the smoke and devastation occurring below. Her almost overpowering desire was to turn away, but she forced herself to watch the final moments. "I'm sorry, Treize-sama..." she whispered. "I just couldn't do it right." 

  


* * *

  
**Scene XI: Just For A Moment, Burning Brightly**

  


_"I just saw you; a moment far too brief   
Before the daylight came."  
--Hyde, Shallow Sleep_

  
He had been going to meet Atsuki at the mess hall, was a half a block away when he'd heard the explosions. 

Darkflight had been there half an hour early, had planned on maybe getting something to eat before she got there, but his encounter with the boy named Shinobu had ruined all his plans. There was something in the boy's face that had warned him - something that alerted his senses that the other boy was dangerous. He'd barely managed to storm out of there without hurting Shinobu, if that was even his real name. 

He'd wandered aimlessly, trying to cool off. The clock in the belltower struck two-thirty and he'd suddenly remembered that Atsuki would probably be wondering where he was, that they'd arranged to meet around this time and that he was late. Taking his chances that the Shinobu boy would already have left the mess hall, he headed back in the direction he had come. The afternoon breeze was cool on his face and he felt his temper die down somewhat. He'd been incredibly rude back there, but there was something… 

He shook his head. This wasn't the Breaks. If anything, this trek across Europe had taught him that he wasn't fit for survival in any place other than the armpit of humanity's existence, that he was no better than a common insect in the finer places of society. The Preventers' base was stifling in a way that the other places that they had stayed had never been - he hadn't liked those places, true, but they had still been open. Still been wide. The base was a box, a fenced-in compound offering no room to run, to escape, if he chose. 

He needed the escape, even if it was only an illusion. 

Pausing on the street corner, Darkflight looked both ways before cautiously stepping out into the street, was halfway across when something sounded in the near distance with a loud boom. Forgetting that he was in the middle of an intersection, he stopped, instinctively dropping into a low crouch, twisting around to study the horizon to pinpoint the source of the sound. 

He was prepared when the second blast sounded, then a third and a fourth. His eyes narrowed. There was something strange going on. He could hear sirens in the distance, klaxons going off, shouts and gunfire. Smelled smoke on the breeze. 

But this was the Preventers base. Nothing…they'd said nothing could get through here. Nothing. 

The only thing that warned him was the blaring of a horn and a screech of tires and he didn't stop to look, simply rolled into a ball and dove out of the way of the oncoming military jeep. Strangely enough, there were no shouts directed at him in the wake of the roaring vehicle as it sped past him and turned the corner onto the next street and disappeared behind a building. Darkflight took a deep breath to calm his pounding heart, jumped to his feet and jogged to the safety of the sidewalk before another jeep could come out of nowhere. 

There was another explosion. The ground shook slightly and he looked around in alarm. 

The thought hit him before he consciously was aware of it, and he was running towards the direction of the mess hall. Atsuki. She was probably waiting for him still…she was probably wondering where he was. He needed to get her out of there and to a safe place, even if it was a false alarm. 

He didn't think it was a false alarm. 

Someone screamed and he ducked behind a shrub as footsteps ran past. Cautiously, he peered over the top of the hedge to look. The two men who were running past had guns, but they didn't look like Preventers troops. They were dressed in civilian clothes, and one of them had a radio attached to his belt. Both of them had on sunglasses and scarves over their heads. 

Assassins? Unlikely. From the way they moved, they were definitely untrained. Darkflight kept his hearing alert for any sound from behind him as he kept gazing over the hedge till the two men had vanished from sight. If not assassins…terrorists? 

But how had mere terrorists managed to get on base? He'd seen the security they kept at the gates…not even a full scale army would have been able to breach those entrances. 

The rattle of gunfire broke his chain of thought, and he winced as he heard the screams. He was used to the screams and used to death, but this was…he couldn't help but think that there were innocent people on this base who were in danger. 

People like Atsuki. 

The mess hall was just around the next bend and he sprinted for the doors in a low crouch, reached the relative safety of the entrance and peered inside. It was deserted. He tried the doors to find them locked. 

They'd evacuated the place…good, but where had they taken the people? Come to think of it, the base looked curiously deserted. Their evacuation policy was evidently a good one, but that didn't help him at the moment. Gritting his teeth, he thought for a split second, then felt for the knife in his boot, verifying that it was still there. 

He didn't like the Preventers. He didn't think that he would ever like the Preventers. But Wing trusted them…Wing was under their protection, and some of them were Wing's friends. And as the leader of Shadowwing, Darkflight was bound to help out his partner, whether he liked it or not. He could either find Atsuki or protect Wing and the Preventers, and Atsuki was most likely in good hands right now. 

And if she wasn't…there was nothing he could do about that right now. She could take care of herself just as well as he. 

Turning, he started swiftly in the direction of the shrieking sirens. No matter who these terrorists were, they would have a trained assassin to contend with soon enough, and he'd like to seen them try to stop him. 

The call had come in over the radio intercom in his quarters and the first buzzing of the static before a call had jerked Heero awake, just like it used to in the old days when it had been just him and Doctor J. For a split second, he panicked, disoriented, not recognizing the room in which he'd woken up. 

"Please remain calm and evacuate the building immediately. All combat and security personnel to stations. This is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill." 

He glanced at the clock, noting that he'd only been asleep for about fifteen minutes. There were sirens wailing outside in the hallway and the sound of voices and pounding feet. Heero dropped lightly to the floor, threw on a shirt and a pair of loose workout shorts and headed towards the door when it registered. 

The base was under attack. 

The thought struck him as so ludicrous that he stopped in his tracks, not knowing whether to feel angry or amused. Angry because they'd told him he would be safe here, as if he needed their safety. Amused because for all their vaunted security and high-and-mighty military organization, they'd failed. As had White Fang before them. As had OZ before that and then the Federation before that. It was so pointless, really, the high ideals and precious, half-formed values that all of them professed to be fighting for. 

He'd fought for those ideals once, before he'd realized that he was better off looking after himself. 

There was an explosion and he dropped to the floor, not taking any chances. He didn't know where the attack was being centered, but it would seem logical that the attackers would move towards the center of the base, towards the Main Building. This group of buildings was out of the way, but a well-placed bomb's shockwave… 

The windows rattled and the walls shook and he placed his hands on top of his head, wishing very much that he'd just stayed in the Breaks and let old memories die. 

_I know too much about you. Are you still going to kill me?_

The stray thought floated through his mind and he froze where he lay as the shockwave passed. Relena. She would be in danger… 

There was a moment of indecision as he stared at the door, knowing that if he left his room that way, there would be officials directing him to a proper bomb shelter, knew that he'd spend the rest of the day trapped between sweating bodies and feeling the deep vibrations of explosions above him. Knew that that wasn't what he wanted…that he was a trained soldier, no matter how he might feel about the Preventers, and knew that he needed to know if Relena was safe. 

The indecision passed and he didn't even stop to think of how random the thought was, that he would be thinking of her at a time like this. Only knew that he had to find her. He threw open the curtains of the window, stared at it. It would probably be reinforced glass… 

He snatched a sheet off the bed, wrapping his hand in it, drew back, and punched. The glass wavered but did not break. Heero gritted his teeth, backed away and went at the window at a run. 

The window shattered inwards and he ducked his head, closing his eyes tightly and shielding himself as glass fragments showered the room. He felt a slight stinging in his right temple and knew that he'd been cut, but there were more important things to worry about at the moment. Dragging a chair to the window, he climbed up, threw one leg over, and jumped, landing in the grass behind the building. 

So far, so good. 

There were plumes of smoke rising up through the sky. Smoke and bursts of fire. Some of the smoke was too thick to be coming from anything else but a smoke bomb, but there were most likely real bombs too. The most likely culprit would be terrorists, and from his experience, terrorists usually didn't have anything more lethal than what could be cooked up in someone's garage, but sometimes even that was deadly. Take no chances was the first rule of the assassin's code. 

Ironically, it wasn't the Breaks that had taught him that. He'd learned it from Doctor J. 

He knew that Relena had scheduled a meeting today with some of the lower ranking Preventers officials, knew that she had been in the main building when the attack had hit. They had probably already evacuated her, but it was his best bet to go in that direction. Crouching down, he headed in that general direction, swiftly palming the small gun he kept hidden in the side of his boot. There was another one attached to his wrist inside his shirt sleeve, but that one was for emergencies only. 

Though he didn't know what this was, if it wasn't an emergency. 

The tall spire of the tower was visible between two of the outbuildings and he ran through the alley, gun at the ready, though the attack was most likely centered at the front. But one never knew. He'd been on terrorist missions before, and for a base of this size, the group would have to spread out. Even one or two members broken away from the main attack would do the trick, if they were planning to assassinate someone. 

He suddenly hoped Lady Une had gotten away safely. He'd never gotten along well with her…they didn't see eye to eye on most issues, but as things stood, she was the last hope for peace for the world. Ironic as that seemed. 

The siren coming from the main building was ear-splitting, audible even through the closed front doors, and he crouched behind the landscaping across the street, trying to determine if they were still evacuating or if everyone had already been taken to safety. He wasn't sure where the shelters were, but if the building was empty, it was a safe bet that Relena was in no immediate danger. 

_I wish I knew who these people were after…me? Une? Relena? The base in general…?_

There were too many targets on one site…if word had leaked that the Gundam pilots were gathering here, every terrorist group on the planet would want a part in this. Heero narrowed his eyes, scanning the area, reaching for the knife he kept hidden, hung around his neck, in case he needed it. 

His fingers met empty air. 

His vision seemed to blur, suddenly, and he barely caught himself from falling, fighting to keep his balance. There was a roaring in his ears and he thought he heard someone screaming his name, except that it wasn't his name. 

_Wing…Wing…!_

The dizziness passed and he took a deep breath, looking around as if realizing for the first time where he was, falling to his hands and knees. 

_I'm Heero Yuy. I'm Heero Yuy. I'm Heero Yuy._

That was the only thing he could believe right now. Shards of memory pounded at his brain and he pressed his hands to his head, trying to shut them out: bits and pieces of a girl's smile and twinkling stars and fire, and a little girl and her puppy. 

A little girl and her- 

A little girl and- 

A little girl- 

_Relena!_

Struggling to his feet, he stumbled out from behind the hedge. Focus. Relena. Focus. One thing at a time. Got to get to. Got to get to Re- 

The sirens shut off suddenly and except for the far off bursts of gunfire, it was silent. 

He reached the main door without incident. It was locked, as he had imagined, and had no entry control panel, but he'd been trained for this type of situation. The side door was right where it should be, towards the back of the base of the tower, accessed through a ramp built into the side of the building. This door had a control access panel. From there it was only three quick motions before he'd disabled the panel, two more before he'd rewired it, one touch of the button to open the door. 

The hallway was carpeted, the lights dimmed, the flickering ghostly yellow tinge of emergency power lighting buzzing slightly in the unnatural quiet. He ought to be used to the silence, but somehow in here, in this building, it was unnerving. As if everyone was already dead and he was the only one left alive. 

_Relena, where are you?_

He imagined her lying on the floor, blood pooling around her from a gunshot wound to her back. Or slumped against the wall, neck twisted at a crooked angle. Or still sitting in the conference room chair with the dead surrounding her and she at their head, sprawled silently with sightless eyes staring towards the door… 

There was a whooshing sound from around the corner, and he flattened himself against the wall into a doorway, gun in hand. He caught a glimpse of black-garbed Preventers security guards in a tight ring, herding a small group of people around the bend. The muffled footfalls on the carpet were heavy, tense. He craned his neck, trying to see who was in the middle of that tight huddle, trying to catch a glimpse of blond hair. 

"Let me go!" 

The voice was that of a young man, obviously angry, obviously restrained. Heero frowned, took a step forward towards the voice, then stopped in his tracks as another voice, female, spoke up. 

"Chris, I really don't have time to argue with you right now. Political views are political views, but your life is in danger! I won't be responsible for the death of a civilian under my supervision!" 

That was her voice. He'd recognize it anywhere. He hesitated a moment more, then melted into the shadows of the wall again. She was here…she was protected…she was safe. He had the insane desire to rush out into the hall, to confront her, to ask her why? Why put yourself in danger? Why are you here, Relena? 

But he already knew the answer to that. 

"Let me go!" the boy snapped again, and there was a brief scuffle. "You lied to me! You said you'd let me talk to Une, but you lied!" 

"I didn't-" Relena began, but the boy obviously wasn't waiting for a reply. There was another short scuffle, then the security chief shouted, "Grab him!" 

Heero held the gun up, preparing for the worst, and for a moment it seemed that he'd actually need to use it. There was a grunt, a rapid tattoo of feet, Relena's voice shouting "Stop it! Chris, stop it!" and then the rapid pounding of feet turning into the hallway where he crouched. He stiffened, tried to make himself invisible against the doorway as a teenage boy darted past him. Heero caught a brief glimpse as he passed: longish brown hair, well-to-do civilian attire. The boy didn't even notice Heero but simply pounded down the hallway, pushed open the side door that the former pilot had just rewired, and disappeared through it. 

"After him!" a male voice bellowed - one of the guards - but Relena snapped, "No, let him be." 

"But Lady Relena, he-" 

"He wanted to take care of himself," Relena said coldly. Heero had never heard her voice so frosty. She sounded foreign. "Now is his chance. I wash my hands of all responsibility of him." 

"But he'll be killed!" 

"He's a functional, capable, thinking human being. If he insists on disobeying my orders, I can't stop him - I'm the Queen of Cinq, not his mother!" 

He lowered the gun cautiously, listening as the Preventer guard captain acquiesced, sounding slightly surly, waited for the footsteps to go past. They reached his hallway, paused, stopped. 

She was looking down the hall. He hardly dared to move, aware that any motion would give him away. It was ridiculous to be worrying about this - he was a trained assassin - but her presence seemed to fill the area, a charisma she hadn't had before. When had she changed? Her eyes seemed bluer than he remembered. Suddenly it struck him how much like her brother she was beginning to look. And talk. And act. 

"Lady?" The security captain sounded worried. "We need to get down the shelters before they close them…" 

"It's nothing," she said, shaking her head. The footsteps faded. 

He waited an extra two seconds before verifying that they weren't coming back and that there were no more people coming this way, then retraced his steps out the door in the direction that he'd seen the boy Chris take. From the looks of it, the kid was about to do something rash, and he had a feeling that more than brute force would be necessary to stop him. 

Darkflight was in the middle of the firefight before he knew it. The entire south entrance to the base was on fire, he saw as he drew closer, with military jeeps filled with Preventers whizzing back and forth, firing cautiously. He didn't know if they were blanks or stun weapons, or if those were the real thing. He didn't think he wanted to know. There were bodies fallen along the road by the Personnel offices, mostly dressed in civilian clothes. 

Terrorists, most likely. One of them had dropped his gun as he fell, and Darkflight bent to pick it up. Checking the cartridge, he found that it still had most of the round left in it. Good enough. He paused for a moment longer to look over the body. The man was dead. 

The weapons then, were real. 

The Preventers in the jeeps were yelling to one another, jabbering into radios, calling for reinforcements. There were woefully few of them, and even fewer of them on the ground, but Darkflight couldn't see that many opponents either. If they were lucky, this was all there was. If they were unlucky, the small number meant that some terrorists had managed to evade the containment ring and penetrate further into the base. The containment ring seemed to hold for now; barriers had been set up and security forces seemed to be holding the terrorists at bay. 

A gaggle of frightened civilians passed - people who had been out on the street when the attack had started, he assumed, and he watched as several security personnel quickly moved out to them, pushing them away from the scene, towards safety. 

The fighting seemed at a standstill, with only random shots exchanged from both sides. The smoke cloud from the smoke bombs had begun to dissipate, leaving only the smoke and fire from the real bombs and the gunfire. Darkflight had seen death before, but never in the Breaks had he seen a battle of this size and dimension. For a moment he seriously considered going back, hoping that it would blow over, but that would be the act of a coward and he was no coward. 

He charged into the open, hearing shouts from all around him. Looking for something to move within the cloud of smoke. He was still looking for a target, squinting through the smoke, when someone charged out of the flames at him. Darkflight gave a shout, brought his gun up, pulled the trigger. The shot went wide, and he cursed, swinging the weapon around, but it was too late. 

Before he had the chance to aim, the terrorist leaped. Darkflight watched in horror as the man spread his arms out wide, long, dark hair flying, and landed on top of a Preventers jeep carrying three machine-gun wielding airmen. Someone screamed. 

There was a blinding explosion. 

The shockwave knocked him back into the concrete and he heard something crack, felt a searing pain through his left arm. Through the involuntary tears of pain in his eyes, he pushed himself up and found himself staring at the place where the jeep used to be. The ground was charred, the vehicle a molten, twisted lump of metal. He groped with his right hand, trying to find a hold so he could stand, ignoring the pain in his arm, and his hand brushed something. 

It was the stump of a leg, blown off the torso. The blood-soaked pants were Preventers uniform issue. 

Darkflight tore his eyes away, fought down the rising bile in his throat and stood, wobbling. His arm hurt like hell, but he'd been injured worse before, and a broken arm wasn't anything he would die from. A few more civilians huddled past, their faces lost and bewildered, and he watched as a few security personnel detached from the group to escort them. His gaze went once more, unwillingly, to the ruined jeep. 

Human bombs? 

He'd heard of them…there had been talk in the Breaks around pints of alcohol and joints about people who were so desperate that they'd wire themselves as living bombs and jump onto targets. Like kamikazes, someone always said, and there would be nodding. As a Japanese colony, L1 still remembered its heritage. Darkflight had always doubted the tales with some part of his mind that told him they were too preposterous to be true. That no one would be that fanatically devoted. 

He'd just been proven wrong. 

Machine gun fire brought him out of his shock. Machine gun fire, and his name called frantically over the sound. 

"Darkflight? Darkflight?" 

He turned. There was another group of civilians in the distance hurrying past, accompanied by a single security guard. As he watched, a lone golden-haired figure broke from the group, running towards him. The guard waved frantically to her, shouted in English, "Come back, miss! Come back! Miss! Hey!" 

"Darkflight!" the voice called, excitement and wobbly fear audible over the distance. "It IS you! Where did you go? I waited, but you didn't come!" 

It was Atsuki. 

Heero lost sight of Chris between two of the personnel buildings, saw the boy as he broke free of the confining structures, began running down the main avenue of the base towards the south entrance. There was a renewed burst of machine gun fire, and he cursed. 

"Chris!" he yelled, doubling his pace, hoping to overtake the running boy. "Chris! Wait!" 

The boy looked back, surprise on his face, as Heero caught up to him, then the recognition in his eyes was replaced by an ugly hatred. "It's you. Heero Yuy, isn't it? I should have known." 

"Chris, come with me," Heero said urgently, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder and trying to drag him away from the entrance and the fighting. "It's not safe here. You could be killed…" 

"You're just her lackey, aren't you?" Chris hissed, tearing his shoulder away before Heero could react. "I don't need you! I don't need any of you! You're all wrong, all of you. You can't help me! I was stupid to come here!" 

"Wait!" Heero cried as Chris took off again, wondering what the hell the boy was planning. He didn't need this…he didn't need any more innocent people to die because of him. He could feel the burning in his veins, the headache coming on that meant it was getting to be time for his drug treatment. 

There was another explosion and he ran towards the smoke, hoping that it wasn't Chris who had gotten hurt. 

"Listen to me!" someone shouted over the gunfire, and with a sinking heart, he realized that Chris hadn't been hurt, but he was making himself into the perfect target. 

"Get away from there, you idiot!" he bellowed, but the boy was too far away. 

"You're all fighting for the wrong reason!" Chris shouted, charging into the fray and knocking aside a Preventers soldier who had been unlucky enough to be in his path. "Lay down your weapons! You don't need to fight!" 

The gunfire faltered a bit, and Heero could see Chris clambering on top of a pile of rubble, waving his arms. "Don't fight! This is wrong! The pen is mightier than the sword! You don't need your weapons!" 

_Idiot…idiot…_

He didn't hear the shot, but he saw when Chris fell, heard the gunfire begin anew. No one paid any attention to the boy tumbling down the pile of debris, and Heero sprinted forward just as Chris rolled onto the concrete. 

He was still alive. There was blood at his temples…probably had a concussion, and his breathing was shallow. He needed to get this boy to a hospital. 

"You damn fucking moron," Heero muttered as he jammed his gun back into his boot, picking up the unconscious form and slinging it across his shoulders. He had to hurry - he'd seen worse injured, but none of them had lived. 

And then it happened. 

"Darkflight!" 

He whirled around, knowing that he knew that voice, knowing who he would see as he did so, the bright golden hair flying amidst the smoke, the dark-skinned boy that was running towards her, waving his arms frantically to keep her away. 

Atsuki. 

He'd forgotten about her. He'd been so busy trying to look for Relena…Relena… 

Fragments of memories pounded through his blood. 

_Choose one. One or the other. You can't have both._

Heard himself saying, _I haven't thought about Relena in years._

It all seemed far away and unimportant now. The Queen of Cinq, the wounded boy across his shoulders, the fighting. The only important thing was _her_, here and now, and he felt suddenly filled with an anger, a deep shame, a blind desire to run up to her and tell her that he was sorry, that this never should have happened and that he wished he had never met her, because that would have spared her so much. 

"Atsuki!" he cried. 

"Atsuki!" someone shouted, and Darkflight saw her stop in her tracks, whirl to find the sound of the voice. 

He heard the gunshot crack. 

He saw her body convulse like a whip, saw her jerk once, then collapse to the pavement face down. 

The back of her dress was already soaked with blood. 

"No…" he whispered, shaking her. "No. Atsuki, get up. Atsuki. Get up." 

She didn't move. Her wide blue eyes were sightless, glassy. He desperately rolled her over on her back, thumping her heart. No response. 

"Atsuki," he whispered. "Atsuki…" 

"She's dead," said a voice from behind him. 

Darkflight didn't bother to stand. He knew who it was who had called her name, knew who it was whom she'd paused for. He gently straightened her tangled limbs, her blood-soaked dress, the strands of her golden hair. Closed her eyes. She didn't look angry, or surprised, or vacant. There was a smile on her face. 

She had died happy, running towards her friends. 

"Yes, Wing," he said. "She's dead." Turning to face the former Gundam pilot, meeting those cold blue eyes with the coldness in his own. 

"You killed her." 

  


* * *

  
**Scene XII: Lies, Damn Lies**

  


_"Each time you are honest and conduct yourself with honesty,  
a success force will drive you toward greater success.  
Each time you lie, even with a little white lie,  
there are strong forces pushing you toward failure."  
-Joseph Sugarman_

  
As the world went up in flames around her, Ilene Keets laughed. It wasn't a nice laugh, or a particular sane one, but rather a laugh that started in her toes and swelled through her entire body like tsunami, one that fell out of her small mouth, sounding impossibly huge. 

Surprisngly, it had been easy to get onto base. The Keets were one of the Preventer's advocates in United America, and when their daughter requested an interview to discuss her concerns, a staff sergeant named Takamura granted her an in-person consultation. From the wearied look of his face on the vid, he'd been agreeing to many interviews and was tired of it all. 

Her interview had been set for two. After reporting in to the visitors center, she had been shown to the main building where Takamura's office was. To her amusement, she passed through the security checks easily- obviously no one had anticipated sodium as a possible threat, and no one screen her handbag too thoroughly. The computer disk was scrutinized a little more carefully, scanned in the security's specialized virus detectors, but passed as well. 

She was relieved. Part one of the plan had just been carried out. The scan had activated a virus which Enjolras had spent quite a bit on. In an hour, maybe a little more, it would short all of the base's electrical systems for a brief period of time- very brief, but long enough for Enjolras and the others to get on base and start wrecking havoc. She smiled innocently as she took it back, feeling slightly scornful of the Preventers who let her through. 

Just because she looked like a cute little girl didn't mean she was one. Inside she felt old. 

The airman who'd been her escort motioned for her to sit down. "Do you need any coffee? Tea?" she offered Ilene. 

'No, thanks," Ilene said quietly, clutching her purse. 

The airman offered a reassuring smile. "The Staff Sergeant isn't too scary. He'll listen to your concerns," she atempted to assure the shy young teen. 

_And dismiss them as quickly as possible_, Ilene thought angrily. "Thanks," she said again. 

It was ten minutes passed the time of her appointment when she was finally admitted. The older Asian man behind the desk looked the paper pusher he was, and Ilene was irrationally angered by the paternal smile he gave her. He wasn't being intentionally patronizing, but she felt his condescension. 

"Miss Keets?" he said, rising to his feet and offering her his hand to shake. 

She really didn't want to, and one of her mother's earlier lessons in putting people in their place came back to her. "It's Ms," she said, seating herself instead of shaking his hand. "It was kind of you to make the time for me," she said, speaking with aristocratic arrogance. United America might not have any titles, but wealth was a title of its own. She'd been brought up like a princess, and knew how to act the part. Normally she scorned her peers who put on airs, but those airs would gain respect that kindness would not. 

"Are you aware that you're a missing person?" he asked immediately. 

Ilene blinked slowly. The thought hadn't occurred to her, though it should have. "I should have contacted my family before I left, but I had extenuating circumstances." She pulled the infected disk out and handed it over. "On the same day Duo's name was released, I began to receive threats that made me fear for my life. I decided it would be best if I just... vanished for a while. I was lucky enough to have a friend with the ability to hide me... but I want to go home now." A pause for a slight sniff. "I miss my family." Very untrue- she and her parents hadn't been on good terms since James died. 

Takamura nodded. "Have you called your parents?" 

"I'm seventeen- I passed the age of my majority a year ago," Ilene said. "I don't want to worry them unneccessarily. On the disk you'll find copies of the threats that were sent to my private account. The fact that they were able to get my contact information makes me believe that it wasn't simply idle. And they are NASTY!" she said, whimpering melodramatically. 

That part was true. Enjolras and a would-be writer who called herself Joyce had had a great time putting their considerable talents together to write the vilest threats they could think of. A few of them had even made her feel sick to her stomach, even though she knew they weren't real. 

He gave her a reassuring smile. "We'll handle it, love," he said. "Your friend Duo arrived on base earlier, and if you want, we can quarter you near him." 

Her eyes widened as her heartrate exploded. "Duo's here?" Dammit, they hadn't known that! They'd never get to him! 

Takamura gave her brief jerk of his head which she supposed was a form of affirmation as he slid the disk into his terminal without scanning it, since he was aware it would have already be checked by security. She knew he'd find the files he was expecting, but the virus wouldn't infect his station- it required a virus scan to be initiated. "Um, while you look that over, can I go to the bathroom?" she asked. 

"Down the hallway, second door to the right," Takamura said absentmindedly, already engrossed in the files. 

She nodded and left, glancing at her wristwatch. About five minutes before the power went.... it should give her enough time to get there... 

She entered the ladies' room and was relieved that no one was in there. Opening her purse up and she fished out her make-up- a bottle of concealer, a compact, and a bottle of lotion, and removed the seals. Inside, instead of the real make-up product, was sodium. Her countdown reached one minute, and she went to the toilet nearest the door, raised the lid, and threw them all in. 

She knew the explosion was going to happen, but she was surprised at how deafening it was. She stumbled away from the bathroom, falling out into the hall with eyes streaming from the smoke. People were running towards her. 

"What happened?" a young airman asked. 

"I don't know! I was in there, and suddenly there's an explosion!" she sobbed. 

He opened his mouth to ask another question, when the lights flickered, and went out. The virus had hit. 

It took less then ten seconds for emergency power to come on, but it was enough. In the distance they heard the sound of different explosions, one coming after another, and emergency klaxon going off. 

"Miss, get out of here- leave the building by the nearest exit, and someone will direct you to the emergency shelters." 

Ilene nodded, wiped her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve, and left the way he told her. 

She could see where they were motioning the civilians towards, but she had no intention of falling in. Enjolras had expressed doubt about how far his group would be able to penetrate, and now that she knew Duo was on base... but how to find him? 

"Miss?" A young Preventers secuirty guard said, getting her attention. "Are you ok?" 

An idea came to her, a clever one. She threw herself at him, hugging him tightly, pretending to have hysterics. "I'm lost! I was suppose to be meeting my friend Duo... and then there's these explosions, and noise, and fire and smoke!" she said. 

The agent was a novice. Had he been experienced, he would have wondered more about why this young girl was wandering unaccompanied on base, particularly during an obvious terrorist attack. Had he been experienced, he would have wondered why she happened to be an acquaintance of a Gundam pilot. Had he.... but he was not. He was barely six months into his term of service. "I believe that the he's in the VOQ... I'll help you there- it's not far." 

She nodded, sniffling a little dramatically, and gave him a girlish smile, the one that had made many boys melt for her in the past. "Thank you!" she said, transferring her grip to his right arm- a grip that would conveniently prevent him from grabbing his gun easily should he become wise to her motivations. 

They made their way through the burning area, and no one stopped them. Around them was chaos as the smoke bombs kept going off and the sharp sounds of gunfire being exchanged in rapid volleys. The resistance cell hadn't penetrated that far into the compound, but it was only a matter of time. She hoped she'd be able to find Duo without accidentally getting shot by her own side. 

He led her over the white paths, pass the mess hall and around a few buildings before entering the largest of a cluster of three buildings. "Here, somewhere... first floor, most likely." 

Ilene sighed softly, wondering if she should regret what she was about to do. "You sure he's there?" she asked in her best little girl voice. 

"That's where the VIPs are quartered," the guard said. 

"Thanks!" she exclaimed, turning to give the blushing young man a hug. Then she kneed him in the groin, hard. 

It was more through like then any skill that Ilene hit the young Preventer right. He hadn't been expecting an attack from the girl he'd been helping, hadn't been expecting such a young child to be a terrorist. But her knee caught him unawares, and he instinctively curled forward, bringing his face into reach of her fists. She drove her right one upwards the way the self-defense instructor had shown her, hoping to knock him out. 

It killed him instead. 

His nose shattered under her hand, the broken bone driving itself up and into his brain. Blood splattered and she winced. He had been nice... she hadn't wanted that to happen. 

She watched as he crumpled to the ground. Ilene felt herself become light-headed, but her desire to find Duo overwhelmed any remorse. The guard had been a Preventer. He deserved to die. She knelt down beside the body and pulled the gun out, tucking it into her purse. She didn't need to be stopped now, a civilian carrying an unconcealed weapon in an area that was most likely restricted. 

She paced towards the right wing, taking a gamble that he'd been housed with a view of the greens rather then facing the gym. She knew from experience that he was a light sleeper, and he most likely was still in the vicinity, waiting. He wouldn't risk his neck in the fray outside unless he had to. 

To her surprise, he almost plowed her over, running in the direction she had come from. He didn't even look at her- no recognition showed on his face. That angered her. 

"Duo Maxwell!" she shouted, his voice springing from her throat with astounding volume. 

He turned, his braid whipping around after him at the sound of his name. "Ilene?" he asked incredulously. 

Duo Maxwell had been sleeping when the alarm klaxons had sounded. The sound had driven him to his feet before he had completely awakened, the gun he had placed under his pillow cradled in his hands. His instincts kicked in, and a familiar scent drifted towards his heightened senses- smoke. 

He shut his eyes for a second, visualizing the layout of the Preventer Base. He hadn't seen much, but what he knew told him that the smoke was coming primarily from south. He could imagine what was happening outside- people panicking in the orderly fashion only military life could impart, the civilians who were on base for some reason or other screaming and panicking in a not so controlled manner, fire raging and gunshots being exchanged. 

In other words, an attack. 

Une's voice came out over the communication unit in his room. "Attention all personnel. Evacuate the buildings immediately. We are under attack. Repeat, evacuate immediately. We are under attack. This is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill." She sounded calm and collected, her voice hard with authority and the power of a person who was used to being obeyed. 

_I'd hate to be her right about now,_ he thought, and then was amused at himself. He had better- 

His thoughts skidded to a halt as the images of Hilde, Shinobu and Helena surfaced in his mind. They were all on base somewhere.... Hilde had remained with the Gundams while he had taken a much-needed rest and would probably be all right, Shinobu had a gun and knew how to protect himself, but Helena would be a sitting duck in the chaos. He hoped that she was with Shinobu, but there was no telling. 

He grabbed the first set of his clothes to come to hand, a pair of black jeans and an equally dark CyberSal shirt, and put them on, tossing his slightly undone braid over his shoulder. He hoped the color wasn't an omen- since the war, he preferred brighter colors. Swearing slightly to himself, he did up his boots, hoping that he'd have time to get out. 

Going over to the window gave him a clear view of the carnage going on. From the south came explosions- the sound-proof windows kept the noise out, but the small rising plumes of smoke warned him of the danger. He swore, wondering where to go. 

He opened his door to a hallway that was eerily lacking of other humans The emergency lights flickered in time to the siren and he shivered, feeling like he had just been cast in some ancient horror movie. He kept his hand on his gun, scanning. Check Helena and Shin's rooms, get them to safety. 

They weren't there. At this time of day, the wing was empty, and no one seemed to remember that he was supposed to be there. He wondered where to go next. 

Hilde- the Gundams? He couldn't find the others, and though the security around the hanger in which the Gundams were hidden would be the tightest possible, the invaders had already managed to get on base... and he couldn't trust anyone else with Deathscythe or Hilde... or Zero. He had promised Heero when he had accepted the knife so many months ago. 

He dashed out in the hallway, sprinting for the exit. Without realizing it, he almost ran into a young woman going the other way. He assumed that she was looking for a friend, but he didn't have the time to be nice and apologize- 

"Duo Maxwell!" 

The voice was familiar- one he hadn't expected to hear. He skidded to a stop, his braid whipping around after him as he turned at the sound of his name. "Ilene?" 

She didn't look like the girl he knew. Gone were her trademark pigtails, replaced by a chic pageboy. Her expensive suit was plum-colored, one he remembered seeing her wear once before, when she had to give a presentation. Her face, though, had changed most. She didn't look like a cheerful child anymore. 

"You remember," she said, taking a few steps towards him before stopping abruptly, an uncharacteristic smirk on her features. 

"Ilene, where have you been?" he asked. 

"Wouldn't you like to know?" 

There was something in her face that wasn't quite sane. Normally he'd race to her, grab her like he'd done at the Cliffside Massacre, but his instincts told him to be more cautious. He took a step towards her, and she almost snarled. "Stay back, you filthy liar!" 

"I never lied to you!" he exclaimed. "I may run, I may hide, but I never lie!" His catchphrase of the past came to his lips almost without a thought. 

"There is such a such of thing as a lie of omission!" she snarled angrily. "There may not be such a thing as absolute truth, I've always believed that the search for it is important to the soul. Self-knowledge is important to help us define our souls, and help us learn which path to take at the next fork in the road of life!" 

From her bag she produced a small black gun, standard Preventer issue. "My path has led me to you... you are my brother's murderer, and it's time I showed you the truth of that!" 

He cursed mentally. He'd never figured that she'd been armed- how the hell had she gotten a gun onto the base? She pointed it at him, holding it like someone unused to weaponry - which was the truth. She'd had the basic riflery course that was part of Cliffside's gym course, but he knew that was pretty useless- and it hadn't been that long since they had last seen it other. 

Her eyes looked liked two black holes, absorbing all the light without reflecting anything back. The emergency lights glinted off the gun, and he knew he wouldn't have time to retrieve his own weapon, even if he wanted to. But he didn't want to. 

Ilene was a friend who was going through a hard time. It was his job to help her, make her see that things weren't absolute. In war, there was no black and white- just gray. Everything was shades of gray. "Ilene, I never was on the African continent during the war! I didn't go near that Academy! 

The gun trembled slightly and he took a small step towards her. "It doesn't matter! You were a pilot! All of you are nothing but filthy murderers!" 

Duo kept his voice low and soothing. "No, Ilene, we weren't. We were soldiers, just like your brother. We may have been on opposite sides during the war, but we had that in common." Another step, and Ilene's aim wavered even more, tears welling in her eyes. "A soldier knows that they may die." Two more steps. 

It would take just two more steps.... two more steps to get close enough to disarm her. She was coming apart, and he could see it. 

"Everyone lies!" she whispered. 

"I don't," Duo said, shifting his weight slightly in case he had to knock her down. 

"They LIE! There's no such thing as peace! People kill because they enjoy it!" she shrieked, raising the gun, preparing to shoot. 

There was a loud crack that sounded like thunder had just been unchained. Duo tried to move but it was too late. Ilene staggered backwards, her body jerking unnaturally as it was hit by several bullets from directly behind Duo. Then she crumbled backwards, her body moving like it was a broken doll. 

"Ilene!" he cried helplessly, watching the girl fall. Her eyes were wide in shock, but she was already dead. The bullets had been placed with such accuracy that the girl had barely had time to realize her impending death. And the way the person had shot from behind him told him that the shooter obviously had confidence that he would hit only his target. 

There were few people that could place bullets so close together- four bullets all locked within a three centimeters of each other. Most of them were probably on the Preventers' base, but one in particular immediately sprang to mind. 

"Heero?" he whispered. Sally had said he was on base.... 

Out of the shadows stepped a handsome Gundam pilot, but not the one he had been expecting. Trowa Barton peered at him from under his signature hair, his face as expressionless as ever. "Hello, Duo," he said softly. 

"Why?" he asked, practically pleading for an answer. 

"She was threatening you. Therefore she had to be removed." The former Heavyarms pilot spoke in a soft voice, slightly regretful, but not the least apologectic. "This is war, Duo. You know that." 

Duo walked over to where the girl had fallen. Kneeling down beside her, he stared into her face, committing it to memory. Her short violet hair had been mussed, and the crimson strain spread over her expensive suit like bad wine. Her face was covered with hair, and appeared to be slightly surprised. "No, Trowa," he said softly, "she didn't. The war is over- now it's time for the killing to stop." He reached out and shut the vacant eyes that glared accusingly at him. "Rest well, Ilene," he said. "I hope your brother is with you, where ever you are," he continued, brushing a kiss against her rapidly cooling cheek. 

He rocked back on his heels, cradling his head in his hands. _Another friend, gone... and it's my fault. I couldn't save her..._

"Two fucking steps..." he whispered. "I was two damn steps too late. I could have disarmed her, Trowa." 

"Could you?" Trowa asked. "I've found that fanatics are sometimes more dangerous than professional soldiers." 

He blinked in surprise, feeling something moist slip down his face. He raised an incredulous hand over his cheek to touch the warmth. 

_Tears...._

"She wasn't a fanatic.... she was my friend." 

  
**END SAINAN NO KEKKA ACT VIII**

  
Act VIII Part II | Act IX Part I | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	32. Behind the Darkened Stage

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT IX, PART I

** Yawarakana hizashi hoho ni uke  
Muchu de hashitta tooi hi yo  
Yureugoku toki no naka de ima  
Hontou no ai o motometeru**

Setsunasa ni mune o itamete  
Jibun sae miushinau koto mo atta  


** Feeling the soft sunlight on my cheeks  
Running madly on that faraway day  
Now inside this shaking moment  
I am looking for true love**

My heart filled with grief  
Sometimes I lost even myself  


**--Gundam Wing, _Brave Eyes_  
[Quatre Raberba Winner image song]**  


  
  
**Scene I: Ladies in Waiting**

  


_"So anytime somebody needs you,  
Don't let them down.  
Although it grieves you,  
Some day you'll need someone like they do,  
Looking for what you knew."  
--Led Zeppelin, Friends_

  
She was relieved when her mother left for an appointment. In denying Emily once and for all, Dorothy felt free… but that meant she was even more uncomfortable in the Duchess's presence then she had ever been before.

Blood didn't make a family- respect and love came into it as well. Duke Dermail had been her family; Emily Khushrenada Noventa was not. She'd never really realized it before, but her mother had never displayed a single ounce of concern for her, as a person. Dorothy had always been an item to her, something to be used to its best advantage. Dermail had been similar in that respect, but at least he had taken time to listen. He wouldn't have tried to force her into a political marriage against her will. She was positive of _that_..... wasn't she? The thought gave her a headache. If her grandfather hadn't loved her, that meant she'd been unloved her entire life. She refused to accept that.

It was late in the day when she finally came downstairs to break her fast. The endless hours of traveling had taken their toll on her, and she still felt about six time zones out of sync. She wanted to be alert when she put her foot into the political waters, and she knew she needed to catch up and be on top of current events. Quatre was going to be on trial shortly, and that would be where the battle would be.

There was more then one kind of battlefield, after all. 

She had been taught to fight in all of them. This time, her weapons would be her wits, and her ability to manipulate other people- and she had learned at the foot of a master. Duke Dermail had all but ruled the world in everything but name before his death.

Could his granddaughter do any less?

She was a Catalonia. It was time she started to act like it.

"My lady?"

Dorothy turned to see her butler looking at her with a slightly hassled expression on his long face. "Yes, Swenson? Is something wrong?"

"You might like to watch the news," he suggested.

"Hmmm?" She yawned daintily, raising a hand to cover her mouth politely.

"My lady…" He seemed on edge.

"Fine." Swenson was one of the best- if something was upsetting him, then it would behoove her to listen to his advice. She walked to her sitting room and arranged herself comfortably on a settee. "Have the maid get me a cup of coffee," she ordered. Decent coffee had been one of the things she had missed most while on A007. The colony hadn't had time to adapt coffee beans to its poor soil, and the Preventers hadn't rated enough there to warrant the import of a decent brand. All they had was the standard military issue, and she thought it taste like someone must have soaked ancient socks in water to get that distinct flavor. She was a purist- she believed firmly that all coffee should be freshly ground. Needless to say, she had been rather crabby about that.

That and the lack of decent bathing facilities.

She pulled her feet underneath her, taking a sip of the bitter brew. "Cue World News Network, normal volume," she commanded.

The screen flicked and sprang to life, and Dorothy almost dropped her coffee. Preventer's Head Quarters, Geneva, was on fire. It looked like the film crew was shooting from the roof of a nearby-building. The gorgeous white and green base was showing small plumes of smoke. She felt like she was looking at a miniature that some tri-d producer had blown up for a film. It honestly couldn't be the base- right? 

"Fuck!" she swore.

"-coming out of the base before a security seal was placed. There is at this time no indication who the attackers are. Casualties were reported before the lock-down was complete, but we don't have confirmation how many, or on which side."

The anchorman's voice cut across the reporter's. "There are many important people there at this time, correct? Any word on them?"

"None. As we all know, with the Winner hearings imminent, the Preventers have been playing host to some of the key players. Winner himself along with about six of his sisters are on base, along with Catherine Bloom, sister to Trowa Barton. General Po and General Une were also reported to be at Headquaters preparing for the trial. However, the largest concern at this time is for Queen Relena Darlian Peacecraft of Cinq.

"A shuttle was seen leaving base approximately ten minutes ago." The footage slid to half-screen, one side showing the live happenings, the others showing a shuttle leaving. "Preventers policy is to evacuate the ranking officer on base, so we can speculate that was General Une leaving." The footage went back to full screen.

"Mute audio," Dorothy commanded, watching the Preventers HQ burn. She had no doubt that the Preventers would force the attackers back, but the damage was done. They had been breached, and it was doubtful they'd ever be trusted again.

And Relena and Quatre were on base, possibly dead.

She wasn't sure how she felt about that- Quatre had once tried to see the best in her, and Relena had tried to be her friend. She had come to resolution with neither of them.... they didn't have the right to die until she was able to make up her mind. Noin had died before they had come to resolution; it wasn't fair for two other key players in her past to do the same!

An ironic smirk traced her lips. She sounded like a little girl, complaining about what was fair and what wasn't. Life wasn't fair, and she knew it. It was time to even the odds up a little. Stack the deck, so to speak.

"Rosalie?" she called.

The older woman appeared as though by magic, one second absent, the next present. Dorothy knew this was a quality of good servants- the ability to come and go like they were no more substantial then a heavy fog. "Yes, milady?"

"Can you get me a transport to Preventers? Say for half an hour? I need to get dressed..."

"Your unit was called in?"

"Technically all field units were called in.... and since my resignation hasn't officially been filed, I should report."

_Useful, that. I'll be able to see what the hell is going on firsthand._

It was actually closer to an hour before she was ready to leave. Rosalie had forced a light meal on her, pointing out that she'd lost weight recently.... she hadn't been able to find the outfit she wanted to wear, so had to settle for a sundress that was entirely too casual for her tastes... and so forth. She hoped it wasn't an omen for how the rest of her day was going to go. Then her memory sparked, and she recalled the images of the base burning. Her problems were minor.

Driving to the compound was difficult- cars were being redirected all over the city, and the area around twenty blocks around the attack had been sectioned off. She'd finally been forced to send her driver home, and walked in. Her two-inch heels, while fashionable, weren't particularly comfortable, and she knew she'd wind up with the most uncomfortable set of blisters for her effort.

Within the two-block radius, she encountered checkpoint after checkpoint, having to verify herself by showing her ID and placing her palm on a scanpad. Luckily she was still listed as personnel... claiming diplomatic immunity wouldn't have worked, she was sure. She'd bet her eyeteeth that the Preventers were done playing with politicians. They'd played by the rules, and it had gotten them nowhere. Down and dirty was the new standard.

The closer she got, the more she was able to smell smoke, and the scent of battle. It wasn't something most people would recognize, but she was an experienced soldier. It was indescribable, really... a unique fragrance... an odor of decay and fire, smoke and spent ammunition, mixed with the loathsome aroma that was the scent of death.

She shivered as she reached the gatehouse. The squad looked at the lone woman who approached them, their looks firm and suspicious. "Dorothy Catalonia, vice commander under Colonel Milliard Peacecraft. Just back from assignment in A007."

"How the hell did you get back here so fast?" the one wearing the markings of a major demanded tactlessly.

"My shuttle arrived yesterday, before the attack. I hadn't yet arrived to give my report." Stretching the truth- she'd had no intention of ever giving one. 

She was offered the scanpad, and her handprint passed, confirming that she was who she claimed to be. "Is there any word on Relena? Quatre? Une and Sally? And where's General Brown? The World News didn't say anything about him."

The major looked at her. "Brown is in Milan... on his way back. He was dealing with the bombing there. General Une has been evacuated to Bern and is setting up an interim HQ, and General Po is in command here. I don't know where Winner or Queen Relena are, but they weren't on the casualty lists. I'd guess temporary shelter."

She nodded her thanks and started onto the base. "Wait, Lady Dorothy. I'm going to have to assign you an escort."

Dorothy barely kept from rolling her eyes with frustration. 

Another two hours passed before she was standing in front of the small conference room that had been claimed by Relena's security guards for her. She entered without knocking, wanting to get the drop on her old friend... rival... acquaintance? She wasn't sure what they were, but she wanted the advantage.

"Relena?"

The Queen of Cinq looked like she had aged ten years. Soot was smeared almost artistically on her pale skin, and her blue eyes seemed dark with concern and secrets. Her hair was falling out of her carefully done braids, and there was a tear in her pale blue skirt. She should have looked rumpled, but she didn't. Somehow her carriage still made her look like the Queen she was. "Dorothy? What are you doing here? And why did they let you on base?" she asked. Relena's eyes were exhausted, but the steel in them gave Dorothy hope.

"I'm still on the books as a Preventer operative, and Milliard's second in command. It was easy enough to flash those credentials… I'm here to offer you a place at my townhouse." She tossed her hair, sending her it flying like a banner in the breeze.

Relena's mouth formed a slight "o" of surprise. "Dorothy?"

Dorothy felt herself soften. "I know we haven't always agreed, but we have been friends, no matter what. I respect you, and I hope you hold me in some regard. The Preventers have proven they can't protect themselves, much less one of the foremost politicians of the time. My house is quite secure, and I doubt anyone would look there for you, especially considering your political differences with my mother."

The pretty Queen looked as though Dorothy had taken a two-by-four to her head. "You want me to come stay with you?"

Dorothy gave her a smile that seemed to be almost shy. "I care for you, Relena. I want you to be safe. Heero Yuy isn't the only one who recognizes what a precious gift you are to the world.

"I took a look in the mirror recently, and I decided I didn't like the woman I was becoming," Dorothy said, staring out the window at the gathering darkness. "She was weak, willing to be controlled by a man- but I didn't like the woman I had been, either. She had no friends, and was obsessed with the past. She was… frightening. So I decided it was time to turn over a new leaf, as they say. 

"Don't expect me to change too much- I still think that war is necessary. It's a part of our natures, and suppressing that drive is unnatural. Still, it doesn't mean that I don't like the idea of peace- it's something we all should work towards. Peace can be achieved, however temporary it may be, and each time we reach that balance, we have bettered ourselves. Without darkness, there can be no light. Without war, there can be no peace. There is equilibrium, and it is up to us to achieve it."

Relena blinked. "I believed in absolute pacifism… the idea that war is unnecessary. Lately, though... I've started to wonder. The world isn't black and white. It's all shades of gray, and there are no absolutes... so that means the philosophy of Absolute Pacifism is flawed even in its name. I am a pacifist... I will work to ensure that war isn't necessary... but I won't condemn those who fight when they believe every other option is exhausted."

"So come with me," Dorothy urged. "We can work together on figuring out how to get Quatre off these ridiculous charges."

"I-I… the Preventers have the place under lockdown. We can't leave."

Dorothy snorted. "Like they'll actually have the nerve to stop the Queen of Cinq from doing what she wants to…. If it comes down to it, claim diplomatic immunity. You're a Head of State- they have to give you some leeway."

Relena shivered slightly to herself, and seemed to make a decision. "Would you have room for one more?"

"Who?" Dorothy asked suspiciously. She honestly didn't want to put up with Heero Yuy. He could be such a self-righteous prig, and arguing with him would only irritate or possibly even alienate Relena.

"Catherine Bloom. I don't want to abandon her here."

Dorothy pursed her lips. "That's rather interesting company you're keeping." Of course, Relena always did seem to make unusual friends.

"You'll like her. She tells it like she sees it."

"But will we agree?" Dorothy asked curiously. She wondered what it would be like to be the older sister of Trowa Barton- a sibling of a Gundam pilot, particularly the one who accused her of being unable to cry. He had been wrong- the last weeks had proven that. 

Relena started to laugh, and her laughter was genuine. "I doubt it. But I can practically guarantee it'll be interesting."

Dorothy giggled, sounding like the teenager her age proclaimed her to be. "And isn't that what's life all about?"

Relena gave a laugh, and then hooked her elbow through Dorothy's. "It's part of it, certainly!" she said, not wanting this moment to end. The world was going to hell, people were dying all around them, but Relena -not Queen Relena, just Relena- was connecting on a personal basis with someone. It was the second time in a week, and she intended to seize it.

A small squad of Preventers surrounded the two young women as they moved to the temporary shelters. The wind picked up, carrying the scent of blood, smoke and spent bullets. 

In the chaos following the attack, Catherine was amazed to find two Preventer security agents assigned to her, of all people. The Preventers were busy trying to shift their center of Operations to Bern, manage the cleanup of the Geneva facilities, and they still had the resources to give her guards? It was a mystery- she didn't think of herself as that important. Apparently someone high up did, though.

She had been speaking with a young Preventer airman about nothing consequential when the attack had happened. The flickering of the lights had worried them both, but it wasn't until Lady Une's calm demand for evacuation had come over the speakers did they both know that something had gone seriously wrong. To the airman's credit, he had immediately reacted to the alarm, hustling her to the nearest shelter before drawing his sidearm to report to his station.

The two terrifying hours she had spent locked inside the bomb shelter would go down as some of the worst in her life. The shelter, despite its fluorescent lighting, had seemed appalling dim, and the other civilians who had been unlucky enough to be caught on base at the time were terrified.

Who had dared attack the Preventers in their stronghold? And why?

What did the distant explosions mean?

Who would be the one to open the doors? The Preventers… or the terrorists?

A few of the people in the shelter bore minor wounds, as they hadn't been able to get out of the line of fire quickly enough. These people told of heavy gunfire, people strapped to the gills with explosives and dead man's switches, the Preventers pushing them back, but vital areas still being breached. They huddled together, perfect strangers bonded by one of the most primal of human emotions: fear.

Catherine was concerned, but a part of her scorned the way people seemed to act as though the world were ending. Yes, the situation was desperate, and yes, they were in danger, but this was small time. She has lived through the Wars of AC195, and remembered what it had been like to be dancing the dagger's edge between life and death. These civilians on base obviously were politicians and members of the upper class, and had never faced personal danger. Maybe it would be good for them.

It had taken close to three hours before the Preventers once again pronounced their base secure. The bunker had become more and more cramped, and Catherine had, at one point, only refrained from yelling at people for being gibbering idiots by biting down on her tongue.

Stupid people sucked, in her opinion. And there were far too many of them in the world. 

She still hadn't been able to shake her team, despite her assurances that should would be quite _fine_, thank you. She'd at least convinced one of the men to give her a couple of knives to protect herself. The balance on the blades was wrong for throwing, but she felt more comfortable.

The base wasn't safe, and due to her relationship with Trowa, many people wanted her dead. _Such a comforting thought..._ They'd moved her to the temporary shelter and placed heavy guards on her, and she was almost out of her mind with boredom. The small room had no vid screen, and all she had on her person to amuse herself was the aforementioned knives. She was sure the Preventers weren't going to be happy with the holes she was putting in the wall with her ill-balanced blades (she only hit her target every other time, something that didn't make her happy), but she figured they had it coming. It was their own fault for locking her in a small closet with nothing to do.

_Morons._

She knew she should be more charitable, but at that moment, she wanted nothing to do with politics or war or Gundams. She just wanted her brother back, dammit, and to be doing their Dance of Daggers.

The doorbell rang, and the door swung inwards almost immediately after. "Catherine?"

The voice was familiar. She spun around and gave Relena a tight hug, ignoring the girl beside her. "I'm glad you're all right! No one had any idea if you were okay!"

"I went to shelter three as soon as I could. Do you know Dorothy Catalonia?" Relena gestured with a hand, and the girl with white-blonde hair came forward. 

"I've saw you on the news during the wars, milady," she said, dropping an awkward curtsey. She had no clue what Dorothy's proper rank or title was.

Dorothy waved the formality away with a negligent flick of her fingers. "Just Dorothy, Catherine. If you can call Relena by her name, you can certainly do the same for me."

She nodded, relieved that their conversation was going to be as equals. "I didn't know you were on base."

"I just got back from a mission where I was given a commission with the Preventers," Dorothy answered. "I used it to get on base so I could invite Relena to stay with me until the base has been repaired, or she decides to relocate elsewhere. She suggested I extend the invitation to you as well; my townhouse is quite secure, and I doubt anyone would be expecting to find you there."

Whatever she had been expected, this wasn't it. "That- that's very kind of you.... I-"

The doorchime sounded again, but this time the person on the other end was apparently content to wait. "Come in!" Catherine called after a second.

In stumbled a young man with a long braid, one that was eerily familiar to all three of them. His clothes were dark-colored, and Catherine's sharp eyes caught the hints of recently dried blood on the JRock shirt he was wearing. He looked bedraggled and sorrowful. "Cat?" he called, looking around as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting.

"Duo?!" the three young woman exclaimed in unison.

He blinked in confusion, but then seemed to focus. "Ojousan? Dorothy? What are you doing here?"

"Talking," Dorothy said crisply. "We can ask the same of you."

"I came to get Catherine... I didn't remember you were on base until just now."

"Get me?" she asked in confusion.

"Trowa's in the hospital with a concussion. I think you should be there..."

  


* * *

  
**Scene II: The Sun Rises in the East**

  


_"Ima ni mo koborete shimaisou na kotoba  
Anata wa shiranai mama de ii."  
[It's all right if you don't know the words that I haven't said till now]  
--Aikawa Nanase, China Rose_

  
It was almost two 'o clock in the morning when Wufei returned from the clean up effort at the base's north gate to the temporary housing that had been set up for base residents. He had ash and dust on his face and his clothes, a small bloodstain where he had cut himself trying to lift a particularly recalcitrant piece of concrete, and bruises on his left side from where a metal rod had accidentally fallen on him when he had been trying to get out of the way of an incoming truck. Machida Varis had driven him back to the housing in his truck, bade him good night, then sped away back to the south entrance, where the larger clearing effort was taking place.

He wanted to continue to help, but he knew his limits and he wasn't about to risk getting sick again. The shots that the medics had given him in the afternoon would tide him over until tomorrow, but they'd cautioned him against unnecessary physical activity. And he was pretty sure that lifting heavy objects and having metal poles fall on him would be considered unnecessary physical activity.

The foyer was still brightly lit and the roar of conversation was pleasant to his ears. He'd never thought he would find conversation pleasant, but it was strangely comforting to hear voices raised in debate, in laughter, in worry. Even the little girl crying in the far corner of the room by the darkened receptionist's desk was uplifting. It meant that they were alive…that he was still alive.

The office was a standard base office - probably for personnel or services, judging from the pictures on the walls and the neat paper-pusher atmosphere and comfortable couches lining the lounge area. There were two hallways leading back into the main building from the foyer, one on each side of the receptionist's booth, and both hallways were brightly lit. Most of the doors were open and there were voices coming from inside. A man appeared outside one of the doors, dragging a mattress down the hall. A baby began to cry.

He recognized the atmosphere. In the aftermath of a tragedy like this one, people would not be concerned about their own welfare - it was help your neighbor or feel utterly alone. Pitching in gave people a sense of accomplishment, of companionship.

It had been hard for him to accept at first that he needed the other pilots…but he had come to realize that he did. More than he had ever imagined.

"You like it?"

The voice behind him made him jump before he realized that he was looking into the smiling face of Sally Po. For a moment he blinked, taking her in. Even though he'd been on base for two days, he hadn't seen her until now, and she looked older, more worn. Her honey-colored hair was done up in French braids, pulled safely out of the way, and her uniform was wrinkled. What startled him was that he was taller than her now. She'd always been the taller one, the older one, but now he was looking down on her. It was rather unnerving.

"Two years, and I don't get a hello?"

He couldn't help but grin and bow slightly to her. "It's nice to see you again, Sally."

"You liar," she said, but there were tears in her eyes and before he could react, she had drawn him close in a tight, quick hug. "You've certainly grown," she said, releasing him and looking him up and down the same way he had sized her up earlier. "I hardly recognize you."

"Liar," Wufei returned. "You recognized me from the back."

"Yes, well…those clothes aren't exactly nondescript." She gestured to his blue tank top and flared white pants, the same clothing style he had favored during the war, and he shrugged.

"They're the most comfortable thing I own. I was in the hospital, you know."

Her face was dark. "They told me. I was trying to find all of you when the lights went out…if any of you were hurt or killed, I'd never forgive myself."

"All of us?" Her words took a moment to sink in, and then he grabbed her. "You mean the rest of the pilots are here?"

She winced and he realized he was holding her arm in a deathgrip, loosened his hold. "Yes," she said softly, and for the first time he realized that many of the people in the foyer were staring at them strangely. He didn't blame them. It wasn't every day that you got a Preventers general and a Gundam pilot in the same room having a serious conversation.

"Sorry," he said quickly, but she shook her head.

"Actually, I'm glad I found you. I…need to talk to you. Will you be around?"

He shrugged. "I was planning on going to sleep, but I don't know how these living arrangements work…?"

"Come with me," she ordered, pushing past the people crowding the room, nodding politely to those who offered her a greeting. It was odd, he realized after a moment of watching her, because he'd never seen Sally as a figure of command. She'd always been just Sally, a fellow soldier, in his mind, but apparently she was now something more. She was a figure of hope, and she knew it. Her movements were sure, her voice crisp and clear. She had told him once that she didn't want to be in charge, but now Wufei could see that she was used to command. Used to it, and she liked it.

He didn't know what to make of the new Sally.

She took the right hallway and he followed her, glancing curiously inside the open doors. "We've converted these offices into a shelter of sorts," Sally said, seeing his gaze. "The enlisted dorms weren't touched, but we don't dare move people back into the officers' quarters or the VOQ without a thorough investigation, so all of you are going to be squished for a few days."

"Is there a system of sorts?" he wondered, and she nodded.

"Alphabetical by family, basically. Most families have their own rooms, though there are a few who have had to share and some that we just had to stick in the lobbies. We've set up a headquarters in the building next door, since the main tower is most definitely off limits to us right now." She laughed. "Funny, I feel like a refugee on my own base."

"What about the pilots? Where are they?"

"We've moved Quatre and his family into the end room…it's a conference room, so it's big. They'll need all the privacy they can get. Duo's probably holed up somewhere if he's not with his Gundam."

"Gundam?"

Sally looked tired. "He brought Wing Zero and Deathscythe back with him. They're in one of the hangars."

"I…see," he said, a little stunned. Why would Duo…?

"The other pilots are in the next building over, but I'd suggest you don't try to talk to any of them right now."

He gave her a hard glance. "Why?"

"Duo and Quatre…both lost someone in the attack. I'm sure they're trying to deal with it alone right now. I'd give them some privacy. As for Trowa…" she trailed off. "Well, all I have to say that the hospital seems like a popular place for all of you. He's in there with a concussion. I believe his sister is sitting up with him."

"Catherine's here?" Wufei demanded. "When?"

"She got here last week." Stopping in front of a closed door. "This'll be your room…it's just down the hall from Quatre's." She gestured to another closed door at the end of the hallway before unlocking his. The door swung open and he peered inside at a room that seemed to be part office, part broom closet. "I know it's not much, but there's a lock on the door and it's as much as I can manage. We're a little cramped right now."

He smiled and she blinked at him, evidently taken aback. "I'll be fine, Sally."

She nodded once before stepping back. "I have to run to the office…Une is supposed to call in about three minutes. Can I…meet you later?" Again the hesitation. Something was bothering her.

"Of course. I'll…Actually, could you meet me in the hangar?"

He could tell Sally was surprised, but she simply nodded. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

He watched her go and then looked towards Quatre's door, wondering exactly who had died in the attack. One of his sisters? He winced, wondering who Duo had lost. Wondered where Heero was for a moment before deciding that he should let the Wing pilot spend some time alone without Wufei breathing down his neck trying to supervise him.

_Heero Yuy doesn't exist anymore. Even if you look, he won't be there. I'm the only thing that's left._

He would never give up on Heero…but at the same time he wasn't sure if anything he did would ever be any good. The Japanese boy was haunted by more demons than Wufei could probably ever know, and he wasn't sure if what he was doing was helping…or hurting. Maybe it was both.

Heero would talk to him when he was ready. Maybe that would never happen, but Wufei had done what he could do, and it wasn't his place to bring someone back from the dead. There had been enough people dead because of him.

He retraced his steps through the hallway out to the lobby and then left the building, hailing a passing truck and climbing in. The soldiers didn't ask questions, obviously recognizing him and glad to oblige. There were certain instances when he didn't mind being a hero. The guards at the barricade checkpoint didn't ask questions either, simply waved them on through towards the north entrance, which was looking decidedly better than it had two hours ago.

"Back again?" said the section chief as the truck pulled up and Wufei jumped out. "Thought we sent you off to take a break."

Wufei bowed slightly. "I'm here to see the Gundams," he said. "Could you tell me which hangar they're in?"

The chief nodded sagely, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Of course. Last hangar on the west side."

"I can be back later to-" Wufei began, but the chief laughed.

"You've done enough, young man. Thanks anyway."

Wufei bowed again and jogged towards the far hangar. The flightline was eerily quiet, and the few craft which were still left out in the open had been pulled to the side and covered with camouflage netting. He almost missed them the first time, almost bumped into one of them before he saw the hulking shape underneath the black concealing cover.

The hangar was dark as well, with two mobile suits and three guards standing in front of the door. He suddenly had doubts as to whether they'd even let him in - he was a Gundam pilot, but those weren't his Gundams. He was still deliberating whether to go on when one of the soldiers noticed him.

"Hey! What're you doing?"

Wufei approached cautiously, bowing. "I'm sorry, but I heard that Duo Maxwell brought two of the Gundams with him, and I was wondering…?" He trailed off, noticing the looks of awe on the soldiers' faces.

"That's him!" He heard one of them whisper. "The Shenlong pilot!"

"Ah…I-" He began, but the guard commander waved to the mobile suits and they stepped aside, exposing the entrance. The commander pressed a button and the door cracked open slightly, just enough to allow a human to pass under.

"Mr. Chang?"

He looked over at the leftmost guard, who held his rifle with expert ease but whose young face marked him about the same age as Wufei. "What is it?" he said, keeping his voice level.

"I was…I was a soldier, aboard the Peacemillion." Gazing at him with wide eyes. Wufei suddenly felt embarrassed.

"I really wasn't-" he said, but the soldier shook his head quickly.

"I just wanted to say that I…that we really admired you, sir. That we still do. For all that you did…I guess you must feel really swamped on all sides right now, with the World Nation on your back and all. But I…I wanted to let you know…I'm on your side. We all are, you know?"

Wufei blinked for a moment, then murmured a quiet acknowledgment, bowing to the guards before ducking through the half-open hangar door. It made him uncomfortable, those honest assurances of loyalty. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate them, but it made him feel ashamed to be involving these soldiers in something beyond their control.

After all, if he hadn't been here - if the Gundam pilots had not been on base, if the Preventers had not taken their side - the terrorists might have never attacked. 

The hangar was lit by two bleak spotlights in the far corner and it was empty except for the two Gundams standing like silent giants in the gloom. He felt his breath hitch involuntarily, feeling a sense of déjà vu wash over him as he walked slowly towards the great machines. Remembering the way it had been, the way it no longer was.

_Is this how it will be from now on, Nataku? Will the endless cycle of war and destruction continue over again? Was his death not enough?_

Without knowing why he did so, he picked up his pace, walking quickly towards Wing Zero, feeling something about its intimidating bulk beckon to him in the shadows. Two years ago he would have avoided this Gundam like the plague, but now the Zero system seemed distant, a child's ghost story that he had outgrown, something that he had moved past and which could no longer hurt him. He put his hands on the cold metal and hoisted himself up the left leg, shimmying up the crooked right arm and onto the Gundam's shoulder.

He was sitting there, lost in thought, when Sally found him.

"Wufei?"

Her gentle questioning voice brought him out of his reverie and he jumped, then saw her standing there gazing up at him, frowning a bit.

"What are you doing?"

He waved an absent hand. "Just…thinking. I didn't hear you come in."

"May I join you?"

"Oh…oh, sure. Come on up."

It wasn't till that she had seated herself comfortably next to him with her legs swinging over the side of the Gundam's shoulder that he looked over at her again.

"You know what I just realized?"

"What?"

He gave a self-deprecating laugh. "That I kind of missed this. Sitting here in the hangar, just me and the Gundams, just thinking. I guess there were good times too, weren't there? That it…that it wasn't all bad memories."

She shook her head silently and he noticed a small smile on her lips. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing. Just that you've changed."

He sighed. "You keep saying that. It's not like you've remained static either. I'm taller than you now. Did you notice?"

"It's not only that, Wufei," she interrupted him gently. "You seem…more confident. More sure of yourself. It seems like you've grown up…I came to give you a lesson, but now it seems like maybe you're the one to give me that lesson."

He looked sharply at her. "Lesson?"

Sally cocked her head to the side. In the dim light, her face was shadowed and he could see her Western features clearly: the long nose, the delicate eyebrow ridges that pureblooded Chinese lacked. Her hair shone faintly in the spotlights. She looked very comfortable, he realized. Comfortable and confident, as if she'd found a cause worth following.

"Well?" she said.

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to lecture me? About how women shouldn't be trying to tell men what to do? About how you don't need anyone to tell you what to do anyway?"

He winced. "You know, whenever I said that, I didn't mean half of it. It was just-"

"I know," Sally said. "I know. It never ceased to amaze me, though, just how hardheaded you could be."

"It's been two years," he responded softly. "People change. I've changed."

"I've noticed," she said dryly.

"I thought that I didn't have what it took to survive. To live a normal life…but finding Heero changed that, somehow. I had a purpose again." He shook his head. "As strange as it may sound coming from me, Heero gave me hope."

"Then will you listen to what I have to say?"

"Say it."

She was silent for a moment, then stretched, weaving her fingers together above her head and looking over at him. "We had one of these conversations before. That night after the last battle, in the hangar on the Peacemillion. I asked you who Nataku was. Why you fought for her. Do you remember that?"

"I remember," he said shortly, sensing his self-defense mechanisms kick in. "You asked me if I was afraid of the truth. What about it?"

"Well, are you?"

He hadn't expected that question and he glanced at her in surprise to find her looking at him with all seriousness. "Am I?"

"I'm asking you," she retorted. "I've been waiting two years for an answer, Chang Wufei, and I thought that since you'd grown up a bit, you'd be more inclined to answer."

The brash retort was on the tip of his tongue that no, he wasn't afraid of anything and that she should mind her own business when he bit it back, swallowed it. It wasn't fair to her…she'd been waiting two years for him to come back, waited two years for a boy she considered more than an equal, if not a friend, while he hadn't even thought of her. They had never been extremely close, but he respected her and he knew she respected him. She deserved better.

"I don't know," he said. "I thought…" He laughed. "Two years ago I thought I could do anything. I thought…well, I thought that I was right and the rest of the world could go to hell as far as I cared, because as long as justice was served, it didn't matter."

"You don't believe in justice anymore? You don't believe in fighting for a cause?"

"I do, but…" he trailed off, pulling his long ponytail over his shoulder and playing with it idly. "Until a few weeks ago I still believed that I had been right and that it was the rest of the world that had turned against me. So I hid. I hid because I believed I had been wronged."

"I know how that feels," Sally said and he glanced at her again. There was an undercurrent of bitterness in her voice that he hadn't remembered hearing before. She didn't look at him as she spoke. "I fought in the war for my country…for China, for the country that up till then wouldn't - couldn't - consider me one of its own. Because I didn't look like the rest of them. Because I didn't look like you."

"You thought that they had wronged you," Wufei said.

"I remember telling you that day in the forest a long time ago…when you asked me why we were fighting an enemy that we knew we couldn't defeat…that it was because somebody had to do it. But that wasn't the only reason I fought. I fought because I loved my country, even if she didn't love me."

"I think she did love you," he returned.

"And why is that?"

He turned to look at her. "Because China is like that. Because she loves all the sons and daughters who come back to her. Even people like you and me, who have no home."

The corner of her lip twisted in a smile. "You still haven't answered my question."

"What?"

"If you're afraid of the truth."

He stared into the darkness, thinking of Treize. Thinking about how he had spent the last two years hiding from himself and from Meilan and from the new world he had helped build, because he was ashamed. Thinking about how it hadn't done him any good in the end, because all it had done for him was to instill even more deeply in him the sense of failure, of weakness. of regret. Thinking about how it was time to end the cycle of self-penance.

"Well," he said slowly. "I came back, didn't I?"

There was a long silence. "That same time…you told me that you were a coward. Because you could only defeat those weaker than yourself."

He took a deep breath, let it out again. "Why are you bringing this up, Sally? And don't tell me it's just that you're glad to see me, either, because this isn't the kind of thing you're supposed to say to a long lost friend who you haven't seen for two years."

"You're right," she agreed, "it's not. It's the kind of thing I'd say to a man who has come back and who has decided to be a warrior again."

He couldn't find anything to say to that, so he said nothing.

"Remember what you're fighting for," she whispered to him. He felt her smile. "I'll always believe in you, Chang Wufei. Is it too much of me to ask the same of you in return?"

"To believe in you?" He met her gaze, read the pain and the uncertainty mirrored there under the confidence. He smiled back. "I've always believed in you, Sally. You know that. Even when I was ashamed of myself, even when I thought I couldn't trust anyone else around me, I've believed in you."

He felt her grab his hand and squeeze it tightly before dropping it and standing. "I have to get back to the office. It's going to be a long night. Are you going to be all right?"

"I'll be fine," he said. "I think…I'll stay here for a while longer. Take care of yourself. I'll come by later."

"Remember what I said," she whispered, and was gone into the darkness.

The lights seemed to flicker and dim as he lay back, feeling the warmth of the spot that she had just vacated, staring at the steel beams in the ceiling of the hangar.

_I came back, didn't I?_

"I don't know if that's enough, Nataku," he mused, pillowing his head on his arms and closing his eyes, envisioning her face in his mind. "I'm still a coward at heart, whatever Sally says…I'm just less of one than I was two years ago."

He thought he heard her laugh, thought he saw her smile at him before her image flitted away and he took a deep breath, let it out slowly and let his mind drift. He was so tired. He'd just rest his eyes for a bit before hitching a ride back to the living area. They'd never miss him anyway, and Sally knew where he was…

_Because China is like that. Because she loves all the sons and daughters who come back to her._

That night he dreamed that he was standing on the beach with the water lapping at his toes and the seagulls crying and that he was watching the sun rise over the ocean and there was something else rising with it…a flashing sword ascending out of the depths, sparkling like a thousand lights on the water.

  


* * *

  
**Scene III: Returning to the Beginning**

  


_"When I try to get through  
On the telephone to you  
There'll be nobody home."  
--Pink Floyd, Nobody Home_

  
The temporary main office was a mess, and when Dermand Etille stepped inside the front door and started to inquire about General Une's whereabouts, the harried receptionist simply stared at him, told him to sit down, shut up, and wait. So he did.

His shuttle had touched down on the VIP pad half an hour earlier, but he'd heard about the attack on the headquarters yesterday, via the ever-helpful World Nation news. They hadn't shown much footage, most of it too classified to risk falling into the hands of the media, no doubt, but what they had shown made him wince. He'd seen worse, but for a mere terrorist attack, the damage that had been done would take weeks to repair, not to mention that there would probably be some serious psychological trauma on the part of those who the headquarters was supposed to be protecting.

No place was safe. That was what the attack had taught the Preventers…at least what he hoped it had taught them. An old soldier like him could reiterate the phrase a thousand times, but it took something like this to drum it into their heads. 

He'd stayed the night in Europe after delivering Milliard Peacecraft to his estate, had been planning to go visit his family and stay another night when he'd heard the news that night as he sat in his hotel room in Spain. He was still tempted to stay. They didn't technically need him at the headquarters, but the call of duty was too strong to ignore, so he'd called his family and told them that he couldn't make it, then flown straight from Galicia to Geneva the next morning. It had taken half an hour for them to clear him for landing, but he supposed such precautions were necessary in the light of yesterday's attack. He had been lucky they'd agreed to check out his credentials at all.

He heaved a sigh, shifting in the uncomfortable padded chair. The receptionist didn't seem to notice that he was alive, much less inquire about what he wanted. He was pretty sure she hadn't heard him the first time. He cleared his throat quietly but she didn't look up, simply spun her chair around and closed the window. He could hear the clacking of her keyboard from inside.

As he was about to get up and rap on her plastic window, the door to the office opened and in walked a pretty, young blond carrying a stack of datacards in her right arm and a sheaf of papers in her left. Perhaps walked wasn't the right word - it was more like half sprint, half powerwalk. Whatever the case, he stared for a moment before realizing that the pretty, young blond, who couldn't be more than twenty-two at the most, was wearing brigadier general rank.

Une's second in command was a Brigadier General…Po? He remembered seeing holos of her during the war, and she looked a little older and much more worn and tired, but it was the same woman.

"General Po!"

She stopped in midtrack, swung her head towards him with a harried look, then frowned. The cast of her face was definitely Asian, but her features spoke of mixed blood. She looked haggard. "Did you need something?"

He bowed slightly, remembering the Asian custom. "I was actually here to see General Une, ma'am, but if you could just tell me where she is, I won't bother you. You look rather busy."

She blinked at him. "General Une's not here at the moment."

"She's not?" Oh. Of course not. There'd been an emergency…she had probably been evacuated.

"Who are you?" she demanded, shifting the stack of datacards to her left hand and looking him up and down irritably.

"I'm Dermand Etille…back from A007?" He didn't know how much Po would know about the situation on the colony, though as second-in-command he would expect Une to have kept her up to speed.

Her face cleared. "Oh!" She looked like she was about to say something else, then stopped and beckoned to him a little impatiently. "Here, come with me. We'll talk in my office."

She did not glance at the receptionist as she passed, though Etille noticed the receptionist looking up just as they entered the hallway and standing belatedly. "Your receptionist seems a little out-of-sorts," he remarked.

She snorted. "She volunteered. I don't think she knows what's she's doing, but as long as the phones get answered and I get the messages and there's someone to reroute calls, I don't care. My regular operator is in the hospital with a bullet in her leg, and Une's was evacuated along with her and the command staff."

Which was why Po had said that Une was not here. That made sense. Score one point for Une. "To Bern, I suppose?"

"Right."

Po's office was a small converted conference room at the end of the right-hand hallway. On one end of the long wooden conference table was a computer, vidscreen, and field intercom, which was hooked up to a master control system in the corner by the room's only wall sockets. He didn't think he'd ever seen so many wires and surge protectors. Another computer, probably a server of some sort, sat humming in the far left corner, hooked up to two secondary servers. Other than that, the room looked bleak and bare. There was a large, boarded up window on the right wall, behind the general's chair. On the left wall on the other side were two light maps: one of the base and one of Western Europe, both of which seemed to have frozen in mid-motion. An INTERNAL ERROR PLEASE REBOOT message was blinking over the tiny suspended dots which represented buildings, people, and vehicles.

Po grumbled something under her breath and dropped the datacards and papers in a disorganized heap on the other end of the table, nearly tripping over the wires in her haste to get to her computer. She rapidly keyed in a string of the commands and both maps blinked, the error messages vanishing. The dots started moving again.

"Cheap things," she said, sounding apologetic. "They do that at least once every hour."

He inclined his head politely, waited until she'd finished reconfiguring the maps and then watched as she collapsed into her chair in front of the computer. 

"General, if I'm interrupting something, I'm more than willing to come back at a later time."

She looked up at him as if she had forgotten he was there. "Oh…no…sit down, please." Waving her hand at the datacards. "And could you scoot those over to the computer for me? Thanks."

He took a seat in a chair next to her, waiting as she steepled her fingers in front of her and took a deep breath. "It's been hectic around here. I'm sorry I can't offer you a more elaborate reception, Commander. It is Commander, isn't it?"

"For what it's worth, yes."

Po raised an eyebrow. "Oh really. Explain?" Her voice was the voice of a professional, faintly questioning. She sounded disinterested and detached, but he had no doubt that before this audience was over, she'd have dug out every bit of information she wanted out of him, deconstructed and then reconstructed him in her mind to find out exactly what made him tick. He'd forgotten how Federation and OZ soldiers seemed to have a knack for doing that.

He smiled. "I'm a relic, General. It's a new military now, and the rank, just like my authority and position, seem to have fallen by the wayside."

"Very true." She didn't indicate which part of his statement she was responding to. "So why are you here?"

"Une contacted me after…Noin's death. Asking me to come back to Earth. She indicated that I would be helpful to have on her staff, especially with the Gundam crisis going on, so I came in answer to her call. Unfortunately, I seem to have missed her."

Po nodded slightly. Her computer pinged and she glanced over, clicked something before looking back at him. "She was evacuated right when the attack started. She wrote the regulations herself…a good thing to have done, I think, or we might have had another New Edwards if things got bad enough. Which they never did, thank goodness - the terrorists never really got past the main gate and personnel center."

"I heard about it on the news last night in Spain," he offered. "There weren't a lot of images and hardly any information, obviously - I'm sure you and Une want to keep the details as confidential as possible."

There was a short silence before she spoke. He knew she wanted to ask him about what he had been doing in Spain and what he'd been doing since Noin's death four days ago, for that matter, but for some reason she didn't. That surprised him somewhat, but he kept his mouth shut.

"It's a shame," she said at last, quietly, drumming her fingers lightly on the keyboard. "We're in a deep enough mess as it is, politically. Then something like this happens. I'd hate to be Une at the moment. We're going to have a hell of a lot of clean-up work to do."

"The World Nation won't let this go."

"No they won't." She sighed. "Which is hardly my biggest concern at the moment. I don't give a damn what the World Nation thinks. It wouldn't surprise me if they'd sent the terrorists themselves."

Her bitter tone surprised him. He'd known that Une wasn't terribly fond of the World Nation, and neither Milliard nor Noin had been either, but Po seemed to be putting that sentiment into a more extreme form. "You don't seem to like the World Nation much," he said mildly.

She snorted. "I'll refrain from further comment, but no, I really don't. They claim that the Gundam pilots ordeal is purely political, but they've been hiding as far from it as possible, downright refusing to accept responsibility - blaming the military instead. In my opinion, they got us into this mess and I have yet to see them lift a single finger to get us back out." She fixed him with a challenging stare. "Tell me, Dermand Etille, what do you think of the World Nation? You were in the resistance forces on A007, weren't you?"

He chuckled quietly. "Depends on what you mean by 'resistance.' Both sides were resistance fighters, but I just happened to be on the side that was actually supporting the World Nation." Her nostrils flared slightly, but he held up a hand. "Which doesn't mean I supported the World Nation by any means. They were the ones who shipped me out to that dustball of a colony anyway. But I didn't agree with the philosophies of the anti-World Nation faction, so that made me an enemy. And a World Nation ally, I suppose, though I confess I'm a little uneasy to be known as such."

The challenging stare remained, but her posture seemed to have softened slightly. She looked him over a moment more, and Etille felt the uncomfortable sensation that she regarded him as just one more specimen to be studied under the microscope.

"I appreciate you coming out here, Commander," Po said, suddenly all crisp business again. She still looked tired, but there was none of the anger and resentment that she'd communicated a few seconds ago. He couldn't help thinking that she would have made a damn good politician if she hadn't chosen the military for a career.

"Thank you, General. I was wondering if you'd require my services?"

She laughed. "We need all the help you can get. You're here now and there's no escape. Actually…" she turned back to her monitor, fingers flying on the keyboard. "I'm expecting a transmission from Une this afternoon. I wonder if you'd care to join me? She might have had instructions for you."

"Of course." She smiled and he couldn't help but curve his own lips in return, noticing how her slanted Asian eyes looked almost incongruous, yet strangely fitting, in her otherwise Western face. "Meanwhile, where would you like me? As you said, there's no escape, so I might as well plunge to my doom."

Po laughed. "You're certainly eager, Commander. Your specialty…special forces? Intelligence?"

"More on the special forces side," he corrected her. "Though I did do my share of information harvesting when I was in White Fang and on A007. But I'm much more of a hands-on type person."

She grinned outright, looking relieved. "Excellent! Our Special Forces commander was evacuated to Bern last night along with about a third of the forces, and the second-in-command isn't exactly what you'd call experienced. We could use some help."

"I'm glad to be of service," he said smoothly.

She fixed those eyes on him again, and this time the eyes weren't the eyes of the clinically distant surgeon or the accusing eyes of the wronged soldier. She looked tired, drained, worn-out…and there was something else behind that blue gaze too that he couldn't quite figure out.

There was a short sequence of beeps from the comm and he flinched, startled. Her eyes moved away from him, indicating the end of the audience. 

"I have to take this call," she said, "but if you wait just a few minutes, I'll show you to your new office."

  


* * *

  
**Scene IV: The Darkest Hour**

  


_"Even if it breaks me into pieces,  
I want to keep believing, keep feeling till it ceases  
The eternity deep in my heart."  
--Luna Sea, Forever and Ever_

  
The knock sounded louder on the door this time. He didn't move from where he lay on the floor.

"Mr. Yuy?"

Above him the ceiling swirled in bright flashes of white and pink and yellow and he blinked, trying to get the flashing to go away, but even the blinking made his head hurt too much, so he simply closed his eyes tightly. Even then he could see little spots on the insides of his eyelids which slowly swirled and became eyes and gaping mouths laughing at him with silent mirth.

"Mr. Yuy, please open the door!"

It was double-bolted. He was glad. He'd made sure both bolts had been firmly fastened last night so they couldn't come drag him out and take him to their horrible little room with all the pills and needles that he knew he had to have. Except it wasn't the same with them watching, them stabbing the needle into him and telling him that he'd have to come back again the next day. And the next day. And the next.

He wrapped his aching arms around himself to ward off a sudden flash of chill, wondering if he should get up and put on another shirt. Or maybe a sweater. It was very cold in here…when had it gotten so cold?

A different voice this time, angry. "Yuy, you better open this door right now! Yuy! Open up!"

There was a crack of thunder through his ears and his eyes flew open and he sat up, fingers grasping vainly for a weapon, for a blanket to hide under, anything. But it was just someone knocking on the door, though each knock sounded as loud as the frenzied beating of his heart in his ears. His vision blurred again.

"Open the damn door, Yuy!"

He wasn't going to open the door. They'd take him away…do terrible things to him. Like they'd done to Atsuki. They weren't going to hurt him like they had hurt her.

"Atsuki," he whimpered softly, feeling the tears slip from the corner of one eye, but he wasn't sure if it was because he was sad or if there was something in his eye. He reached up to wipe it away but his arm wouldn't obey the commands of his brain for some reason. He stared at it as it lay limp on the carpet like a dead thing.

The knocking stopped.

His arm was trembling now - no, not just his arm but his hand and fingers too. He watched in fascination as they twitched, suddenly realizing that he was sweating. Panting, he tried to tug his shirt over his head, needing somehow to feel air meet his skin, but neither arm was responding and he gritted his teeth against the sudden flash of pain shooting through his wrist and down to his right hand as the muscles cramped.

"Darkflight?" he mumbled, looking around as if suddenly expecting the dark-skinned boy to just appear suddenly. "Darkflight…I…where'd you go?"

The light wavered and his vision grew dim, then brightened again. He finally managed to move one arm, tried to place it over his eyes to ward off the brilliance. He was crying again, crying against the pain of the glow, but he couldn't look away, seeing flashes of color amidst the white light, winged horses and eagles, and he was floating, lifting into the air and rising up from the floor. The ceiling opened up above him and he emerged into the rosy sunlit sky, seeing the Preventers base spread out below him across the plain below. There were mountains rising in the distance against the lavender-tinted clouds. A flock of birds passed below him and he spread out his arms, soared into the sun.

The breeze on his face and his body was cool and he realized he was no longer wearing any clothes but it didn't matter anymore, stretching his arms out to the golden rays of the setting sun and becoming one with the sky. He closed his eyes.

There was only a slight warning, a small tremor of the air currents around him that alerted him to the fact that he was no longer flying, but falling. He opened his eyes, saw the ground approaching at an alarming speed. Braced himself for the impact. The wind wailed in his ears and he narrowed his eyes to slits, keeping them on the ground as it rushed up at him and he was tumbling-

His feet hit and he let his muscles relax, let his knees crumple under him and then the rest of his body was on the ground and he was rolling before he was aware that he was actually doing so. He rolled over twice, checked himself and stopped his body before it could complete a third roll, leaving him lying on his back and staring up at the clear blue sky.

Wait…it had been sunset before, hadn't it?

He felt soft grass beneath his fingers, sat up slowly and ran shaky fingers through his hair. Ran them through again, feeling like something was missing.

Something _was_ missing. His ponytail was gone. He fumbled for the back of his neck, feeling the short, tousled hair that only grew to just below his ears. Had someone cut his hair while he had been asleep?

Had he been asleep?

He tried to remember how he had gotten here, remembered falling from a long way down. He started to panic. Doctor J would not be happy if he'd somehow botched the mission, and the only way to explain the falling was that he'd jumped or been pushed out of a plane. He leapt to his feet, shielding his eyes, and scanned the sky, but there was no plane or shuttle in sight.

_Shit._

He checked his chronometer. It read just past 1500 hours and he took a deep breath, shook his head and closed his eyes, trying to think. His brain wasn't functioning right for some reason; faint nagging flashes of memory slipped in and out of his consciousness, gone before he could sort through them. He growled in annoyance, sat down heavily in the sweet-smelling grass and tried to think. There was a patch of bobbing yellow flowers at his feet.

There was a city in the distance, which meant that he'd been dispatched for some type of…spying? Sabotage? It was afternoon. Was he supposed to arrive in the afternoon? In either case, spying or sabotage had to be done at night, and he would have to get in, get out, and get back to Doctor J all tonight. It would definitely be an all-nighter.

Of course, if he couldn't remember what his mission was before the sun set, it would all amount to nothing anyway.

"Are you lost?"

He scrambled to his feet, fingers scrabbling for his gun, cursing himself for being so preoccupied that he hadn't been aware of his surroundings. He'd gotten his fingers wrapped around the handle, prepared to bring it up when he caught sight of the person who'd addressed him.

The gun fell from his hands.

"Relena?"

The sunlight was a halo around her hair and she was facing away from him, holding something in her arms, and as he stood unsteadily, wondering what to say to her, how to explain what he was doing here, she turned. 

It wasn't Relena after all.

"Atsuki," he said, staring into her blue eyes and watching her golden hair flutter in the wind. She smiled, facing him fully, and he saw she was cradling a little puppy in her arms.

"Shh," she whispered, stroking the dog's fur. "Isn't he cute?" She smiled at him and then bent down in one fluid motion, gently snapping one of the yellow flowers off its stem and holding it out to him. He stared at her, then reached out and took it, not knowing what else to do. She withdrew her hand before his fingers could touch hers.

_A little girl and her puppy._

"What are you doing here, Atsuki?"

His voice was hoarse and she frowned. "Don't be so rude, Wing. Aren't you glad to see me?"

"I thought you were dead," he said, then immediately wondered how he'd thought that, if she was still back on the colony, and then wondered after that how he knew she was on the colony.

She took all of this in in a heartbeat and then laughed, the sound floating away on the wind. "Dead? Well, I'm here right now, right? I can't be dead, can I?"

He shook his head mutely and she cocked her head to the right, examining him. "You don't look so good. Are you lost?"

He took one step forward, as if struggling through air that had suddenly become too thick. "I…I'm not lost." 

_I've been lost since I was born._

"Then where are you?" she challenged.

He looked at her, confused. "What?"

"Where are you?" Atsuki repeated. "What are you doing here?"

He gaped at her, then glanced around, again taking in the grassy hilltop, the city below, the gleaming river running through the valley beyond. "I don't know."

The smile she gave him was sardonic and sad at the same time. Her eyes were haunted, though she was smiling. The puppy stirred in her arms and she made soothing noises, one hand caressing its furry head. He watched her.

"You've changed," she said.

"Me?"

"You're not the Wing I fell in love with," she said softly, and he wanted to touch her but she did not move closer, simply stood there just out of arms' reach. "The Wing I loved…he died. In the Breaks. The Breaks killed him."

"Atsuki, what are you talking about?"

"You don't understand now," she murmured, "but you will."

"I'm still here!" he said desperately, not knowing what she wanted to hear, but only knowing that he wanted to understand. "The same person. Atsuki, whatever I did…I'll change. I'll go back. I can go back…I will, I swear it. I want…"

"What?"

He didn't know what he was going to say, simply stared at her, at the face which now seemed ageless and young and old all at once.

"I don't know," he said again, feeling foolish beyond belief.

"You don't know," she repeated after him. "You know, Wing, that's the stupidest excuse I've ever heard."

He stared at her, trying to figure out if she was joking. "What happened to you, Atsuki?"

"You fool!" she snapped. "People need you, and you're locking yourself away. You're killing yourself!"

He felt his defenses rise to the fore, though he wasn't sure why. "That's none of your business!"

"It is all of my business, Wing! The Breaks killed me…they broke me, and then little by little I died. I was dead before I ever came to Earth, dead before I saw you that one last time on the Preventers base. And I'm seeing you headed down the same path. I don't want that to happen to you, Wing."

"Atsuki," he whispered, reaching out one hand to touch her, but she stepped back, shaking her head.

"I'm lost to you now. I can't do anything to help you now…you need to be strong. For yourself."

"I…I can't," he whispered, felt himself shaking. "I…Atsuki, I can't. I can't go back."

"The Wing I loved," she said very clearly, "was a fighter. He was a warrior. He never gave up. Something happened between the last time I saw you on the colony and the next time I saw you on Earth. I don't know what, but something happened. You gave up, Wing. You gave up your past."

"The past doesn't matter!"

"It matters! Humans cannot live in the past, but those who give up their past have also given up their future!"

"Well then," he snarled. "Maybe I have no future. I'm a hopeless case, Atsuki. You just haven't realized it yet."

He'd never seen such fury in the blue eyes before, but they were like chips of ice staring at him out of a molten sea of gold. "You're wrong," she said quietly, yet he could feel the force behind each clipped word. "You are the future. Whether you want it or not, it is what you are. It is who you are, and you cannot change that."

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do!"

She smiled sadly, all the anger gone now, drained. She bowed her head. "I wish I could give you a choice. But that is not an option given to me. I tell what must be, nothing more."

"You're not Atsuki," he breathed, lunging forward, but she was already running and he gave chase, stumbling over the uneven ground and hearing her last words over the breeze.

"Don't let the past kill you as it killed me. I believe in you, Wing. No…not Wing. Heero. I believe in you, Heero."

"Atsuki!" he screamed, reaching for her shadow one last time, knowing as he did so that she was already gone beyond his reach forever. There was a whisper of a voice in his ears, not her voice, but yet so very familiar.

_Now I understand. Heero is the true heart of space._

"Quatre?" he whispered.

And then the world exploded around him.

The ground buckled under him and he cried out as fire rained down around him, crackling up towards the smoke-blackened sky. There was no longer grass under his feet, only ash and cinders, but he fell to the ground anyway, one hand going up automatically to protect his head while the other one reached for his gun only to realize that he'd dropped it and had never picked it back up. The heat of the blaze was searing on his skin and he gasped, choked, pushing himself to his feet, forcing himself to keep moving, hunched over to avoid breathing in the fumes.

He was still holding the flower.

Glass broke, something exploded, and there were screams.

And then he knew. He knew exactly where he was, because he had lived it once before and no one could change the past. He knew what would happen.

_This isn't happening…no. Not this. Anything but this._

"NO!" he screamed, crumpling to his knees, shaking his head wildly as if that could save him. "This isn't happening…this is over. Over! It's over!"

"He-Heero."

The words were a ragged whisper, barely audible over the noise of the fire and explosions, but he heard them, his head jerking towards the sound, and he half-crawled, half-stumbled towards them, towards the fallen metal beams of what was once a civilian complex, knowing what he would find underneath.

"Heero. You came."

His muscles were shaking as he reached the pile of rubble, gazing helplessly down into the darkness between them, at the girl who he knew lay pinned beneath. He grasped the topmost beam, strained until one of his arms popped with a sickening cracking noise and an intense jolt of pain ran down his back. He gasped, slumped forward across the metal, closing his eyes tightly in agony.

"Heero…don't worry about me."

"Relena…" he gasped, trying to catch his breath, realizing that he was now in a position to see who it was who lay trapped under there. He opened his eyes.

"You came, Heero. You didn't forget me."

"Relena?"

She smiled, the blue eyes the same royal shade as Atsuki's, but there was a different quality to hers - none of the haunted darkness behind them that the other girl seemed to wear like a shroud, but there was something in her gaze too. An age and wisdom and a deep sadness that seemed to penetrate through to the heart which he believed he didn't have until now.

"I couldn't save you," he mouthed, not knowing if he spoke the words or not, but she smiled again.

"It doesn't matter, Heero. You came for me…that's the only thing that matters. Is that you cared enough to save even someone you hate."

"I…I don't hate you," he said, his head swimming, trying to focus on her as she swam in and out of his vision.

"Perhaps not. But there are other things that you might perhaps hate, things which you must…nevertheless be prepared to fight for. I know you can do it…Heero. You're strong."

"I…I came to save you, but I was too late…"

A spasm of pain crossed her face but she fought to keep her eyes open, staring straight at him. "I'm not the one who matters now. Open your eyes, Heero."

"Relena," he choked, stretching his hand down to her as far as he could reach, and he saw her own arm reach out with supreme effort, her fingers grasping his in a trembling, tenuous grip. Her hand was cold. "Don't die, Relena. Please don't…"

"Open your eyes, Heero," she said again. "You-" Stopped, gasping for breath.

"Don't talk," he said. "I'll…I'll go get a doctor. You'll be all right."

"Fight for me," she whispered. "Fight for us. Don't throw your life away…your friends need you, Heero. I know we can believe in you…you're the kind of person…who gives everyone….hope."

"Relena," he said, but her hand was going limp, falling before he could catch it. 

_She's dead. You killed her._

He buried his face in his hands, prepared to lie there until he too was killed by a falling beam or burned to death or perhaps he would be lucky and some stray explosion would catch him. But before any such thing could come to pass, he heard a soft yelping. Sat up, stared.

Caught under another, smaller beam further away, was the puppy.

He gathered it into his arms, feeling its heartbeat flutter weak and faint beneath his fingers. Its eyes were closed and each breath rattled in its throat. He cradled it close, not knowing what else he could do but let it pass in peace.

"Are you just going to let it die, then?"

He knew to whom the voice belonged even before he turned and saw Chang Wufei standing there, arms crossed over his chest, proud, bold, fierce, but older, with his long, unbound hair loose across his shoulders. Tired, yet determined. Buckled at his waist was a long curved sword.

"Leave me alone, Wufei," he said tiredly.

"So you're just going to let it die," Wufei challenged, nodding at the puppy in his arms.

Something broke inside him and he felt the tears spill down his face. It took all his energy to keep himself on his feet, took everything he had to keep his legs straight and steady. "What can I do?" he cried. "Look at it! It's already dead!"

"That's where you're wrong," Wufei snapped. "Never give up on something, even when you think it's too late!"

"Shut up!" he screamed. "I don't want to hear your fucking lies…get away from me!"

"I'm not leaving," the Chinese boy said.

"You bastard," he whispered, but the fight had gone out of him and his knees buckled and he sank to the ground, still clutching the puppy in his arms.

"I'm not leaving," Wufei said again. He heard footsteps as the other boy moved closer. "I told you I would never give up on you, Heero. And I never will. None of us will."

"Why?" he whispered brokenly. "Why? I gave up on myself long ago. I don't deserve this."

"Because," Wufei said gently, kneeling in front of him. He could see the other boy's form through his tears. "Because that's what you taught me. Two years ago, you taught me that other people are worth fighting for."

"No, I didn't."

"Open your eyes. There are people who need you…and there are people who you need. No one man is an island, Heero. You can't survive alone. None of us can. You taught me that, too."

He was still shaking his head when he felt something being pressed into his hand, looked down.

"I think you dropped this," Wufei said. He was smiling.

It was a yellow flower.

He tucked the flower into the crook of his arm next to the head of the puppy, felt it wriggle a bit. Its heartbeat was slow and steady now, and even as he shifted it in his arms, it was sleeping soundly.

"Wufei?" he called. But the Chinese pilot was nowhere to be seen, and he stood up, noticing faintly in the back of his mind that the explosions had ceased and that it was warm, but not with the deadly deceptive warmth of fire.

_You can't survive alone. None of us can. You taught me that, too._

"I'm sorry, Wufei," he whispered. "Wufei…Atsuki, Relena…Darkflight. Duo, Trowa, Quatre. Everyone. I'm sorry."

_Heero is the true heart of space._

He was drifting and the warmth surrounded him and he could hear music, faint chimes like a celestial lullaby.

_Open your eyes, Heero._

He opened his eyes.

The light flooded his vision, a brilliance of a million galaxies, a billion suns, light shooting forth from the spaces and planes of every living thing and heavenly body, all glowing, all pulsing, all singing. He felt himself being pulled apart and remolded, torn and healed in a single instant, and it was so beautiful that he wanted to weep.

_Is this the uchuu no kokoro? The heart of space?_

Then he was being pulled away again, seeing the light fade, but the music remained with him and he closed his eyes again, feeling, for the first time since too long ago, a feeling of absolute serenity. Of peace.

"I think he's coming around."

He glanced around but there was no one there, only darkness, but then something brushed his forehead and he could see a speck of light in the distance, growing wider and wider, and he stood still and watched it draw near.

"Can you hear me?"

This awakening was different. He struggled to open his eyelids, feeling his pupils rebel against the concentration of light in the room, though upon his second try he found that it wasn't as bright as he had first thought; in fact, it was dim by indoor standards. The first thing he saw was a large florescent light fixture on the ceiling, but it was turned to minimum level. He could hear something beeping.

"You're finally awake."

He opened his mouth to say something, but found that his mouth was already open and there was something attached to it. He started to struggle, felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Let me help you," a kindly male voice said. "Here." Hands went to his face, working steadily and quickly, and he felt the apparatus slide off his face. A respirator?

"Where…where am I?"

"Preventers Headquarters Military Hospital," the same voice said, and a face swam into view, middle-aged, with deep-set brown eyes and tanned skin, a light blue medical cloth mask covering his mouth.

"How?" he croaked.

The doctor snorted. "You're lucky, kid. They had to break down the door. Took security forces a whole half hour to do so. You were in one of the most secure rooms on base. But they got you out alive is what matters." He turned away, fiddling with something on one of the machines. "Now. How many fingers am I holding up?"

He watched as the doctor held up one hand, thought, counted. Three? No, four. "Four."

The grin was hidden under the blue mask, but the doctor had definitely smiled. "Correct. How about this hand?"

He counted again. "Two."

"Very good. What's your name?"

He blinked at the doctor, mind drawing a blank before it came rushing back to him…the attack, Atsuki's death. How he'd hid inside his room, locking the door. They'd come to take him to detox but he'd refused. He'd stayed there…wallowing in his own misery. It was a wonder he was still alive. So they'd had to break down the door to get him out.

The dream...a product of his own forced drug withdrawal? Yet it had seemed so real. Atsuki. Relena. Wufei. The images rushed back with astonishing clarity, and he felt himself flinch from the brutal honest truth of their words, yet knowing at the same time that something had changed. He no longer felt lost, abandoned. No longer alone.

For the first time in two years, maybe things could somehow be all right.

"Your name?" the doctor repeated, this time looking a little worried. "Hello? You still with me?"

"Heero," he whispered, then swallowed. "Heero Yuy. My name is Heero Yuy."

  
Act VIII Part III | Act IX Part II | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	33. Act 9, Scene 2 OMAKE

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2002 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
This is the FAKE Act 9.2 that we posted as an April Fool's joke on April 1, 2002. Basically, we announced that we would be ending SnK early and cutting it down to 9 acts instead of 13. Then we pretended to delete Act 9.3 and end the fic at 9.2 instead. We then posted this false "ending" on the 1st of April. Hopefully there were not too many people mentally scarred by this...odd piece, because it certainly is odd. In a funny sort of way, though. 

If you want to read the "announcement" that the ever so talented and serious Gerald Tarrant wrote about ending the fic early, go HERE. Otherwise, read on for some laughs! 

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING **

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT IX, PART II 

**Kaze wa tada boku o kimagure ni  
Mote asobi nagara fukinukeru  
Tsurakute mo itsumo makenaide  
Sabaku ni saiteru hana no you ni **

Brave eyes  
Atarashii sora ni kanadeyou  
Kakegae no nai egao no tame  
Atsui omoi o daite  


**The capricious wind teases me  
And then blows away  
Don't give up when things go wrong  
Be like a flower blooming in the desert **

Brave eyes  
Give the sky a new song  
For the sake of irreplaceable smiles  
Embrace passionate memories  


**--Gundam Wing, _Brave Eyes_  
[Quatre Raberba Winner image song]**  


  
  
**Scene V: Do You Think God is Dead?**

  


_"Have you ever looked me in the eye?  
Have you ever told the truth?  
Come on don't lie."  
-Lisa Loeb, Look Me in the Eye_

  
Setting up a base was a lot of work. Une knew that from experience, but getting Bern Headquarters online was enough to drive anyone nuts... and she was starting to doubt how sane she'd been in the first place. 

By all rights, she should have tossed in the towel. She'd had enough of failure, enough of paperwork, enough of letting Treize's dream fall to the wayside whenever something else became expedited. She wasn't meant for this leadership thing- she was an XO, not a commanding officer. She liked working in the shadows, not having the world's attention focused on her every action. 

Still, what was done was done, and she had always been a firm believer in following through with what she started. Staring at the mountainous heap of paperwork in front of her, though, she was beginning to wish otherwise. It had only been two days since the relocation and there was already a thousand things to be done, a thousand and one things that she had to take care of, and she was tired. Brown had been scarce lately, having busy setting up security defenses both around the base and on all communications lines. Just because they'd failed once didn't mean the terrorists wouldn't try again. 

She pushed her chair away from her desk, ignoring the intercom, which had begun to beep incessantly again, and stood up, going to the back of her cramped office and pouring herself a cup of well-deserved coffee. Military issue coffee wasn't anything to write home about, which was why she always sent her assistant (Gils-Reve lately, though Li had done so before) out to by a gourmet blend. It came out of her salary, but coffee was the very nectar of life, as any public servant would cheerfully tell you. Somehow word of her excellent brew had gotten out through the Preventers, and she'd been spent a lot of time shooing away officers who tried to snitch a cup. 

The coffee in Bern wasn't her usual blend- while good, Gils-Reve hadn't been able to find the usual bitter Sonrisa brand she was used to. It was slightly off, and she found herself adding sugar to it thoughtlessly, where she usually took it black. _Great_, she thought in weary amusement, _I'm going to have a caffeine buzz and a sugar high...._

Coffee in hand, she stared out the window, feeling morose. Things were falling to pieces before her eyes, and she doubted that she would have the strength to hold them together for much longer. She thought back to Duo Maxwell's catchphrase with bitter irony. She could run, she could hide, but she could never lie, and she was afraid that she would have to admit to Gils-Reves, to Li, to Sally, to Brown, to all the pilots and those who she had sworn to protect, that she wasn't good enough. 

To make matters worse, it had started to rain. 

The intercom was still buzzing, and she stalked back to her desk, prepared to flog the person who had the nerve to buzz her during her quiet contemplation. Slapping the button, she snapped, "What?" 

"Um... Ma'am? I- I'm not quite sure I believe this, but, you have a call- oh, hell. It's best you see for yourself." Her usually competent and poised aide sounded entirely flustered. 

"Patch it through," she said, wondering what could shake Gils-Reve so badly. 

"Right away. Um, ma'am?" 

"Yes?" 

`"May I suggest respectfully that you sit down? This may be a shock...." he babbled. 

She took her seat, feeling a weird mixture of bemusement and curiosity. "Open the channel, Gils-Reve," she ordered. 

The screen flicked into life, and she dropped her coffee in her lap, scalding herself. She was dimly aware of the pain, but that seemed to be far away. How is this possible? her thoughts screamed in shock. 

"Hello, my Lady," the smooth, so achingly familiar voice intoned. "I'm back." 

She stared. 

Treize Khushrenada smiled at her, then frowned. "What's wrong, my Lady?" 

She found her voice then, leaping to her feet, her hands clenched in rage. "I DEMAND to know what's going on! What kind of idiotic prank is this?! Gils-Reve! I want an explanation!!" 

The lips of the blond man on the screen curved in a sympathetic smile. "I understand this is somewhat of a shock to you, Lady...I suggest you take your seat?" Eyes flicked momentarily to the spilled coffee, the broken fragments of the coffee cup. "I see you don't believe your eyes." 

"You're damn right I don't," Une said hotly, not moving to sit down. "This isn't right...you're dead. I saw you die." 

Treize curved one eyebrow. "And seeing is believing, isn't it, Lady?" 

Her heart was pounding and she felt sick. This was a prank. It had to be a prank. She had seen Wufei kill him with her own eyes..."What's going on?" she whispered, her hand fumbling blindly around her for any kind of support. 

"Une? Dear, can you quiet down and we'll explain?" Another voice, one she had thought lost to her said, and a face peeked over Treize's shoulder, resting a companionable hand on his arm with familiarity. 

"Noin?" she exclaimed. "But- what- how?" she stuttered. 

Noin's smile was as gentle as ever, though a glint of mischief lit her violet eyes. "It's not so hard to understand," she replied, amusement quirking her lips. "But you need to listen, and listen well." 

"I...I don't understand," she croaked. "You're dead...you're both dead." She felt her vision turning black and starry around the corners, warning that she would topple over in a dead faint if she didn't sit down. So she sat. 

"I," Treize said gently, "am not dead. Obviously." 

Noin laughed. "Really, Une...we thought you'd understand. Can't you tell the difference between a fake death and a real one?" 

Treize nodded in agreement, smiling again. "That time I 'died' in space, when Wufei killed me...that wasn't me." 

"WHAT?" Une exclaimed. 

Treize shrugged. "It was easy enough. Any loyal soldier would be willing to die for their commander. It's all a matter of image manipulation...I placed a masking image hologram inside the cockpit of Tallgeese to fool comm screens into thinking that it was actually me inside...when it wasn't." 

Noin nodded sagely. "Like a stunt double." 

Une had risen to her feet again, her hands shaking. "You...you KNEW about this, Noin?!" 

"Someone had to. I was the one who loaded Kramer- that was his name, Russel G. Kramer- remember? We used to use him for security purposes?" 

Une vaguely recalled Treize's look-alike. He hadn't had the same force of presence Treize had had, but Kramer had been a master of waving to the crowds, and with a voice adjuster, had ever given a few speeches when Treize had been occupied elsewhere. "Why did you kill him?" she asked. 

Treize ran a hand through his strawberry blonde hair, his expression slightly trouble. "It wasn't an easy decision, but Kramer knew what would happen. He loved the idea of being me... up to and including the point of death." 

"That's cruel," Une whispered. 

Treize shrugged again. "It had to be done." His eyes were no longer gentle. "Did you really think I would give up my dream that easily, Lady?" 

"I trusted you," she whispered. "Damn it...I-" She cut herself short before she spilled her soul to the world. I loved you, she wanted to say. _I loved you more than my life itself. Why couldn't it have been me to die for you? Why couldn't..._

Noin cleared her throat. "Une?" 

She shook her head. "I don't believe you." 

"You must, Une." Treize's use of her name instead of her title made her look up at him. "The world is in shambles, and it's up to us to make things right." 

"You lied to me the first time," she mumbled. "How do I know you're not lying to me again?" 

His smile was strangely sorrowful. "You've changed since we last met... I'm not sure I like it. Where is my Lady who would follow me through hell and back?" 

"She grew up," Une said bitterly. "She was forced to... without you, there was no one else to count on." 

"Really? What about Quatre? Duo? Why did you let the other three pilots go into hiding? They could have helped, and it would have given them purpose. What about Zechs? Or even the lovely Noin?" Treize shook his head, dismissing her excuse. "No, Une.... there were plenty of people, but you were too proud to trust in anyone." 

"Shut up," Une snapped at him. "Where were you, then, o mighty one, while the Preventers were knee-deep in this crisis? I didn't see you coming out of hiding to offer any suggestions." 

"I thought you didn't need me anymore," Treize replied. "Apparently I was wrong." 

Noin nodded. "It was all Treize, you know. Inciting the riots behind the A007 uprising, among other things. He wanted to stir the World Nation up, get rid of the complacent nest they'd been falling back into." 

Une gasped. "So it was you? It was you behind the pilots news release??" 

Noin smiled softly. "I used a contact at Headquarters to get Banks assigned to your wing. I knew you'd have some sensitive information there... Trei wanted to see you in action again." 

Treize gave her a smile. "Without conflict, humans stagnate." He looked over his former XO with a raised eyebrow. "You've proven that maxim to me." 

She clenched her fists, wanting to scream her denial, but unable to. No, no, no..... she thought. This couldn't be happening. Her Treize wouldn't do this to her. Then something Noin had said penetrated her mind. "Trei?" 

"You two...seem to be very familiar," she said slowly, not sure if she liked this new revelation or not. "Something's going on that I'm missing." 

Noin smiled impishly. "Haven't you guessed yet? Treize and I are lovers." 

"WHAT?" Une shrieked. 

"It's true," Treize said, with a sidelong look at Noin that was somewhere between affection and exasperation. "Though you could have kept it secret from her a little longer, Lu." 

"There wasn't a point. And since we're spilling secrets, I thought we should spill ours." Noin crossed her arms in front of her. "That capture of mine on A007...it was just a way for me to get to Trei and receive new...orders, shall we say." She and Treize shared a smile and a glance. 

Une shrieked at the top of her lungs, then grabbed the stapler on her desk, chucking it against the wall. It didn't shatter, so the experience did little to mitigate her temper. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?" she demanded fiercely. 

Treize's hand wrapped around Noin's waist protectively. "I would think that was obvious, my lady. I never committed to you, and Lu-" 

"-was tired of playing faithful gal-pal to Zechs," Noin said. 

"You two," Une seethed, "disgust me!" 

Treize shrugged and looked sad. "Lu said you would say the same thing," he said quietly. "Unfortunately then, I suppose we have no choice." 

"No choice for WHAT?" 

"I'm sorry, my lady," he intoned. "I wish things could have been different. I really do." 

"TREIZE!" she screamed, pounding her fists on the table, but his image winked out even as she opened her mouth. 

Her thoughts were a whirl... and there was only one thing she could think of. Call Milliard and let the blond-haired pilot deal with Treize. Whoever first said "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned" obviously knew a woman very much like the indomitable General Une. 

Unfortunately, just as she was reaching for the comm to dial, the intercom screeched. "What?" she fairly screamed at it, not needing anything else to ruin her day. 

"Err...ma'am?" It was Gils-Reves. 

"I know better to expect any good news from you," she said heavily. "Spill it. What happened?" 

"The charges on Quatre Raberba Winner have been dropped," he said. 

She blinked. "What? How?" 

"Legal loophole that Carrington was able to dance through. Something about the arrest and countersuits and... well, to be frank, I didn't understand it all. She's requesting a raise, by the way." 

Une rubbed her forehead, wondering why her head was throbbing. When the shit hit the fan, it really splattered. This was great news, but following on the tail of her conversation with Treize, it gave her the feeling that she'd been hit by a bus... or a Mobile Suit. "You'd better not be kidding me!" she growled threateningly. 

"No, ma'am! Charges have been dropped, and Winner send his thanks to us for our "superb cooperation and fortitude yada yada yada..." 

She grumbled. "All right. I have an important call to make, so unless something major happens, do NOT interrupt me." 

Gils-Reve laughed. "Yes, ma'am." 

She turned off the intercom, then dialed the familiar number to Treize's old mansion. She hoped Milliard was there...and well enough to pick up. From what she'd heard about A007, he wasn't in too great of a shape. 

But her fears were unfounded when the screen flashed and a blond head appeared. "Hello, General," Milliard Peacecraft said, nodding at her. He was bandaged, but otherwise looked well. 

"I need to tell you something, Milliard," she said. 

"It's Zechs now." 

She blinked. "All right. Zechs. I need to tell you something, and don't interrupt me until I'm through." 

He raised an eyebrow. "What is it?" 

"I just got a call from the most unexpected source," she said, twisted the bottom of her coffee-soaked shirt between her fingers angrily. Her brown eyes flashed dangerously as she stared at the screen. Zechs seemed to flinch back, as though the laser-sharpness of her gaze was burning him. "Treize just called," she said bitterly. 

Zechs blinked. "Huh? But that's-" 

"Shut up!" she yelled. "Let me finish, you moron!" 

He looked alarmed, but shut up. 

"Apparently...he's not dead...well, of course he's not dead...he called. But...apparently he's the one behind the whole thing. The A007 uprising, the pilots' unmasking....Noin's capture..." 

If a reaction was what she was looking for, she got it. "TREIZE was the one responsible for her death?!" 

"Capture," she corrected him. "Not death. Because um...she's still alive." 

He gaped at her. "You're crazy." 

"That's what I'd like to think," she said wearily. "But no, they're both alive, and Noin is apparently...involved...with Treize." 

"You're LYING!" he spat out. 

"Oh?" She was feeling particularly malicious. If she had to suffer, then someone should suffer with her.... misery loved company, after all. Her fingers flew across the unit as she sent Zechs the last conversation to come through. It was Preventer policy to automatically save any conversation that occurred, so it was easy for her to access and send. "Take a look at this." 

"Fine." Zechs put her on stand-by and her unit began to play the equivalent of hold music.... she still hadn't had time to customize it. 

It was only too short a time before the hold music vanished and Zechs' face reappeared. But it wasn't the face of the man who had spoken to her just a moment before. His eyes were wild. 

"Zechs?" she said worriedly. "Are you all right?" 

He gave a high-pitched laughed. "All RIGHT? You ask me if I'm all RIGHT?" He laughed again, insanely, and she backed away from the screen involuntarily. 

"Zechs, don't do anything-" 

"It's too funny." He was giggling now. "So funny....I'm such an idiot. You know that?" He grinned at her. 

"That makes two of us..." she muttered. Her eyes were direct. "So what do we do now?" 

"WE? WE? WE do nothing, girl! I'M going to go out and castrate Treize for not keeping it where it belongs!" 

She looked slightly worried. She was angry, but she didn't want Treize permanently damaged... "We have to worry about the repercussions of his return, Zechs. This will have a serious affect on the world community." 

Zechs started to laugh, an insane laugh that sent shudders dancing along her spine. "I don't give a flying fuck!" he exclaimed. 

"Apparently if you had given a fuck in the first place, none of this would have happened!" Une declared coarsely. 

He leered at her. "Well don't worry. I'm going to come and take care of things. Just stay there, ok? Don't go anywhere." 

"ZECHS!" she yelled, but he'd already signed off. "Damn it!" She cursed, kicking her desk and then howled in pain as she stubbed her toe. 

Who would take her side? Zechs was lost to her, and she didn't dare trust Sally quite yet. If Noin had defected to Treize's side, who was to say that Sally wasn't in on the plot? Her own subordinates, looking to undermine her...she could hardly grasp the concept. 

The next logical step, she reasoned, was to go back to Geneva, where the pilots were. She needed to make sure they hadn't been brainwashed by that...by that damn self-centered bastard. 

"Gils-Reve!" she called out, amazed at how shrill her voice sounded. "I want my transport ready, ASAP!" 

There was a muffled thump from the offer side of the door, breaking glass, and a gunshot, barely concealed by a silencer. Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she drew her gun and trained it on the door. Was Treize trying to kill her? she wondered. 

The door swung inwards, and she lowered the gun as soon as she saw a pair of familiar eyes peering at her from a trademark unibang. 

"Trowa?" she whispered. 

He nodded slowly. "Just got out of the hospital. I came to see if you needed me," he said to her softly. 

Her eyes pooled with tears. Trowa she could trust- she'd always felt a strange affinity for him, but she'd never been more relieved to see anyone in her entire life. "Trowa!" she whispered, then threw herself forward, burying her face in the curve of his neck, sobbing out the last hour of heartache. 

  


* * *

  
**Scene VI: Skeletons in the Closet**

  


_"Operation filth  
They love to love the wealth  
Of an SS Whore  
Making scary sounds."  
--Rob Zombie, Living Dead Girl_

  
Darkflight was in his room, packing up his belongings, when he was interrupted. After the attack, it had seemed useless to stay in a place where he was no longer wanted, and had never been wanted in the first place. He wanted out. He was going home to L1. 

He'd taken all the free toiletries that the Preventers had offered him in the bathroom: the soap, the shampoo, the towels and toothpaste, even the shower curtain and the bath rug. One never knew what would come in handy back in the Breaks. He'd just finished packing the last of his luggage in a second-hand suitcase he'd snatched from some civilian in the lobby that night when the woman hadn't been watching, was tying his shoes when there was a knock on the door. 

"What?" he called irritably. The door swung open, and he recognized the Chinese boy standing there. "Chang Wufei? What do you want?" 

Wufei stepped into the room, his eyebrow arching a little as he took in the suitcase next to Darkflight and the bare condition of the room. "Leaving already?" he asked mildly. 

"And if I am? It's not like you'd care!" Darkflight returned, glaring at the Chinese boy. "Why are you here?" He was on the defensive, wondering why in the hell a Gundam pilot would be visiting him. Surely they'd have more interest in watching after Wing...no, Heero now. 

"I don't like you," Wufei said bluntly. "But some interesting information has come my way recently, something I thought you should see. 

Darkflight glared. "The only thing I'm interested in right now is a one-way ticket home!" And possibly a joint.... he thought, but didn't verbalize his craving. 

"Humor me," the Shenlong pilot said. He produced a disk from his hip pocket. He slid it into the nearest reader, and a 3D image was projected into the center of the room. 

Darkflight recognized the two twisting pictures as DNA, but he couldn't make sense of any of the coloring. "What the hell is that?" 

"They took a sample of your DNA when they took you for detox," Wufei said. "And it so happens that...we're related." 

Darkflight snorted. "I don't believe it. How could we be related, anyway? I'm part Japanese, not part Chinese." 

Wufei looked superior. "That's what you think! These tests proved, without a doubt, that the blood running through your veins is the blood of the Chang family from L5. That means you and I are cousins." 

Darkflight gaped at him. "Err..." 

Wufei grabbed him and pulled him close in a joyful hug. "It's so good to have a living relative!! The ones I liked all died!" 

Darkflight fainted. 

When he finally came to, he found himself lying on his bed, with Wufei sitting beside him looking very happy. Which was actually kind of an understatement. The Shenlong pilot was literally bouncing. It was rather odd, to say the least. Darkflight stared for a moment, then sat up, holding his head. "So...I wasn't delusional and just thought up the cousins thing, huh?" 

Wufei shook his head, still grinning from ear to ear. Scooting a bit away from him, Darkflight gave a very half-hearted smile. It didn't seem right for his newfound cousin to be smiling like that. It was almost like being face to face with an ax murderer that was quite happy to be doing his job. 

"Um... I'm still leaving," Darkflight announced after a minute. 

His cousin pouted- actually pouted. "Why? I know we didn't get off on the best foot, but I'm sure we can find plenty in common.... I'm an assassin, you're an assassin...." 

Darkflight just stared in shock. "Um...." 

"I admit it's not much to build a relationship on, but you have to take what you can get." 

Before Darkflight could reply, there was another knock on the door. He cast a sidelong glance at Wufei before he yelled, "What now?" If it was another pilot announcing his newfound relationship with him, he was going to scream. 

Unfortunately, it proved to be much worse. 

Wing and Shinobu burst through the open door, looking very satisfied about something. Looking from one to the other, Darkflight could see that something was up. "What, Wing?" he snarled, not happy to see either of them, and downright angry that people kept barging into his room without notice. 

"It's Heero," his former partner corrected, then chirped cheerfully, "Guess what? Shinobu and I are long-lost brothers!!" 

Darkflight fainted again. 

Wufei shook his head, still smiling widely. "He keeps doing that." He cheerfully ruffled Darkflight's hair. "Oh! I've got good news too." 

Heero blinked, tilting his head to the side. "Really? What is it?" 

"Darkflight and I are long-lost cousins. We're going to go into business together, since we're both assassins." Wufei's grin, if even possible, seemed to get much larger. 

Darkflight groaned, opened his eyes and stared. "Damn it! Why couldn't it all have just been some horrible dream..." he whined, shutting his eyes again. 

Wufei's grin nearly took in his ears, it was so wide. "Cause I've got you, babe!" he said. 

Darkflight winced at the bad Cher impression. "Heero?" 

"Yes?" 

"My gun is in the desk drawer- do me a favor and shoot me, okay?" 

Heero blinked, but Shinobu bounced cheerfully over to it. "I will! I think you're a bastard, anyway!" he chirped. 

Heero grabbed Shin's shoulder warningly. "That would be a bad idea. If you kill him, Fei'll kill you, then I'll have to kill Fei, then.... it wouldn't be pretty. No killing any Gundam Pilot's family.... it's in our handbook." 

Shinobu pretended disappointment. "Can I at least maim him a little?" 

Heero looked thoughtful, then shrugged. "Sure. As long as you keep him in one piece." 

Darkflight howled with fright and dived under the bed. 

Quatre was sitting quietly on one of the chairs in their makeshift bedroom, enjoying a quiet minute of contemplation. The trial had been narrowly avoided, thanks to Carrington's expertise, and it had been so long since he'd had a moment to breathe. 

"Quatre?" Aisha poked her head into the room. 

"Yes?" he inquired, turning towards her, wondering what it was. 

"Queen Relena is here to see you," she said. "She's in the lobby." 

"Relena? Ah, all right." Quatre replied, giving his sister one of his sweet smiles as he stood and straightened his clothing. He headed out to the lobby, wondering what Relena wanted. 

Catching sight of the blonde as he entered the lobby, Quatre raised his hand to wave at her, when suddenly two figures went running past. "Ano..." 

"Get back here, you! I still owe you a maiming!" Shinobu yelled as he chased Darkflight through the lobby. The other boy didn't even pause, running past Relena, then stopping just as he got to the other side. "A-atsuki?!" 

Darkflight quickly retraced his steps and glomped the girl, forgetting completely about Shinobu. 

Quatre watched as Relena blinked. "I'm Relena..." she said, but her words didn't seem to reach the attractively dark boy. 

"Atsuki.... I thought you'd died...." he whispered, kissing her on the lips passionately. "I'm so glad you're okay, Tsuki," he whispered. 

Shinobu came back, holding the gun and scowling as he recognized the woman the other boy was holding onto. "Hide behind a girl," he muttered with discontent, kicking his shoe against the floor. 

The doors burst inwards again, and Quatre gasped as two familiar people raced in, panting heavily. "Did they go this way?" the shorter of them asked, leaning over as he tried to catch his breath. 

"HEEROOOO!!!" yelled Relena. "SAVE MEEE!" 

Darkflight only held on to her tighter. "Come with me, Atsuki! Let's go find paradise!" He tried to sweep her up in his arms, but Relena squirmed and he lost his hold. 

"AHHH!!!" she yelled as she fell over. 

Heero and Wufei looked at each other and sprinted into the room, preceded by a gun-waving Shinobu. Darkflight tugged on Relena's hand. "Come on! Let's go!" 

"And WHAT," demanded a familiar voice behind Quatre as he looked nervously on, "is this all about?" 

"Dorothy!" he cried, turning around and running to hide behind her. "Get me out of here!" 

"If you tell me what the hell's going on!" she demanded irritably. 

"The world's gone mad!" 

"Obviously." The two blondes watched the spectacle, and finally Dorothy couldn't keep it in any longer. 

She snickered. 

Her laughter rose slightly, and Quatre was surprised that it echoed on his uchuu no kokoro in a strange fashion. He found himself laughing as well, as Relena tried to pry Darkflight off of her, Heero cast indecisive looks back and forth between Shinobu and Darkflight, obviously torn about what to do first, and Wufei watched with fascination, his eyes unable to leave the slender Japanese youth toting the gun. 

Relena was still struggling to get away from Darkflight, pouting at Heero the whole time because he wasn't doing anything to save her. "HEERO! Come and kill...err, wait...come and save me now!!" she screeched. 

Wufei was playing with the end of his ponytail, looking very thoughtful as his gaze flickered back and forth between Shinobu and Heero. Finally, he sidled up to Shinobu. "What say we go get something to eat? Those three will be like this for quite sometime now." 

Shinobu looked at him thoughtfully. "Sure," he agreed happily, hooking his arm through Wufei's, and together they slipped out through the entrance. 

Dorothy nudged Quatre and he glanced at her as she indicated the entrance through which Shinobu and Wufei had left. "Should we follow their example?" 

He grinned wickedly, but before he could voice his assent, she suddenly gave a startled exclamation of surprise. 

"Oh! I forgot to tell you what I came here for! Your sister Atsuki is alive!" 

"What?" Quatre exclaimed. 

"It seems that she had vampire blood in her, and killing her just turned her into a blood-sucking fiend! She's going to be okay aside from that, though...." 

Quatre blinked. He'd hate to see what Dorothy would consider "not okay" if that was her idea of "okay". 

"Um.... sure thing, Dottie..." 

She scowled. "Don't call me that!" 

"It was affectionate!" Quatre protested. 

"I HATE being called Dottie- makes me sound like I have acute acne." 

"Doro-chan?" 

"That's better." She looked over at the other three teens with amusement. Heero looked confused, Relena was squirming, and Darkflight was professing undying love. "Should we separate them and let them know Atsuki's alive?" 

Quatre considered it for a moment before shaking his head. "Nah.... it's more fun this way." Giggling, he offered Dorothy his arm, and she took it gracefully. 

Hilde sighed as she stood just inside the hanger door, watching Duo as he polished Deathscythe. The long-haired pilot was dancing around, music blaring from inside the cockpit of the Gundam. Hilde had no idea how he could stand to listen to such loud and obnoxious music! 

Looking down at her watch, Hilde frowned. He had missed their dinner date, and why? Because he was busy polishing his Gundam! She was getting really tired of coming in second place behind Deathscythe Hell when it came to Duo's affection. Watching him for a few more minutes, she finally spun on her heel and stalked away. 

Duo's voice floated from behind her, singing loudly and particularly out of tune to a loud and particularly out of tune Japanese song. "I'M JUS IN RAAAB!" he yelled, with Japanese accent and all. "I'M JUS IN RAAAB! OH SING MY LIIIIIIFE!" 

"Obviously not in 'raab' with me," Hilde muttered. 

A small voice broke into her thoughts. "Hilde?" 

She looked around. She was outside the hangar, and there were few personnel on duty for the day and none she could see near her. She wondered if she was finally going crazy from Duo's influence on her when the voice came again from a bush near the side of the road. 

"Who's there?" Hilde demanded sharply, and then gasped in shock as a purple-haired girl came crawling out from her hiding place, covered in leaves and twigs. 

"Ilene!" 

The girl's eyes were softer then they had been before, and Hilde thought she saw the light of sanity gleaming in them. 

"I'm glad to see you're okay," she said softly, her eyes looking up at the night sky in a melancholy fashion. "I really don't know what got into me... but the whack I got certainly knocked some sense back into me." She raised her tiny hand to rest it against her left breast, smiling as she felt her heartbeat. "I'm really glad Enjolras made me wear that bullet proof vest..." 

Hilde smiled a little at that, running a hand through her short purple hair before glancing back at Ilene. "Normally, I would tell you that we should let Duo know you're alive...but since he's forgotten all about me, I think that can wait. How long have you been hiding out here, Ilene?" she asked, coming over to help the other girl dust off some of the leaves that were stuck to her clothing. 

Ilene looked forlorn. "I wasn't sure if it was safe or not, so I've been kind of hiding out here since the attack. I sneak into the hangar at nights. It's warmer in there." 

Hilde tsked. "You must be starving! Let's go get something to eat." She smiled at the other girl. "Shall we?" 

Ilene grinned. "Sure!" 

Inside the hangar, Duo was oblivious to his recently departed girlfriend. He had Deathscythe, and right now, that was all that matter. The music switched, and another swallowed some of the almond. 

Noin was trying to stop Zechs from falling over on his high heels and killing himself. "Zechs! Calm down!" she cried. 

Zechs wrestled himself away from her. "Get away from me, Noin! I know all your secrets, you know! I can expose them anytime!" 

Noin's eyes grew wide with horror. "No!" She begged. "Don't tell them about the SMAP/Backstreet Boys shrine in my closet at the Academy! I'll stay out of your way, I promise!" 

Suddenly, things were interrupted with a loud noise from Treize. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared. A long, white, furry tail was growing out of his bottom. "Help," said Treize in a small voice. 

A small burgundy haired girl was making her way across the landing pad, a white bundle held in her arms. Catching sight of the raving Zechs, she winced a little, and turned to the tall blonde Preventer next to her. "Umm, Mr. Tarrant, sir...are you sure you'll be able to get this straitjacket on him? I could always give him a tranq shot..." 

Preventer Tarrant smiled confidently. "Nonsense," he said, stepping up beside Zechs, who was still yelling for Heero to come and kill him, and pinned him to the ground with a smooth motion. Zechs babbled incoherently and grabbed on to Treize's leg, then let go with a yelp as he found it to be covered with white fur, as Treize had turned into a giant white ferret. Ferret-Treize squealed in sympathy. 

"On secoe screeched along with the music. "MELTY LOVE MELTY LOVE MELTY LOOOOOOVE!" 

Ilene and Hilde, meanwhile, were at the base's McDonald's (yes, the cursed meat empire still exists- not only that, but it thrives), munching on their meals. Hilde had ordered two super-sized Happy Meals to get the toys, and Ilene was working her way through her second Big Mac. The fries were cold, the drinks were warm, and in general, it wasn't what either of them would have chosen. 

"...so them he decides to see exactly how many spitballs he can throw at Ol' Hickory without getting caught... Ilene was saying between bites. "Duo hit him FIVE times before the fossil noticed- on the sixth, he managed to angle it so that it seemed like Helena had thrown it!" 

Wufei and Shinobu were sitting a few tables away from Ilene and Hilde, a pile of food sitting in front of them. For some inane reason, they had challenged each other to a eating contest. The Shenlong pilot had to admit this was the most fun he had had in a long time. Shinobu managed to make him laugh, since looking at him was almost like looking at Heero at times. Well, if Heero weren't so...solemn all the time. "Ready?" 

Shinobu grinned, took a sip of his soda, and nodded. "Hai!" They each grabbed a burger, unwrapped it, and started stuffing their faces. Both were certain that the other couldn't beat them at this contest. 

Distracted from their conversation by weird gurgling and munching noises, Hilde and Ilene looked across the restaurant to see the two boys intensely involved in cramming food into their mouths. They looked at each other, then grabbed their trays and darted over to them. 

"Hey!" Hilde yelled. "You can't leave us out of this!!" 

The boys looked up and Shinobu caught sight of Ilene. "AGJOWA!" he yelled, which probably would have been "ILENE!" if his mouth hadn't been full of food. As it was, the effort caused a chunk of hamburger to lodge in his trachea and he choked, turning blue. 

A high-pitched wheezing sound emerged from him, but Hilde was ready. She dropped her food on the table and got behind him, expertly performing the Heimlich. "You ok?" she asked, as she handed him his soda "Take a drink, you'll feel better," she advise calmly. 

Wufei seemed impressed in spite of himself. "You seem to know what you're doing," he commented. 

Hilde nodded. "You know how Duo eats," she said, and the quartet shared a laugh. "Hoover" didn't even begin to cover it. 

Ilene shook her finger at Shinobu. "You made a mess!" she scolded, trying to pick up the scattered food on the table without her fingers touching the soggy pieces of burger. 

Wufei opened his mouth but at that moment the attack sirens went off again (yes, even the McDonald's had attack sirens.) The four of them jumped up and rushed outside in alarm. "Could it be terrorists again?" Ilene said, horrified. 

Suddenly, a loud voice boomed over the base speakers. "Allow me a peaceful descent and you will not be harmed!" 

Wufei and Hilde turned to each other in disbelief. "No way!" Wufei gasped. "I killed him!" 

"On the contrary, my dear Wufei," the voice on the speaker said, and Wufei jumped ten feet into the air. "I am not dead. The war, in fact, is just beginning!" 

  


* * *

  
**Scene VII: We All Fall Down**

  


_"Be kind to your web-footed friends  
For a duck may be somebody's mother!  
Be kind to your friends in the swamp  
Where the weather is always damp!  
You may think that this is the end…is it?"_

  
Sally Po woke up. And then she screamed. 

A pretty young woman wearing a long white dress approached her, carrying a skein of thread. "I am the Ghost of Christmas Past," the woman said. 

Sally drew back into herself. "WHAT are you talking about? You look more like Clotho...of the Fates..." Sally snapped. "And that was already DONE, in _Trio_...." 

The woman scowled. "You're not supposed to know about that!" she said. I'm the omnipotent wri- oh shit." she said glumly, tossing the skein aside. 

"Quicksilver, I presume?" 

The woman sighed and pulled off her blonde wig, revealing a long manic-panic green ponytail. "I told Ger-bear this was a bad idea." 

Meanwhile, the McDonald's four had rushed from the restaurant in time to see Trieze's shuttle landing. Wufei looked at Hilde, who in turned looked at Shinobu, who then looked at Ilene. She blinked at them. "What?" 

Trieze suddenly stepped out of the shuttle, placed his hands on his hips, and let out a long, villainous laugh. "All your base are belong to us! Hahaha!" 

Noin stepped up behind the tall man, shaking her head a bit. "Yes, Trieze dear..." 

Hilde's eyes rounded. "Noin?! But...you're dead! And so are you, Trieze! This isn't going to turn into something like _The Sixth Sense_, is it?" 

Treize laughed. "Don't worry, Hilde, it isn't you we're concerned about." His gaze snapped to the Chinese boy standing beside the purple-haired girl. "Wufei!" 

Wufei was covering his hands with his eyes, muttering "I do NOT see dead people...I do NOT see dead people..." 

Shinobu kicked Wufei in the shins and he howled, toppling over. Treize pulled an odd looking weapon from his belt and pointed it at Wufei. The Chinese pilot looked up. 

"What the HELL is that?" 

Grinning wickedly, Treize ignited his lightsaber. "Wufei, I am your father!" 

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!" Wufei screamed. 

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Darkflight screamed. "That means you're related to ME TOO!" (Darkflight had suddenly acquired the ability to teleport instantly between locations) 

Une and Trowa had made their way into her office, once they had landed in Geneva again. They had to find a way to deal with the whole Trieze and Noin thing...and prevent Zechs from going postal, of course. Of course, that was a bit hard considering they couldn't seem to keep their hands off of one another. 

"Mmm...I think...I have Trieze's secret files...in my closet still..." Une murmured, in between kisses. Trowa nodded slightly and maneuvered them over to the closet. Une reached out and opened the door, before jumping into Trowa's arms in shock. 

"Dor...Dorothy?! Quatre?!" 

The two, in various states of undress, grinned up at them in embarrassment. 

"There's plenty of room in here," Quatre said, after recovering from his shock. "Care to join us?" 

Trowa looked thoughtful. "What a good idea," he said, climbing into the closet and trying to drag Une in after him. 

"Wait!" Une said, disentangling herself from Trowa's grasp and rushing back to her desk. 

"What are you doing?" Trowa wanted to know, watching her with puzzlement as she rummaged through the drawers and pulled out a pack of Super Sized Almond Crunch Pocky. 

Une marched out of the room with a grim expression on her face. "I'm going to show Treize who's boss around here!" 

Dorothy grinned wickedly and straightened her shirt slightly. "Come on, Quat. This is a show you don't want to miss!" He looked like he was going to protest, but then she leaned in close and whispered something to him. 

"Bye, Trowa!" he said hastily, leaving his best friend behind. 

Trowa followed, wondering what Une was up to.... and when she'd return her attention to HIM.... she was the best at snogging he'd ever had.... 

Une headed out to the landing area, a triumphant look on her face. Yes, she would defeat Trieze with her Pocky. He'd never know what hit him! 

She faltered a bit as Wufei went running past her, in hysterics, screaming something about Trieze not being his father. Heero's assassin friend wasn't far behind either, wailing at the top of his lungs. 

Zechs, in the meantime, had dashed into the main lobby, dressed in an ill-fitting outfit of Relena's, with a long blonde wig on his head. He had finally lost it, in the face of Trieze's and Noin's betrayal. "WHERE IS SHE???" he yelled. "WHERE'S THAT TWO-FACED BITCH?" 

The secretary pointed towards the landing pads and hid under her desk. Zechs ran up happily and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Thank you dear!" he said happily before regaining his dark scowl and dashing towards where she had pointed. Unfortunately, his high heels were hampering his progress, so he got to the landing pad just in time to see Une run up with a box of Pocky to confront Treize and Noin. 

"NOIN!" Zechs yelled at the top of his lungs. "I'll never forgive you for this!" 

Noin gasped in fright at the sight of her one-time boyfriend/lover in heels, a skirt, a wig, and holding a polka-dotted purse. "Zechs, what a HORRID fashion statement! And where on earth did you get that purse? That is SO last year!" 

He blinked. "I'm not Zechs! I'm Milliard!" he pronounced putting his hands on his hips. "And how DARE you put your hands all over my man like that!" 

Everyone halted- even Une, who was attacking Treize with her Pocky. Milliard Peacecraft was BI?!? 

"I don't think he's yours," an amused voice said, and he turned to see Shinobu clinging to Wufei's arm, trying to comfort the sobbing pilot. Zech's beautiful blue eyes shimmered, and he smiled beautifically. 

"Heero-sama! Come here and kill me!" he said in a girlishly high voice. 

"Ha! My Men's Pocky can beat your Almond Pocky any day, Une, even if it is super-sized!" Trieze crowed, as he and Une went back to the Pocky duel. 

"You'd like to think so, wouldn't you?!" Une replied, springing forward and shoving the stick of Pocky she held into Trieze's mouth. Grinning slightly, she bounced back, ignoring his sudden hacking and sputtering. "I win, especially since I remembered that you're allergic to almonds! Take that!" 

Une flashed the 'V for Victory' sign, winking at everybody before heading back down the ramp and glomping onto Trowa again. "So...where were we?" 

"Help!" sputtered Treize, but it was too late. He'd alreadyt was only a quick dodge by Duo that kept his windpipe from being crushed. 

"Man, you mean it!" Duo said. "No more Mr. Nice Guy!" 

The first thing Duo needed to do was obvious- get the knife away. He knew Heero was ambidextrous, so merely wounding his right hand wouldn't help. His eyes glanced around, wondering if there was shelter, but he couldn't find any. He was fast, but compared to a pissed-off Yuy, not fast enough. He couldn't run.... there was no place to hide, so.... 

Duo launched himself forward, landing heavily on top of Heero, and throwing them both to the floor roughly. The knife was sent flying off into the shadows, and they listened for a second as it rebounded off the cement floor with an unpleasant scraping sound. 

They hit hard, yet somehow Heero ducked to avoid getting a concussion or worse. Duo's teeth were jarred, but he grabbed Heero's head and smashed it against the floor. "If you're gonna fight, fight like a man, dammit!" 

Heero, apparently unaffected by what to most people would have been a serious injury, slugged him in the gut, then in the face with what seemed like the same motion, and Duo saw stars. He flipped him over and raised his fists, ready to maker Duo's face into pulp. 

Duo blinked, trying to figure a way to get out of his unfortunate predicament. Heero was sitting on his chest, and there was no way he'd be able to get him off... so he did nd thought, Ms. Stormrider..." Gerald Tarrant said, "I think we need that tranq shot after all. And would you mind giving a little to Mr. Khushrenada there as well?" 

"No problem," the girl said, and efficiently jabbed both of them with the needle. Within seconds Treize and Zechs were out cold. Tarrant lifted Zechs onto his shoulders and gestured to the girl. 

"Get the wheelbarrow. We'll dump both of them in there and cart them over to the loony bin." 

Heero had had quite enough of the insanity, and headed back to the hangar to polish Wing Zero a little. He'd been looking forward to it for ages. He opened the doors, and winced as he heard the painfully loud music. It could only be one person. "DUO!" 

Atsuki had found that she was rather hungry after awakening as a vampire, so she prowled around the base, looking for someone to snack on. Where was everyone? Surely that little incident from earlier was over. 

Sally Po, meanwhile, was having a nice cut of tea with Quicksilver. "It would have been nice if you'd let me show my medical expertise," she grumbled. 

"Hey, I made you a main character, unlike most authors!" Quicksilver pointed out quickly. 

Sally was just picking up her delicate china cup for another sip of tea when the door slammed open. "ANOTHER uninvited guest?" she said. "People are so RUDE-" she was cut off as the girl jumped on top of her. 

"GET OFF!" Sally yelled. "I DON'T SWING THAT WAY!" 

Quicksilver watched with innocent eyes as Atsuki ripped the shoulder of Sally's shirt off in an effort to expose the Preventer General's neck. Sally struggled, but her pathetic human reflexes were no match for the vampire girl's, and Quicksilver made sure to stand safely out of the way as Atsuki pounced. 

"QS!" yelled a voice from the door. "Just WHAT do you think you're doing??" 

"Oh...hello Ger," Quicksilver said sheepishly. "Didn't think that you would finish off Treize and Zechs so quickly." 

Gerald shook his head and watched in horrified amusement as Atsuki bit into the unconscious Sally's neck. Seconds later, Sally's eyes opened, and both authors could see the unearthly glow that shone in them. 

"My," Sally said. "Being a vampire isn't so bad." 

"See?" Quicksilver said quite quickly as she straightened the ridiculous gown that costuming had forced her to wear, "I finally figured a way to keep my favorite characters truly immortal! I'll make them all vampires!" She laughed wickedly, but Ger hit her upside the head with a rolled-up copy of the _Evil Overlord's Handbook._

"You Idiot!!! Vampires immediately put this fic into the cliché!" 

"Well, I think people have probably figured out that's what we're aiming for....." 

Ger smiled. "I wonder how long it took them to notice the date? April 1, 2002...." 

Quicksilver giggled. "I rather thought it was a mean stunt to pull. Perfect, but mean." She smiled. "Do you want to be the one to tell them that ending SnK early is just our April Fool's joke, or should I?" 

"You just did. I WILL say that the REAL Act 9.2 will be posted tomorrow...." He glanced nervously at Sally, "And that we should get the hell out of here before Sally decides she needs a snack!" 

Quicksilver gulped, raised her skirts to an immodest height, and darted for the door, with Preventer Tarrant right on her heels. 

"HEERO! Where are you, Heero?!" Relena yelled, running through the Preventers building. There was only one last place to check, and that was the hangar that held the Gundams. "He's probably there..." she muttered. As she drew closer, she could hear very loud music being played. Opening the door to the hangar, her jaw dropped in disbelief. "H-Heero? Duo? What do you think you're doing?! Get your hands off my man!" 

Duo looked up from where he had been lip-locked with Heero, a sly grin on his face. "I don't think he's your man any more, Relena." As the music switched to Gackt's _Vanilla_, Heero yanked Duo down for another kiss, completely ignoring the blonde in the doorway. 

As Relena opened her mouth to scream, she felt something crash into her from behind. Recovering, she looked around to find Hilde, Atsuki, and Ilene in the doorway, each looking at the scene with horrified expressions. 

"DUO!" Hilde shrieked. 

Duo looked up just in time to catch Ilene pulling a furious Hilde back and trying to get her to put down the butcher knife she held in her hand. He grinned. "A crew sees cring knees!" 

Quicksilver and Ger, using their authorial powers, materialized to watch the scene. 

"Popcorn?" Quicksilver offered. 

Tarrant just gave her a Look™. "We're here to finish up." 

"Ok, ok... lemme read the credits. This fic was brought to you with the help of Lyra Stormrider, imouto-extraordinaire, the number 6 and 3.14, and the letter F. All characters don't belong to us, never will, even though we usually treat them better than the real series. Finally, all errors and blame for this fall on the shoulder of Gerald Tarrant-" 

Gerald stiffened. "The paper doesn't say that!" he protested. 

"Yes it does..." Quicksilver said, hastily scrawling on it. 

Gerald snatched it away. "You missed something..." He pointed out. 

"No I didn't!" 

He pointed at a small blob of ink. "And Quicksilver claims responsibility for all typos and misspellings...." 

"I do not!" she said. 

The two authors faded away, still arguing the blame, leaving behind two happily snogging pilots, four furious women, and a base that was about to be destroyed by vampires and Pocky. 

**NOT END SAINAN NO KEKKA ACT IX**

  


* * *

  
As you've probably figured by our statements above, this is NOT the real SnK 9.2, neither is it the ending to the story. We hope that our April Fools joke didn't damage any of you permanently (though I think it did damage us permanently while writing it ^^;) and I hope that none of you are upset that we WILL indeed be continuing SnK to its ending in Act 13. Complaints, rants, and rotten tomatoes for the bad humor can be sent to snkauthors@yahoo.com, as always. 

Regarding our "announcement," I would hope that we would never have to end SnK in such a manner. If worst came to worst, we would put it on hiatus, but barring freak accidents and acts of nature, we'd never decide to slap an ending on it and call it "complete." We love our fic too much to do that to it. And regarding the novel, yes, we ARE planning to write a novel together, but only AFTER we finish SnK. And we intend to hold you all to your promises of buying it when it comes out. XD 

The real Act 9.2 will be posted tomorrow, April 2, 2002. 

The Small Print:  
Special thanks to Lyra Stormrider for guest-writing on "Act 9.2." Jrock song references are courtesy of Gerald Tarrant and Lyra Stormrider and are, in order of appearance, Glay's "I'm in Love," Shazna's "Melty Love," and Gackt's "Vanilla." "Cause I Got You Babe" belongs to Cher. "All your base are belong to us" is copyright from Toaplan's _Zero Wing_ video game. _The Sixth Sense_ is brought to you by M. Night Shyamalan. Lightsabers, the quote "I am your father," and the subsequent "NOOO!" belong to Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker, Star Wars, George Lucas, and LucasArts. Pocky is the property of Glico, Inc. Guest appearance of The White Ferret provided by Draco Malfoy and J.K. Rowling. _The Evil Overlord's Handbook_ provided courtesy of all Evil Overlords everywhere. McDonald's belongs to itself and probably still will in AC 197, as do SMAP and the Backstreet Boys. 

  
Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	34. Behind the Darkened Stage

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2002 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING **

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT IX, PART II 

**Kaze wa tada boku o kimagure ni  
Mote asobi nagara fukinukeru  
Tsurakute mo itsumo makenaide  
Sabaku ni saiteru hana no you ni **

Brave eyes  
Atarashii sora ni kanadeyou  
Kakegae no nai egao no tame  
Atsui omoi o daite  


**The capricious wind teases me  
And then blows away  
Don't give up when things go wrong  
Be like a flower blooming in the desert **

Brave eyes  
Give the sky a new song  
For the sake of irreplaceable smiles  
Embrace passionate memories  


**--Gundam Wing, _Brave Eyes_  
[Quatre Raberba Winner image song]**  


  
  
**Scene V: Skeletons in the Closet**

  


_"Where have all the good men gone  
And where are all the gods?"  
-Bonnie Tyler, Holding Out for a Hero_

  
Helena wasn't in her room. She wasn't in the main office, either, nor had she gone to the hospital, as far as he knew. Shinobu thought maybe she had gone to talk to General Po, but the general was alone in her modified conference room, writing what looked like reports, and Shinobu had left without bothering her. She looked stressed. 

Most of the base was still sectioned off, and he seriously doubted that it would be fully functional any time soon. Even though it had been almost four days, he imagined he could still smell smoke in the air, feel the tension around him as the alarms went off and the guards had grabbed him, hustling him of to the shelters. He was no stranger to violent conflict, but he'd thought he had left it all behind him in the Breaks. To have experienced it twice in places that he'd thought were secure against such things - once at Cliffside and once on the Preventers Base - was shocking, to say the least. 

To have his perfectly ordered world upset like this had been a freak accident the first time. The second time…Shinobu would have bet anything that trouble was trying to follow him wherever he went. He knew that it wasn't true in the least; they were targeting Duo, not him, and he just happened to be wherever Duo went. But something inside him insisted that things would be safer if he just left. 

Safer for who? For Duo, or for him? 

He wasn't a selfish person. He refused to believe that despite his efforts, he'd turned out just like his father and his grandfather before him. His was a selfish family, and he'd run away from it to escape that, and he couldn't - wouldn't - accept that his rebellion had been in vain. 

Maybe that was selfish. 

He plodded morosely down the sidewalk, wandering aimlessly. He hadn't talked to his grandfather since leaving Cliffside, but he knew he was just putting off the inevitable. Seki Hikaru had a knack of knowing exactly where he was at any given time, and he didn't doubt that sooner or later, his grandfather would find a way to get a hold of him even on the headquarters of the World Nation's military. 

_I wanted to get you into the family business, but not like this. You're playing with fire, boy, and if you're not careful, you're going to get burned._

His lip twisted scornfully. It was all right for his grandfather to say those words; he wasn't the one in the middle of a world crisis. It seemed very far away now - the Breaks, the cartel, his family, the petty arguments and blood feuds that he'd so hated. He still hated them, but that was the small stuff, the things he could handle. 

Three weeks ago, even three days ago, if someone had asked him if he would be willing to give up his life and return to the cartel in order to help his friends, he wouldn't have been able to answer. But now, after the attack, he'd witnessed firsthand what might happen to the boy who had become one of the members of a surrogate family. He might want to run, but he knew he couldn't do that to Duo. 

He would not become the person his grandfather had become. 

It was a semi-cloudy day and just windy enough that Shinobu had to put one hand to his head to keep his baseball cap from blowing off. It had been Duo's cap once, but he'd given it to Shinobu in one of their lunchtime chats when he'd first come to Cliffside. The idea of someone who was able to speak his language was so intoxicating to the Japanese boy that he'd found himself gravitating towards Duo almost immediately after his language counselor had informed him that the new student, Duo Maxwell, was fluent in Japanese and would be helping him with his studies. Duo's carefree personality was a little jarring at first; he'd never known that someone could be so happy, so…alive. 

But as he'd come to know the braided American better, he'd found that not all sides of Duo's personality was sunny. There were times when they would be sitting in the library doing homework, when he would realize that Duo was staring at him with a focused, almost haunted expression on his face. 

_Duo?_ he would say in Japanese. _What's wrong?_

And Duo would always respond in a far-off voice, _You remind me of someone._

_Who?_ he would ask. 

And then Duo would turn back to his books as if the conversation had never taken place. 

It might have frustrated someone else, but Shinobu was a product of the Breaks, and he had learned never to ask questions when it was not necessary. And even if it had been a pressing matter between them, he doubted he could have pried Duo's past out of him. 

Well, there was no need for that now. The past was here staring all of them in the face, and he didn't know if any of them had the power to stop it. 

And Ilene was dead. 

He and Helena had been waiting for Duo in his makeshift quarters that night after the attack. He'd finally found the blond girl in a small group of civilians being herded by security guards to the nearest shelter. He'd joined the group, wanting to explain to her what had happened back in the computer room, or at least tell her that he was sorry. To his surprise, she had smiled at him, a bit nervously, but it was a genuine smile. 

"It's all right," she said. "I understand." 

She didn't say exactly what she understood, but her smile was enough, and they'd sat through the attack together in the underground shelter, she pressed up against him, he with his arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders, feeling the tremors of explosions and gunfire through the ground. Neither of them had been afraid. What was done was done, and it was out of their hands now. They were no longer high school students - they were adults. 

Duo had finally burst into his quarters at half past ten o clock that night, and they'd both jumped to their feet in shock. This wasn't the Duo they remembered - this Duo was dirty, with torn clothes and bloodstains on his shirt and jeans. But the worst part was his eyes. He looked like he had been crying, but there were no tears now, just a deadness that frightened Shinobu. 

"Duo?" Helena whispered. 

"Leave," Duo said in a flat voice. 

"Duo," Shinobu said more firmly, placing one hand on Helena's shoulder and squeezing it slightly. "What happened?" 

The blank eyes stared at them, moving to one face, then another, then Duo shrugged. 

"Ilene's dead." 

Helena made a choked sound between a gasp and a sob, and Shinobu felt something plummet to the pit of his stomach. "You're joking." 

In two steps, Duo was across the room, grabbing a fistful of Shinobu's t-shirt and dragging him close. "Would I be joking about this? Would I be fucking joking about something like this?!" 

"Stop it!" Helena begged. "Stop it! Duo!" Her last word was practically a scream, and Shinobu wrenched himself away from the braided boy's iron grip, breathing hard. 

"I couldn't save her," said Duo. His fury seemed to have disappeared, and the dead eyes were back, set in a face that looked curiously dead as well. It was unnerving on someone who had just hours before been so full of life. "I couldn't…two steps, Shin." His head whipped around and the pain in that face was nearly unbearable. "Two fucking steps…I was so close…" 

Helena was shaking her head. "No…no…how could Ilene be here? How could…I don't understand." Tears rolled down her cheeks. 

Then it hit Shinobu. "She was one of the terrorists," he said wonderingly, not even shocked, simply unbelieving. 

Duo laughed bitterly. "Bingo. Our sweet, little Ilene, a terrorist." He laughed, and Shinobu winced at the harsh sound. 

"Don't joke like that!" Helena breathed, looking horrified. 

"It's true," Duo said. "I may run, and I may hide, but I never lie." He spread his arms as if in supplication, then spun on one foot. 

"The room is yours. I'm leaving." 

"Where are you going, Duo?" Shinobu said, alarmed. 

Bitter laughter drifted back to him. "Where I belong." 

"Duo-!" Helena choked out, lunging after him, but Shinobu caught her arm. 

"Let him be. He just needs to be alone right now." 

It was two days later now, and Shinobu had not seen the pilot anywhere. He was sure that Duo hadn't come to harm, because if something had happened to him, General Po would certainly have notified him. He hadn't seen Hilde around either, and assumed that the two were off somewhere having their private time. 

That left him and Helena. The day after that, she'd learned that Chris was on base, in the hospital, wounded but alive. Since then, she had been scarce also. He wasn't sure what her relationship was with the other boy, but she at least seemed willing to give it another try. Shinobu knew he shouldn't be, but he was jealous. Sometimes he'd catch himself wondering what would have happened if Chris had died, and each time he would spend hours berating himself. Chris was a friend, the same as Duo. The same as Helena was. She was a friend, too, nothing more. 

He sighed, looked up at the sky, and began to retrace his steps to the temporary dormitory. It was just a little after noon and he had not had lunch, but he was not hungry. The hallways of the building were mostly empty except for a few small children running around unsupervised, and he headed towards his room with the dim prospect of spending another day sitting there, doing nothing, and hoping that his grandfather would not find him before he could do something to help. 

He turned the corner and saw that the door to his room was open. He frowned. He hadn't left the door open and no one else had the key. Maybe Helena…? 

But it wasn't Helena. Stepping into the sparsely furnished room, Shinobu saw someone kneeling, rummaging through a chest. He was about to demand to know what the stranger was doing in his room when he looked at the number on the door again, and at the same time that he realized that he was in the wrong building, the stranger looked up. 

"I'm sorry," Shinobu began, then his brain registered who he was talking to. The dark-skinned boy's face was tight with some unknown emotion, but his features were very familiar. 

"You again," the boy said. "What do you want?" 

He blinked. "Darkflight, isn't it?" 

"Unless someone important sent you," Darkflight returned, his voice surly, "you'd best leave before I get angry." 

"What did I ever do to you?" Shinobu demanded. He wasn't used to being blamed for things he didn't do, and he didn't see what this boy had against him. 

Darkflight sneered. "Nothing." 

Shinobu ground his teeth in frustration and decided that the conversation was over, turning to leave - then paused. 

It was the perfect time…the only time, probably, where he would get to ask the question that had been bothering him in one form or another since he had arrived on base. 

"You," he said. 

"What?" The boy sounded defensive, and Shinobu turned back around, the anger fading from his mind now, a cautious foreboding taking its place. It must have showed on his expression, because immediately, Darkflight dropped into a crouch, his eyes wary. 

Shinobu knew that crouch. It was the classic posture of the assassin about to make a kill. 

"Where are you from, exactly?" he said. "In the Breaks." 

A spasm crossed Darkflight's face, almost too quick for him to see if he hadn't been looking for it. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

"You told me yourself you were from the Breaks," Shinobu returned. "It's useless to lie. I know exactly who you are." 

He was not prepared for the look of pure venomous hate that crossed the dark face, not prepared for the knife that suddenly appeared in the other's hand. 

"And who exactly am I?" he growled. 

Shinobu's hands were sweaty. "You're the descendent of Shionji Kouhito of the Shionji Cartel," he said. "The son of the missing boy subject from the Operation Ares experiment. Aren't you?" 

Darkflight stared at him. 

"Aren't you?" Shinobu repeated harshly. 

And then the other boy did the last thing Shinobu expected. He burst out laughing. 

"This isn't funny!" he snapped. "Answer me, dammit!" 

Darkflight's laughter faded. "You are a fucking moron," the dark-skinned boy replied calmly, but he didn't come out of his crouch. Instead, he took one fluid step forward, eyes fixed on Shinobu. 

Shinobu swallowed. "What are you doing?" 

"Getting rid of you," Darkflight said. He smiled, showing his teeth. 

"You haven't answered me!" Shinobu said desperately, backing up till he was up against the half-open door of the room. He took another step and the door slammed shut. The sound echoed in the hallway outside. "I'm right, aren't I? Aren't I?" 

"I know nothing about any Shionji cartel members," Darkflight hissed. "All I know is that you know way too much, and Shadowwing never leaves anyone like you alive." 

"Shadowwing?" Shinobu breathed in disbelief. "No way…" 

The pieces of the puzzle snapped into place. Darkflight was the other half of Shadowwing, who had been sent to China to kill Chang Wufei, and the reason he was here was because- 

"Your partner," he said, "is Heero Yuy." 

"My partner's name," Darkflight ground out, "is Wing! Not Heero Yuy! Heero Yuy is dead!" 

"I was only trying to-" Shinobu said, but Darkflight had already begun to move, and he threw himself to the side, hoping to avoid the blade, but he was no match for a trained assassin. Darkflight was on him before he could take one step, and he felt himself being pushed to the ground, felt the tip of the knife at his throat. 

"I don't like you," Darkflight said. 

"I don't like you either," Shinobu bit out, forcing himself to keep his gaze level with the dark eyes. His heart was thudding. _Don't let him see you waver. Don't let him see that you're afraid._

"You're afraid of me, aren't you?" Darkflight mocked. "You're afraid to die?" 

"If you kill me," Shinobu said, trying to keep his voice calm, "you will get a very large price on your head that I don't think you'll be able to outrun." 

"Oh yeah?" The knife point didn't waver. "And why is that?" 

"Because I'm the heir of the Black Diamond cartel," Shinobu said, forcing the corners of his lips up in a sardonic grin. "And heirs are expensive to kill." 

"You think that's going to stop me?" But the voice was a little less forceful now, and he could see something that hadn't been in Darkflight's face before. Not fear, certainly…he was a trained assassin, and the word around was that trained assassins could not be threatened. But if not fear, then perhaps…caution. 

"Admit it," Shinobu challenged. "You're not just any assassin, Darkflight. You're the best of the best…and the best of the best isn't just born off the streets of L1. It's made. You - your family, your father - were MADE! _Weren't you?_" 

"Shut up," Darkflight whispered. Shinobu could see sweat forming at his hairline, glistening beads in the fluorescent lighting of the room. 

"The Operation Ares prototypes were the best there were at that time. Your father…he was the last experiment, wasn't he? He was one of the successful ones." 

"I don't know what you're talking about!" 

He didn't miss the edge of panic in Darkflight's voice, and suddenly he knew he had the advantage back. He moved, suddenly, intending to knock the other boy off balance, perhaps knock the knife out of his hand, but Darkflight was quicker. As Shinobu moved to push himself forward off the floor, Darkflight shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. The knife flashed. He felt a stinging sensation in his right shoulder, heard a cracking sound as he tumbled to the floor again with all his weight falling on his right elbow. 

Darkflight's breath came in short gasps. "Don't you…ever…threaten me…again!" The dark eyes blazed at him. 

"I didn't threaten you," Shinobu snarled. "I want the truth from you! Admit it, that you're the heir of the Shionji cartel!" 

"I don't remember!" 

"You're lying!" 

"I DON'T REMEMBER!" Darkflight screamed, slumping against the wall and clutching at his head as though it pained him. Shinobu tried to struggle to a sitting position, watching him, tried to staunch the flow of blood from his collarbone with his shirt. There were streaks of dark, wet blood across the white tiled floor. 

"You-" he began, and Darkflight shook his head. 

"Leave me alone. Just…leave me alone!" 

Shinobu stared at him, unsure what to make of this. He was almost positive Darkflight was the son of one of the original experiments involving the Shionji children, but if the other boy was denying it…the denial itself wasn't what worried him. Denials were just words, after all. But the way Darkflight was holding his head, the way his eyes were darting back and forth…something just didn't feel right. 

"I…remember…lights. Lots of lights," Darkflight whispered, and Shinobu opened his mouth to ask him what the hell he was talking about, closed it again. The dark eyes were closed, and Darkflight was rocking back and forth, hugging himself. "…they took him away…they took…him away. I never saw him again. I…" He trailed off, making a sobbing noise in his throat. 

Shinobu gaped at him. 

"Then it was dark…pain…" his head came up and he stared at Shinobu with empty eyes. "There's nothing after that." 

There was something missing. Something he wasn't getting here…if Darkflight remembered the operations, remembered being taken away from his family…no, that was impossible. He'd have to be over forty years old by now, if he were the original subject, and this boy didn't look over seventeen. Somewhere in a corner of his mind, a small warning bell began ringing, but Shinobu ignored it. "You do remember." 

"Bits and pieces," Darkflight said shakily. "I've always had bits and pieces. I don't remember, Shinobu. Whatever your name is. I don't fucking remember!" The hand that held the knife was trembling. "I'm sorry I don't match up to who you wanted me to be…sorry you can't take your revenge on me." Mocking, taunting. "That's what you want, right? Revenge. For your stupid little cartel. Like it matters anyway." 

Shinobu's hands curled into fists at his side. His right shoulder and arm were on fire, but he ignored them. "You're an arrogant bastard." 

"So are you." 

Darkflight growled and leaped again, and Shinobu cried out as his broken arm was jarred, brought up his other arm up to defend himself from the blow. 

"STOP IT!" 

Darkflight froze, half crouching, and Shinobu moved his head, painfully, until he could see the door….and gasped. 

"Helena?" 

He hadn't heard the door open, but she was standing there, her hands over her mouth, eyes wide, staring at them as if they were ghosts. "What on earth are you DOING?" 

"It is a long story-" he began in English, but Darkflight cut him, speaking in Japanese. "Who is this?" he demanded. 

"A friend. You know what those are, right?" 

"Fucking son of a-" Darkflight growled, raising the knife, and Helena gave a short scream. 

"Don't you DARE!" 

"Helena!" he shouted, but she was already running towards them, reaching him and throwing her arms around him. 

"Don't touch him!" 

"Don't you hurt her!" Shinobu cried, but instead of moving towards her with the weapon as he had thought Darkflight would, the assassin simply gave a careless, forced laughed, standing and gesturing with the knife. 

"Get out. Conversation is over." 

Helena looked confused and angry, and Shinobu struggled up. She helped him stand, casting frightened, defensive glances at Darkflight all the while, but the dark-skinned boy took no notice of her. It was if their conversation had never taken place. 

"We're not finished yet," Shinobu said, pausing in the doorway, and Darkflight didn't move to face him. 

"Yes we are," he said. 

It was only until they'd made it to the front lobby, where she'd sat him in a chair and marched up to the receptionist's desk and made a request for medical aid, did Helena turn to him with a puzzled and worried look on her face. 

"Just what were you doing in there, Shin?" 

He gave her a weak smile. "Nothing. Nothing that you would want to know." 

  


* * *

  
**Scene VI: Do You Believe God Is Dead?**

  


_"You've built a kingdom of arrogance,  
Put your god at the throne.  
If your god were alive today  
He would hang himself in shame."  
--Stabbing Westwards, Shame_

  
"Duo?" 

Hilde's questioning voice echoed through the hangar, the two silent giants inside seeming to be standing in a mournful vigil over the wounded base. She scowled up at Deathscythe Hell, careful to keep her eyes off the other Gundam. She thought she was over the whole "seeing everything with a golden light" thing she'd picked up from flying Wing Zero, but she sure as hell didn't want to take any chances. And you couldn't get her back into the cockpit if you told her it was the only way to ensure world peace. 

Some things just weren't worth it. 

There was no answer, and she sighed as she hadn't really been expecting one, having a good idea where she might find her boyfriend. The looming Deathscythe seemed to mock her as she glared at it. "I bet you think this is funny, don't you?" she asked. The she clenched her fists and rolled her eyes. "Great. I'm talking to an inanimate object- I'm just as crazy as the pilots themselves!" she declared. She stomped her foot angrily, wishing Duo would just act normal for a change. Then again, if he did normal, then he wouldn't be Duo. 

Hilde tilted her head back, examining the newly repaired Gundam carefully. Everything had been refinished, the dents had been carefully smoothed, and she knew all of the systems had been rechecked, and pronounced to be at 100% operating efficiency. The scent of fresh paint tickled her nose, and she approached one of the wires that had been left out. Stepping onto the hoist, Hilde clutched the line tightly in both hands and let it pull her up until she was even with the cockpit. "Duo?" 

No answer still. 

"I feel ridiculous," she muttered to herself. She heaved a mental sigh and rapped her knuckles smartly on the hatch. "Anyone home?" 

It smoothly slid open along the grooves with slight swoosh of sound and rush of canned air, freshly oiled and almost like new. Duo peeked out at her, rubbing his blearing eyes. "Whaddya want, Hil? Can't a guy get some sleep?" 

Agilely she swung down so she was sitting at his feet. It was a tight fit, but at least this was she wasn't dangling off the hangar floor by a wire. She wasn't acrophobic, but she didn't like heights that much. "You could get some sleep if you were willing to sleep somewhere logical. We've got a room, you know," she said. "And you could use a shower and a shave." She patted his cheek, which was starting to get a little stubble on it. "You're not fifteen anymore- you need to shave every now and then!" 

He rubbed his jaw line. His beard wasn't thick enough to require daily shaving, so that meant it'd been at least two days since... "How long have I been in here?" he asked. 

"Aside from your brief stint playing messenger boy after finding out Trowa had that concussion, more then four days! It's time to come out!" 

He flicked his braid back over his shoulder, feeling decidedly unwell. :"I just... don't want to leave the Gundams. Just in case..." 

"In case what?" she asked. "We're attacked again? The attackers weren't able to get anywhere near here! And locking yourself in here isn't going to help." 

"But-" 

"C'mon. I'm not going to fetch you food anymore, and it's time you cleaned up. I'll even braid your hair for you," she promised teasingly. 

He blushed. Braiding his hair had often led to other, more sensual, pursuits in the past. He rose and pulled her to her feet, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Hold onto me, k? This hoist isn't meant for two...." 

"Shouldn't I just wait?" Hilde asked nervously. 

"Nah! It's strong enough to lift a few metric tons, you and me ain't gonna be a problem," he said. "Just don't let go before we reached the bottom!" 

She trusted him enough to allow him to pull her close, one hand around her, with the other on the cable, steadying their descent. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and started to count backwards from twenty. 

"You can open your eyes now," he told her. 

Now that she had him out of the small cockpit, she decided that it would be a good time to broach her other reason for coming. "Trowa's coming out of the hospital today," she said. "Catherine wanted me to let you know." 

"So?" 

Her eyes widened in concern. "He's been there for a few days. He shouldn't have been moving around with that concussion, but he did it cause he wanted to warn the base. It's not his fault he was too late to do any good. Well, much good." 

"Kill Ilene, you mean." 

If the doctors hadn't pronounced that Trowa's wounds were over a day old, she would have strongly suspected Duo of doing the damage in a fit of rage. She nibbled on the inside of her lip, the tender flesh sore as she considered how to word what she wanted to say. "Duo, you're going to have to talk to him," she said. 

"He killed her, Hilde," Duo said quietly, wrapping his arms around his knees as he slipped to the floor. "No matter which way you look at it, he killed her." 

"He did it to save your life, Duo," she said. She had known that this was going to be sensitive territory. She herself hadn't known the girl, but from what Helena had told her, she'd guessed that most people had viewed Ilene as a possible girlfriend for Duo. She'd shared more time with him than Hilde had, all told, but it was hard to be jealous now. Hilde was alive, and Ilene was not.... how could you hate a dead girl? 

"My life didn't need saving!" 

"From what I understand, Ilene had gone over the deep end. I may not be the best person to talk to about this, since I didn't know her, but Helena and Shinobu don't fault you. You shouldn't blame yourself." 

"Who should I blame then? Trowa?" 

Hilde shook her head. "Sometimes there is no one to blame. Sometimes life just happens, and we learn to accept the hand God has dealt us." 

He looked up at her, a frown furrowing the smooth skin of his brow. "There is no such thing as God," he said fiercely. "There never was! Why the hell do I bother wearing this thing?" he snapped angrily, clutching his cross. With a jerk, he snapped the chain, and chucked it across the room with all his might. "It's a reminder of all that wrong with this fucked-up world," he swore furiously. 

She watched the glittering object sail across the room. "Duo… didn't Father Maxwell and Sister Helen give you that?" She knew it had been important to him, his only link to his past. 

"A sign of their folly. Their God is dead, is he ever existed in the first place," he said. "He never was worth their faith." 

Hilde knelt down beside him, brushing back stray wisps of hair from his face. "I believe in God," she whispered to him. "Every time I look into your eyes, I see him there. There has to be a God- only God could grant me someone like you." She brushed a kiss across his cheek and started to pull back, only to be caught tightly against his body. They wrapped their arms around each other, taking strength from each other's presence. 

"Hilde," he whispered. "Will you let me stay?" 

She shut her eyes empathetically, understanding. Once before she had sent him off on his own, knowing that he needed time to discover himself. Her abrupt actions had hurt him, but she had done the right thing- he had needed that time to find himself. He had needed to learn what normal life was. Now, though… "I love you, Duo. Even if we're not together, I want you to know that." 

He gripped her more tightly. "I missed you so much." 

She melted at his touch. She wanted to stay next to him forever, but knew the world wouldn't be cooperative. Still, she could dream... 

"Am I interrupting?" 

A nasal voice surprised them both. They were on their feet; Duo protectively crouched before Hilde as she fumbled to get a gun trained on the shadows. "Who's there?" Duo demanded. 

Out of the shadows emerged another one of the pilots, one who had been as elusive as the rainbow, and just as untouchable. 

"Heero!" Duo exclaimed, throwing himself forward and landing right in front of his friend with oomph of shock. Damn boots had no cushioning... Normally he would have grabbed Heero for a back-thumping hug and plunged headfirst back into their old friendship, but things had changed. 

Duo stared at the Wing pilot for a moment, nothing the long hair and silently tracing the scar without actually touching him. He suddenly realized that he was taller than Heero now. The Japanese boy had grown too, but it was mostly muscle, not height. But he looked older, much older. 

"Been a while, man." 

"I need my knife," Heero answered, cutting through the usual niceties that were expected after a long separation. 

Duo motioned to Hilde. "Can you leave us alone, babe? This is a guy thing." 

She opened her mouth to protest, but something in Duo's lavender eyes halted the words before they could form on her lips. "I'll be back at our assigned room... and you'd better come after you're done talking to Yuy. No more sleeping in Deathscythe!" she declared. She kissed Duo briefly on the cheek, tossed a glare at Heero, and stomped out of the hangar, leaving the two former comrades alone. 

"Hello, Heero. I'd say how are you, but you'd just grunt." He backed up a step, not removing his eyes from his one-time friend. "So let's cut the small talk, and you can start by telling me where the hell you've been, what you're up to, and why I shouldn't kill you for being an unmitigated jerk." 

Heero seemed to be unmoved. "My knife…. You said you'd keep it for me." 

"I have it, but you're not getting it back until you talk to me! I need some answers, man! I've been wandering around in the dark long enough, and I've had it! I want the truth, and you're gonna be the first person to give it to me!" 

Heero's expression shifted slightly. "When are you going to learn that there is no truth? Only various lies." 

It seemed to strike a sensitive spot. "You gotta believe in humans sometime, Heero," he said. "What happened to you?" He mimicked the scar on Heero's face in front of his own again, making it clear what he was asking about. 

"Call it a baptism of blood, if you want. It was a gift." 

"If you call that a gift, you need new friends. Looks like they barely kept from blinding your right eye permanently," Duo said, leaning in a little to inspect the old wound. 

"He knew what he was doing." 

Duo just rolled his eyes. "Talking to you is still like pulling teeth out of a crocodile, you know. Snap, snap! No telling when you're going to bite." 

"My knife." 

"Nope," Duo said, waving a finger back and forth under Heero's nose impudently. "Not until you answer my questions- try to use these things known as sentences? And maybe a paragraph or two, if you're feeling extravagent?" 

"I was on L1. I worked as an assassin. I have no excuse for why you shouldn't kill me right now, but you're more practical than I am. Killing me benefits no one. My knife, now," Heero said. 

"It's in Deathscythe," Duo said, stepping onto the hoist to get it. Heero had answered his questions, as much as Heero ever would- there was no reason 

Heero waited patiently until he came back with the knife, which was still in the leather sheath. Pulling it out, he was surprised to see that it had been well maintained, as though Duo had taken it out periodically and cleaned it. The snap on the sheath was snug, and the knife slid out of it like water. "Thanks," he said. 

"I promised I'd take care of it," he said. "I never lie." His eyes shifted over to the other item Heero had placed in his charge. "I admit to being a little surprise at the other present ya left me, though." 

"I couldn't take care of him," Heero answered softly, wandering over to where Wing Zero was, its bird-like wings tucked carefully behind its back. "I couldn't even take care of myself." 

"Saaaaa...." Duo said, and then seemed to reconsider whatever he'd been about to say. "None of us coped real well," he said. "I ran away from it, Trowa got stuck in some kind of limbo focused on his sister, Quatre did exactly what his family expected him to.... no one ever taught us how to be normal, Heero. It's natural we made mistakes." 

Heero's cobalt blue eyes flickered for a second. "But you didn't hurt the people you loved the way I did...." 

"Fuck that, Yuy!" Duo exploded. "One of my friends died in the attack -Trowa killed her! And all cause I didn't tell her the truth- didn't let her understand what really was going on. I wanted to protect her, keep her innocent, so I never let her know! If I had, she'd still be alive, and maybe the base wouldn't have been attacked! So don't you get on your damned high horse and stop saying me, me, me…. The world doesn't revolve around you, you self-centered egotist! There's other people in this world!" 

Heero growled low in his throat. "I watched her die! Atsuki stopped because I called her name!" 

Duo had no clue what Heero was rambling on about, but he wasn't about to watch his friend throw a pity party for himself. "So? Ilene died in front of me! Trowa shot her because he thought I needed saving, blast him! One of the people I'm closet to in the world killed one of my best friends! How the fuck do you think I feel right now? So, no, I'm not about to let you wallow in a pool of misery! We all have problems- it's called life! And you have to learn how to deal with it! Shutting yourself off and drinking alone ain't the answer! Why the hell did they let you out of rehab, anyway?" Duo tossed an accusing look at the long sleeves his friend wore. "Shouldn't you still be there?" 

"They let me out." 

"They don't have the brains God gave little green apples!" 

Heero snorted. "There's no God- aren't you always the one telling me that?" 

"You're an annoying jackass." 

"You're still a child who hasn't grown up." Heero's counteract was below the belt. 

"Really? I'm not the one whose holding the knife, ready to slit my throat cause my friend died." He tilted his head. "Or is that just an excuse? Using your friend's death as a way to avoid reality?" 

This time Heero's snarl was much more primal, and Duo barely had time to brace himself for the punch the Wing pilot launched at him. 

Duo, though, was a child of the streets, and knew all sorts of dirty nasty tricks that most people would call...extremely unfair. He tried to knee Heero in the stomach, hoping to put some distance between them; Heero had his knife out, and though Duo didn't think Heero would use it, he didn't want to take any stupid chances. He had trusted Ilene, and she'd wound up dead. 

Heero managed to block Duo's attack, launching one of his own. His fingers lashed out for Duo's throat, and it was only a quick dodge by Duo that kept his windpipe from being crushed. 

"Man, you mean it!" Duo said. "No more Mr. Nice Guy!" 

The first thing Duo needed to do was obvious- get the knife away. He knew Heero was ambidextrous, so merely wounding his right hand wouldn't help. His eyes glanced around, wondering if there was shelter, but he couldn't find any. He was fast, but compared to a pissed-off Yuy, not fast enough. He couldn't run.... there was no place to hide, so.... 

Duo launched himself forward, landing heavily on top of Heero, and throwing them both to the floor roughly. The knife was sent flying off into the shadows, and they listened for a second as it rebounded off the cement floor with an unpleasant scraping sound. 

They hit hard, yet somehow Heero ducked to avoid getting a concussion or worse. Duo's teeth were jarred, but he grabbed Heero's head and smashed it against the floor. "If you're gonna fight, fight like a man, dammit!" 

Heero, apparently unaffected by what to most people would have been a serious injury, slugged him in the gut, then in the face with what seemed like the same motion, and Duo saw stars. He flipped him over and raised his fists, ready to maker Duo's face into pulp. 

Duo blinked, trying to figure a way to get out of his unfortunate predicament. Heero was sitting on his chest, and there was no way he'd be able to get him off... so he did the only thing he could think of.... 

His long fingers reached up and started to tickle Heero under the armpits. Heero's eyes widened in amazement, and he started to chuckle. "Duo.... I'm not ticklish." 

"It was worth a shot...." Duo grumbled, hoping Heero was calming down. 

Heero surprised him with a grin, and then by helping him to his feet. "Wait a sec," he said, vanishing into the shadows after the knife. 

"Not again...." Duo muttered, than walked over to Deathscythe, patting its leg affectionately. "All my friends go nuts and homicidal on me," he muttered. 

Heero reappeared a minute later, tossing something at Duo. Before Duo could register it, his reflexes kicked in, and he caught the small item. 

It was his cross, with its chain still broken. 

"Just because the past hurts, doesn't mean we should forget it. It makes us who we are." He caressed the flat of the knife he had retrieved as well. "By the same token, we shouldn't cling to it foolishly." He took a deep breath, clutched his ponytail tightly for a second, then sawed through it with three quick jerks. 

Duo blinked, and grabbed his braid. "I'm leaving mine alone!" he declared. 

Heero's expression could almost be described as mischievous. The raggedly cut hair hung around his face messily, and Duo could see his friend in this stranger. "No one asked you to cut it- but for me, it was time to let go of all the foolishness I've been indulging in." His voice grew softer, but more determined then before. "I'm a Gundam pilot, and I'm needed right now. Ninmu ryoukai. I promised to help Wufei win the war, once and for all, and I keep my word." Heero stared at the sawed-off ponytail in his hand, wondering if he could have it burned with Atsuki's remains. She should take the last of her Wing with her, he thought to himself. 

Duo smiled at him, the first genuine smile he'd worn since Ilene had died. "Oi, Heero?" 

The Wing pilot turned his head. "Yes?" 

"Tell me about Atsuki," Duo said, rather than asked. 

The air was still between them for about three heartbeats both of them could hear. "Sure. But only if you tell me about Ilene," Heero bargained. 

Duo's eyes lit, and Heero could almost hear an audible click as they slid right back into their friendship. "There's nothing I'd rather do." Another pause, then Duo threw his arms around the shorter pilot in a back-thumping hug, the one he wanted to give Heero originally, almost knocking him off his feet with enthusiasm. 

"Welcome back, Heero." 

  
_Go to Heero and Duo side Reunion_

  


* * *

  
**Scene VII: Seasons of Love**

  


_"How do you measure the life of a woman or a man?"  
Seasons of Love, Rent_

  
Hospital chairs were, by their very definition, uncomfortable. She supposed it was a subtle way to discourage visitors from staying too long, and encouraging worried family and friends to go home and take a rest. At least, that was the way she tried to justify the stiff plastic chairs. The other possible explanation -that administrators really were just sadists- wasn't one she wanted to dwell on. 

She yawned daintily before indulging in a good stretch, smoothing her hands over the khaki shorts she had paired with a peach blouse. Her sandals had long been kicked off, and the hair she had clipped back was coming undone. She had had it with hospital coffee, but she'd been drinking almost nothing else ever since learning Chris was here. 

They hadn't let her see him. It was driving her nuts. 

He'd been in ICU for the first three days, with a concussion spinal trauma that left him paralyzed from his hips down. Even though the doctors could fix it (unlike pre-Colony medicine), it was still serious enough to warrant concern. There could be complications, his body could reject the regrowth tissues the surgery installed... and even if it all went well, he would be spending months in physical therapy to relearn how to walk. 

His parents had been there a day before she had arrived. It had taken two days for anyone to let her know that Chris was on base, much less wounded. She had spent those hours grieving for the loss of her best friend, and then had the trauma compounded by her boyfriend -someone she wasn't even sure how she felt about- was in the hospital. Shinobu had wanted to wait with her, but she had turned down his offer. She knew he had other things to do, things that she really didn't want to know about, and she needed some time by herself to think things through. 

She went to see Shinobu on a break from her vigil on the fourteenth, and had been shocked to find him wounded and under siege. She hadn't known what to do, but she had instinctively thrown herself in front of him to protect him. 

_"Don't touch him!"_

The words still echoed in her memory. They had come without warning, and she'd confused herself sincerely since them. Aside from dropping Shinobu off at the Emergency room and learning that it was only a hairline fracture and with proper care, it would be as good as new in about two weeks. She'd been relieved, kissed him on the cheek, and then vanished. 

Helena had been avoiding him since then. 

The nurse at desk, a pretty lieutenant with a shocking cap of red hair, looked over at her and gave her the gentle smile that she was beyond tired of. They had formed a mutual loathing of each other. "I'm glad to see you're awake, Ms. Rosenbaum. Surgeon Captain Simmons wanted to let you know that you have permission to visit your friend now." 

She rose hastily to her feet, casting a cool look at the serene-seeming nurse. "And why didn't you wake me?" 

The redhead's eyes widened melodramatically. "You haven't rested well in a while, and I didn't have the heart to wake you." 

Helena's voice became even more icy. "Thank you so much for you concern." 

"It's the least I can do. He's in room 332." 

She nodded and left, not deigning to continue the verbal sparring. 

The hospital smelt like every other hospital she'd been in, a weird scent of sickness and antiseptic. The walls were a sea foam green, and she smiled as she noticed the plants that had been placed in the corners. It was obvious a caring hand attended to them, since the flowers bloomed beautifully, and the leaves were glossy and healthy. 

Helena peeked in 332 before entering. This would be the first time that they'd let her see Chris, and she was worried how he would react to her presence. They hadn't parted on the best of terms. 

Chris's usually tanned skin seemed pale and lackluster, and his hair stood out against the stark whiteness of his pillows. She looked at the IV that was still imbedded in his forearm and winced. He seemed to be staring out the window at the athletic fields, and she winced again mentally. Chris loved outdoor pursuits, and they would be denied to him for quite a while. 

"Hello," she said softly. 

He didn't seem startled by her sudden appearance. "They finally let you in"" he asked tiredly, turning his head to examine her. 

She nodded. "Can I come in?" 

"Sure." 

Helena grabbed the nearest chair to the bed, leaning over so it was easier for him to see her face. "I didn't know you were here until two days after the attack," she said apologetically. 

"I came to see Relena." 

"You met Queen Relena?" Helena asked in surprise. She'd seen the pretty young monarch on the news vids quite often, but had never really seen her as a real person. Then again, she had never envisioned that a Gundam pilot could be anything like Duo. 

"Yes. I came to get her help with Duo... to stop him from bringing the Gundams back..." 

She gasped. "Chris! That really wasn't any of your business!" 

He shook his head. "We all must work to do what we see as right. I didn't think the Gundams were needed.... they are the very symbol of war and hatred." 

Helena hesitated and picked at his sheets with her fingernails. "What did Queen Relena say?" 

Chris seemed to grow distant. "She said that I should trust Duo. That war was wrong, but peace could only be achieved when people wanted it. She was right- I should have trusted Duo." 

"So you think we did the right thing?" she asked eagerly, hoping... praying.... 

"No." His answer was unequivocal. 

She flinched. 

He didn't seem to care. "The Gundams are not needed- they should be destroyed. If you have a weapon, you become tempted to use it." 

She nodded slowly. "Yes, but if you don't defend yourself, you end up hurting those you love... Shinobu told me that." Her voice softened slightly as she mentioned the Asian boy, and Chris seemed to be slightly startled, coming to a realization. Helena didn't noticed, though, and continued. "Did you hear about Ilene?" she asked. 

"I did. Her parents and mine were friends." Chris seemed to become melancholy. "I missed her funeral." 

"So did I. Her parents didn't want me or Shin there. And if they could FIND him, they'd kill Duo in cold blood." She fidgeted nervously. "They're pulling their support for the Preventers, which is really bad. They were some of Lady Une's staunchest allies in the World Nation... now, though...." 

She brushed away the tears that started to form in her eyes. "I just don't understand. How could Ilene become a terrorist? Duo's falling apart, and Shinobu-" she stopped, suddenly aware that wasn't her secret to tell. "I just don't know what to do anymore. Shinobu's been a great help, but I still feel so alone," she said, resting sight on her shoes. 

Chris's eyes were gentle, surprisingly so. "Helena... it's okay," he said softly. 

"What?" she asked, wondering. Life wasn't okay.... Shinobu was a gangster, Duo was a Gundam pilot, Chris would be spending months in physical therapy, and... Ilene was dead. No matter if the other problems could somehow find a happy resolution, Ilene's couldn't. Dead was forever. 

He reached over and let his fingers rest on her left wrist for a second, caressing the soft ivory skin gently. "I know you don't love me anymore," he said softly. "It's okay...." 

She looked at him. "I still love you!" she stated fiercely. 

His eyes were still gentle, despite the sorrow in his voice. "I misspoke. You love me, but you're not in love with me anymore. It's okay," he repeated for the third time. 

She opened her mouth to deny it, but she couldn't lie. "I'm sorry," she said. "I would change it if I could." 

"I know." 

She gently brushed his brown hair back with her right hand. "What has happened to us?" she wondered. She looked into his beloved face, wondering why she wasn't feeling the adoration or desire she used to feel in the past. 

"We grew up," he whispered softly in reply. "Sometimes that means growing apart." The couple that most Cliffside students had believed were on the fast-track towards matrimony sat in silence, realizing they weren't together anymore. Breaking up hurt, but neither of them had to voice that their differences were too much for them to overcome. "Go to him," Chris said after a moment of companionable silence. 

"What?" Helena replied, sincerely confused. 

"He needs you now," Chris said. "And I need to sleep." 

"What? Who?" Helena asked, feeling a guilty flush rise in her cheeks. She had a creeping feeling she knew who Chris was talking about, but she still hadn't admitted it to herself yet. Chris had always seemed to know what she was thinking before she did. She sometimes wondered if he was a telepath. 

Chris released her wrist after giving it a tight squeeze. "Shinobu. It's okay," he said for what seemed to be the millionth time. 

Again, denial was her immediate instinct, but she just... just had to speak the truth. Chris deserved the truth. They all did- so many people had been hurt by lies and secrets. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I did love you, for what it's worth." 

"I know." His eyes started to drift close. "We'll always be friends, though. There's more then one type of love...._Philios, Eros, Agape,_" he said softly. 

"_Philios,_" she whispered back. "Brotherly love..." She kissed his brow, and wondered why things didn't work out the way they should have. "_Each time we love, we turn a nearer and a broader mark, to that keen archer, Sorrow, and he strikes._" 

Chris sighed softly and she waited a few moments for his breathing to become slow and deep, a sign that sleep had finally completely claimed him. She watched him rest silently for a few minutes before rising to her feet to head on her way. She paused at the doorway, looking back. "I didn't deserve you," she said, then hurried out. 

The summer air was hot and humid, and she felt her clothes stick to her skin as she hurried back to the VOQ, which was finally allowing its guests to return. She was relieved about that- she had been assigned to share a room in the temporary shelter with two Preventer airman, and despite the rotating sleep schedules, she'd felt uncomfortable about having her privacy invaded. She took short, quick steps as she ascended the ten white stairs outside the building. 

The blast of air conditioning that hit her stunned her for a second. She faltered for a second before turning right and heading to Shinobu's room. 

Her soft knock was answered by a soft, "_Douzo._" She assumed it was permission to enter, so she swung the door open. 

Shinobu was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling thoughtfully. His right arm was encased in a soft plasti-cast. "_Dare da_- oh, Helena," he said, shifting to English, turning his head to look at the intruder. 

She shifted on her feet uncomfortably, wondering how to begin a conversation with someone she'd been avoiding for three days. "How's the arm?" she asked, deciding to begin politely. That question was safe. 

He pushed himself using his good arm, sitting so he could look at her. "Healing. It itches quite badly." His shy smile peeked out at her, and she was charmed. It wasn't fair that he was so handsome. When he gave her that little boy smile, she was tempted to cuddle with him. At least it was better then wanting to jump his bones... Then he winked, and she cursed the flush that came to her cheeks. 

"Chris and I broke up," she said finally. 

His eyes widened, but that was his only visible reaction. "Why?" he asked. 

"Because it was time," she answered. "And because I think I'm falling in love with you." 

What?" he whispered, looking like he was unsure if he believed her. 

She looked at him with solemn eyes. "I'm not sure how it happened. Maybe it happened at Cliffside, when you listened to me after Chris left. Maybe it happened during the flight, when you told the truth. Maybe- I don't know. All I know is that I think of you constantly, and I'm drawn towards you." 

He made a fist. "A few days ago I would have given anything for you to say that, for you to look at me and touch me gently. Now..." He punched the mattress angrily. "I'm not safe, Helena. I won't have you drawn into my world." 

"I'm not an innocent anymore!" she protested angrily. "If you don't want me, then deny me! But if it's fear that's keeping you away- then dammit, I'll follow you until you learn that I'm serious!" 

Before she knew what was happening, Shinobu was standing beside her, with his arms on her waist. He bent his head and kissed her hard, opening his mouth and demanding she reciprocate. 

Shinobu's kiss sparked heat in her body, and she found herself swaying in closer, her body melting against his. He wasn't that much taller then she was, but she found that exciting. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, and she kissed him back. 

Minutes passed, and she lost track of how many kisses they exchanged. His kisses were hot and sweet, and the taste of him danced on her lips. She groaned softly and let her hands wander down his back, marveling at the subtle play of his muscles as he bent down to trace the curve of her neck with his lips. It was amazingly sensual, and she felt her pulse quicken. 

Kissing Shinobu wasn't like kissing Chris. When she and Chris had kissed, it had been a pleasant affirmation of their feelings for each other, a practiced exploration of their love. Shinobu's kisses heated her blood, caused her heart to pound, enflamed passion and a sense of danger. It was like dancing around the element of fire- dangerous, yet intoxicating. Suddenly he seemed to halt, and she pulled back, slightly surprised as he propelled himself away from her using his good arm. "_Yamero_," he said. 

"Huh?" 

"Stop," he said. His eyes lingered longingly on her face. "This is not right. I refuse to let you rebound using me." 

Helena wondered how to frame the words that were in her heart. "Rebound? That's not what this is..." She gestured for him to sit down on the bed, and he did so, watching her carefully. 

It unnerved her slightly. He seemed to be able to pierce through her sold with those eyes. Both of the men in her life seemed to know her better then she herself did! It was somewhat annoying. _Why couldn't they just be normal, self-obsessed, sex-obsessed teenage male Neanderthals?_ she wondered. It'd make life so much easier... 

_You wouldn't love them if they were, a small voice whispered in the back of her mind_, one she ruthlessly squashed down on. "Shinobu, I don't know if what we feel for each other is real or not, but I'd like to think it is. We've been through a lot together, and that tends to bond people quickly. I do know that I'm not in love with Chris- I love him, but it's not the same. I'm not the same Helena Rosenbaum who was Cliffside's darling. 

"Chris and I could have been very happy together," she admitted, "had none of this happened. I would have been a wonderful wife, balancing my career, children, and social obligations, and Chris would have made a wonderful father as he guarded his family empire. But... things have changed. I've changed. I don't think I can live that life anymore. 

"It all seems awfully petty- corporate law, school, worrying about fashion." Her eyes lost their focus and she seemed to shift her attention to something seen only by the mind's eye. "But that's what my life was, and up until a month ago, I would have been satisfied with it. But not now. 

"I helped make a difference, Shinobu-kun. I helped... and it felt right. It felt good... and it felt like I've finally opened a door in a room that's been shut too long. I felt... free." 

Shinobu nodded, watching as she paced the room. "It could be an illusion," he said. "Most society girls your age start to feel rebellious." 

Her blue eyes cut him with their intensity as she spun to face him again. "It could," she snapped back. "But if it is, it's more real than anything I've seen before. I'm wrestling my way out of the cotton people have always kept me wrapped in! Reality is setting in!" 

He looked like he wanted to say something, but she settled it by sitting down next to him and leaning in close, catching his lips with her own to exchange passionate, dizzying kisses that, for the moment, helped both of them forget about anything except the other. 

  
Act IX Part I | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	35. Behind the Darkened Stage

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2002 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

Act 9.3 was posted on Monday, 27 May, Memorial Day in the United States. This day is set aside to honor all of those who have given their lives in service to their country. Just like we have tried to depict the Gundam pilots in this story, they as military members willingly set aside their own desires to answer a higher calling, and their sacrifices should not be forgotten. This does not apply only to American soldiers and citizens. No matter what nation or what ethnicity you hail from, no matter where you were born, throughout the ages there have been soldiers from your homeland who have perished in combat or as prisoners of war. It is my hope, as a member of the United States Armed Forces, that someday all the people in this world will be able to lay down their arms and realize the peace that we have all been fighting for.  
--Gerald Tarrant, Sainan no Kekka co-author 

Sainan no Kekka is going on sabbatical for the summer since Ger will be away, but Quicksilver will still be around to answer the Email. Next week will be the Mission logs for this act, and then adieu! This is our Memorial Day post… dedicated to Veterans like Carrington, who are haunted by the past, and those who never made it back. May we never forget.  
--Quicksilver, Sainan no Kekka co-author 

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING **

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT IX, PART III 

**Yasashisa ga ada ni natte mo  
Hito wa kitto yasashisa ni sukuwareru yo **

Brave eyes  
Onaji kibou onaji kanashimi o  
Tsuyoku kamishimete asu e mukaou  
Mou hitori ja nai kara  


**Even if gentleness turns against you  
People will surely understand it someday **

Brave eyes  
Holding tighly onto our same wishes and sadness  
I'll go towards tomorrow  
Because I'm no longer alone  


**--Gundam Wing, _Brave Eyes_  
[Quatre Raberba Winner image song]**  


  
  
**Scene IX : The Trial of Quatre Raberba Winner**

  


_"Hate is a simple manifestation  
Of the deep-seated self-directed frustration;  
All it does is promote fear and consternation."  
-- Bad Religion, Them and Us_

  
As birthdays went, it sucked. 

Well, honestly, it was worst then that. It had been… unbelievably rotten. The day before, his sister had died, and the next day he turned seventeen. It was a rotten experience, planning your sister's funeral when traditionally you would be cutting cake with your family and friends. Not that he could, this time. 

A few hours before he had been in a room with an assassin who'd been in love with his sister, and found out one of the most shocking secrets yet. His sisters had been sleeping with one of his best friends, had died because she loved him. 

He was jealous. 

Lilah -Atsuki- hadn't come for him, like she had said. 

He knew it was petty, he knew he shouldn't be upset that Lilah had lied, and he knew he shouldn't blame Heero for the decisions of another, but…fuck it. His sister was dead, Heero was alive, and Quatre was angry. 

Quatre had expected more of Heero. How could he use a vulnerable woman? 

Had the boy who he had once called the true heart of space really fallen so far in such a short time? 

How could he have let it happen? 

Had Quatre been wrong? Was Heero no better than a killer? 

Quatre clenched his fist, remembering how Heero how even hadn't attended the memorial services. Darkflight had, the beautiful and sorrowful assassin, had, dressed in somber black clothing that was so ill-fitted that Quatre had a sneaking suspicion that it had been stolen…. But he didn't care about that. At least he had come, and it seemed fitting that stolen clothes be worn to a funeral for a life that had been stolen away too soon. 

The other pilots were supposedly on base, but he had seen none of them, with the brief exception of Wufei. And that had been before the terrorist attack, which had caused such changes in his life. The Preventers had put him in seclusion, and he'd only seen Yaminah, a few Preventer agents, and a reporter whose name he couldn't even remember. Relena had arranged some kind of propaganda campaign to show the "real" Gundam pilots, and since he was technically the only one who had been "found", he'd been subjected to an excruciating interview. He knew he had done well, since he'd been trained since birth for that, but that didn't make him any more comfortable with it. 

"Quatre?" 

A voice startled him out of his reverie, and he turned to see his sister Jaffa. It was the first time he'd seen her since the funeral. "Yes?" 

"It's time." 

He sighed and attached his cufflinks, the ones his father had given him on his fourteenth birthday. "Can you help me with my tie? I can never get these things on right…" 

Jaffa laughed and walked over, the swish of her skirts echoing in the large room. "You always do fine," she said. 

He got the second cufflink into place, and caught onto her hands. "I usually have Kasserine make sure I'm in one piece." He stared into her dark eyes and caressed the back of her palm. "Neesan, I'm scared," he whispered. 

She hugged him, abandoning the tie. "It's no surprise. What you do now decides the rest of your life. I'm sure it'll be okay, though!" 

He laughed and pulled away, and she took up the task of fixing his blue tie again. "It's not me I'm scared for. I'm worried about the precedent this will set- if they manage to pin me, they can get the others. And if they punish us for doing what was right, what will happen when Duo goes on trial? Or Trowa? They don't have the financial resources to mount a defense…" 

"You always worry about others first…" Jaffa said as she finished with his tie. 

"Because I love them." 

Jaffa gave him another hug. "You're too good," she said. "We don't deserve you." 

He smiled. "I don't deserve any of you, so I do my best to make myself a better person so I can be more worthy of you." 

Jaffa laughed as he opened the door, gesturing for her to precede him. Guards and Preventer agents quickly joined them, and he scowled. _I hate having them shadow me like I'm something breakable_, he thought. "Are we going to meet anyone else?" he asked. 

"Carrington, Yaminah, Rashid and Ree are going to join us." She waved to them as they turned a corner and the four previously mentioned people joined them. To his surprise, Reeshya was wearing the traditional Arabian veils, and Carrington was smartly turned out, her hair sleekly pulled back into a no-nonsense chignon, and her numerous medals and ribbons shining against the dark green of the Preventers dress uniform. 

"Master Quatre!" Rashid rushed forward to shake his hand. "Have you been all right? Would you like some of the Maguanacs to serve as your guards?" 

Quatre smiled at him. "No, I'll be fine. It's enough to know that you're here supporting me." 

Rashid frowned, looking like a cranky bear just roused from his sleep. "This is a farce." 

"This is government in process. This is what we fought for- the right to a fair trial." 

"Still-" 

"It'll be okay," Quatre assured him. "No matter what they decide, I'll accept it." He gave them his sunny smile, and all of them felt a renewed confidence in themselves. 

Quatre had that ability. 

He straightened his blue jacket and started to walk again, but was pulled up short by the sight of another young man lurking in the shadows. It was someone he'd been longing to see for over eighteen months, one of the few people he truly felt understood him. "Trowa?" he whispered. 

"May I sit here, Relena?" 

The Queen of Cinq looked up at the familiar voice. "Dorothy?" she said, amazed. They had had breakfast together that morning, and Dorothy hadn't mentioned showing up for Quatre's trial, even though she had known Relena would be there. It would have made sense for the two of them to ride in together… 

The pale blonde smiled down at her sometimes-rival, sometimes-friend. "In the flesh." She tapped her foot impatiently, and Relena released belatedly that she was waiting for permission with uncharacteristic courtesy. 

"Yes, yes!" Relena said, waving to the seat to her right. "I have a political ally coming who'll need the other seat," she said by way of explanation, since the left was nearer to Dorothy. "She prefers to be close to doors- I think it's post traumatic stress, but I don't press the issue." 

"Who is it?" Dorothy asked curiously as she arranged her flowing pale yellow dress on the chair around her so she could rise without stumbling on it. Appearance was important- it led to power. 

A secretive smile danced across Relena's lips. "You'll see soon enough. What are you doing here?" 

Dorothy knotted a locked of her pale golden hair around her fingers. "I had a little… chat with Duchess Noventa, and claimed our family's hereditary seat. Silly thing, those, seeing as how the World Nation hasn't been in action for more then two years and already some families have permanent seats… but I'm not going to complain at the moment. I'll be holding the Catalonia seat until I get married. I managed to work around the stupid laws about marriage and inheritance… so far." 

"Isn't your mother going to battle you about that?" Relena asked with a little concern. Dorothy wasn't one of her favorite opponents, but at least she was rational and fair. Duchess Noventa tended to be something of a bitch, and power hungry. She didn't care for the good of the people she was suppose to be governing- only for what she could earn for herself. It was an attitude that disgusted Relena. 

"I don't think so," Dorothy said. "Emily and I have come to an understanding- she's getting the hell out of my life, and in return, I'm not going to look too closely at a number of… questionable business transactions she made with my finances." 

"What?" Relena asked in surprise. 

"Oh, it was nothing too extreme… just enough to ruin any political aspirations she may have." Dorothy paused, and the gleam in her pale blue-gray eyes sent a shiver down Relena's spine. 

"You're cold," Relena said. 

"I have no filial feeling for my mother. She's a cold, cold woman. She doesn't love me- why should I love her?" 

"She's your family…. You're lucky to have one," Relena said softly. 

"You can have her." 

"Still-" 

Relena didn't get to complete the sentence, for a young woman dressed in a traditional European gown came up ad curtseyed to Relena. "Greetings, your highness." 

"Hello, Lady Noventa," Relena said, turning in her seat. "Have you met Lady Dorothy Catalonia? This is Lady Sylvia Noventa. She currently holds the Noventa seat in the World Nation." 

"We haven't met formally," the young woman said nodding slightly to acknowledge Dorothy's presence. "Greetings, cousin." 

Relena frowned a second before laughing. "Yes, you would be related, wouldn't you?" 

Sylvia smiled shyly. "Her mother married my great-uncle. That makes us relatives of a sort. Then again, all the Catalonias and Khushrenadas and Noventas have a long history of intermarriage, so we were probably related before." 

Dorothy carefully maintained a blank expression as Sylvia took the seat at Relena's right. "Was Lady Noventa the ally you were waiting for?" she asked. 

"Yes," Relena said. "I've found Lady Noventa most helpful." 

"I must admit I find that… rather surprising. Considering you are known to support the Gundam pilots, and…" 

"… and my grandfather was killed by them?" the perceptive girl asked, leaning forward slightly so she could look at Dorothy. "They were tricked by Oz." 

"Still… it must be hard to put aside the natural hatred you must feel for your grandfather's murderers." 

"Dorothy!" Relena exclaimed. 

Sylvia shook her head, soft wisps of hair highlighting her brilliant eyes. "I always heard that you were an interesting woman, Lady Catalonia…" 

"That's one of the polite things I've been called." 

Their eyes met and Relena felt like she was sitting in the middle of a minefield, unsure of which way to step. Her back went rigid, and she wondered why she ever decided having Dorothy sit near Sylvia would be a good thing- their philosophies were just too different for a civil alliance. 

Then something shocking happen. The two burst out laughing. 

Sylvia's eyes teared up, and Dorothy's deeper chuckle made a pleasant counterpoint to Sylvia's bell-like laughter. "It's really rather ridiculous for you to call me Lady Noventa," Sylvia said. "Call me Sylvia, and I'll call you Dorothy." 

"Agreed." Dorothy produced a handkerchief and handed it to Sylvia, who gratefully accepted, using it to dry her eyes. 

Relena felt like she'd been hit by a two-by-four. "What just happened here?" 

Sylvia and Dorothy exchanged amused looks. "You wouldn't understand," Dorothy said. "Sylvia, why are you supporting Relena?" 

"I met Heero Yuy during the war, after my grandfather died. His grief… was sincere. He was… how can I describe him? I really can't." 

"That's Heero," Dorothy said. "Heero is something profound." 

Relena, uncharacteristically, was quiet. 

"From all reports, Quatre Raberba Winner is even more empathetic. I've never met him, but he deserves a trial, and many people want to hang him for everything that's been wrong. It's not his fault- he was one of the few people who tried to make a difference. 

"I hate war- but he's not a coward. Hanging him is the wrong way to solve the mistakes of the past. The only penance he can make is to live, and contribute to society. And he was doing that, until we dragged him out here for this mockery of a trial." 

Dorothy smiled at her. "I may not agree with your reasons, but I do agree with your ends. I say that between the three of us, we can rule this room." 

Relena raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" 

"Just watched. You thought you were Queen of the World under Romafeller? Trust me, that was nothing. When we're done, people are going to ask 'how high' _before_ we say jump." Dorothy gave the other two women a wicked grin. 

Sylvia and Relena found themselves responding in kind. 

Quatre stopped walking, feeling Reeshya bump into him abruptly from behind. "Trowa?" he whispered again, feeling an odd sensation rising up in his chest. "Trowa…what are you doing here? I thought you were in-" 

"The hospital?" said the familiar quiet voice. "I was, but they let me out for the trial. 

There was a bandage wrapped around the other boy's head, but that wasn't what made Quatre do a double-take. Trowa had…grown up. Granted, the former Heavyarms pilot had always had a bearing that made him seem older than he really was, and he really wasn't that much taller, being a gymnast. But there was something about him that was…different than Quatre remembered, and it wasn't just the dark blue suit and shiny dress shoes that Trowa wore, making him look more like a businessman than Quatre himself ever would. 

His uchuu no kokoro throbbed and he winced, not sure if it was from pleasure or pain. 

"Are you all right?" Trowa said, pushing himself off from the wall and taking a step forward. He felt Reeshya steady him from behind. 

"Yes…I…yes." Quatre took a deep breath. "It's just…well." He paused. "I've missed you," he said all in a rush, feeling a little uncomfortable admitting it in front of all these people who were here to escort him to a trial, not to see him meet an old friend. 

To his surprise, Trowa smiled easily, and Quatre felt his heart give another little jolt as he felt…happiness? coming from the other pilot's sense. "They actually weren't going to let me out," Trowa admitted, sounding rather sheepish. "But I…insisted." 

Quatre felt the corners of his mouth turn up in a grin, his first real smile all day since he'd woken up this morning at 5 AM and decided that it was useless to pretend to sleep anymore. "Thank you Trowa," he said, and suddenly stuck out his hand, not sure what to expect from the other boy. "I'm glad you're here." 

Trowa reached out his own hand solemnly and shook it. "I needed to be here. You know that." 

"It's been two years," Quatre said, looking into the sharp green eyes and trying to read the emotions behind them. "I wasn't sure." 

The hand grasping his tightened until it was almost painful, and then abruptly Trowa released his grip, stepping back. "You know me better than that." 

A tapping on his shoulder made him look around. Jaffa was standing there, looking partly touched and partly harried. "Quat, I don't want to intrude but we should-" 

"-get going?" he finished. "I know." He glanced back at Trowa, saw the enigmatic smile playing on the other's face. "You'll be in there, right?" 

"Where else would I be?" came the quiet response, and he felt the throbbing in the uchuu no kokoro ease away to be replaced by a sense of peacefulness. 

Jaffa put an arm around him. "Quatre? We need to go now." 

"I know," he said, taking a deep breath. "Let's make this a good entrance." 

Fatima bint Narish sat quietly, something she was unaccustomed to doing. 

She held one of the seats on the first row, an honor that she was accustomed to. Behind her were arrayed around 150 other delegates in an ascending semi-circle of seats, groups together by alliances. Had she had her choice of seats, she would have preferred to sit in the back, where she could watch the various interactions, and see what alliances were forming, and which ones were dissolving. 

She couldn't, though. She was currently one of the lead prosecutors in the trial, and this trial would make or break her career. She'd been delighted when it'd fallen to her, and even more pleased when she'd heard who the first defendant would be. 

Quatre Raberba Winner. God, she hated the brat. 

She'd give anything to nail his hide to the wall, and Allah had dropped him into her lap, practically gift-wrapped. All she had to do was put on a semi-decent case and she'd win. Her career would be assured. Half the World Nation already hated him. All she needed to do was swing the necessary votes for the requisite too thirds, and BAM! She'd be able to get a seat on whatever committee she fancied. Or perhaps… she might even wrangle the presidency of the World Nation. 

She smiled and glanced down at her perfect nails, the French manicure elegant in its simplicity. She knew that Winner's sisters would likely be donning the more traditional garb that the Winner family favored, so she'd chosen to wear a cutting-edge designer suit by Vedanta. The brilliant red stood out in the crowd, and her long mass of black hair was caught back in an elaborate arrangement with ruby clips that had taken her stylist two hours to perfect. 

Being beautiful was a bitch. 

Her notes were perfect, and she glanced over at her legal team, the best that money could buy. They, too, realized the stakes that were riding on this. "Are we ready?" 

"We'll fry him," one female attorney said. 

"Don't get cocky," Fatima warned. "Winner is a charming bastard, and he's got the money to drag this out for years. We need to make him evil. We need to make him vile- we need to show people that he's not innocent, and that behind those sweet blue eyes lives the Devil himself." 

"He's a Gundam pilot. That does sort of speak for itself." 

"You'd be surprised. We have some opposition against us- Relena Peacecraft, most notably, but the Preventers support him, and he's popular with a lot of the little people. A lot of the elected World Nation senator may support him if their constituents speak up loudly enough." 

The lawyer looked up to where Relena was sitting. "Is that Queen Relena talking to Lady Noventa and Lady Catalonia?" 

Fatima turned slightly and caught a glimpse of the trio out of the corner of her eye. "Well, shit," she said, unable to think of anything more intelligent to say. 

"That's bad, isn't it?" 

"We just lost the Catalonia seat," Fatima said, turning back. "There's no telling what Lady Dorothy will do, and Lady Noventa being there as well… well, politics makes for strange bedfellows." She looked down at her notes again. "I think Duchess Noventa pushed her daughter a little too far at the wrong moment. Damn that woman." 

She straightened her notebook, which was already in perfect alignment, and refrained from sighing as the heavy floor-level doors opened. Two Preventer guards opened the double doors in unison, and then the Winner bodyguards entered. Quatre Winner walked in, wearing a blue suit that cost more than a small colony, expensive leather shoes, and golden cufflinks. The outfit highlighted his startling cornflower blue eyes, but there was a serenity in his face as he took his chair. 

"And the prince arrives," Fatima murmured under her breath. "Let the battle begin." 

Quatre was well aware of all the cameras on him, and knew his image was being broadcast to billions of people. He remained composed but not icy, knowing that image was important and could work for or against him. 

"Are you ready?" Yaminah asked as she sat next to him. 

"As I'll ever be." 

The President of the World Nation, Sidney Alderman, rose to his feet and knocked the gavel three times. "Come to order. This trial is a public trial in the fullest sense of those words, and I must, therefore, remind the public that the Tribunal will insist upon the complete maintenance of order and decorum, and will take the strictest measures to enforce it. It only remains for me to direct, in accordance with the provisions of the Charter, that the indictment shall now be read. Ms. bint Narish?" 

Fatima rose to her feet, holding out her notes. She looked over at Quatre with veiled eyes, and he barely kept from glaring back at her. He could feel the vengefulness she was projecting at him in waves, and didn't like it. Fatima spoke clearly, her voice ringing through the chambers via the sound system, as she glanced occasionally at Quatre, President Alderman, and the cameras: 

  
_"The defendant, Quatre Raberba Winner, during a period of years preceding 24th December, AC195, participated as a leader, organizer, instigator or accomplice in the formulation or execution of a common plan or conspiracy to commit, or which involved the commission of, Crimes against Peace, War Crimes, and Crimes against Humanity, as defined in the Charter of this Tribunal, and, in accordance with the provisions of the Charter of the World Nation, is individually responsible for his own actions and for all acts committed by any persons in the execution of such plan or conspiracy. The common plan or conspiracy embraced the commission of Crimes against Peace, in that the defendant planned, prepared, initiated and waged wars of aggression, which were also wars in violation of international treaties, agreements or assurances. In the development and course of the common plan or conspiracy it came to embrace the commission of War Crimes, in that it contemplated, and the defendants determined upon and carried out, ruthless wars against countries and populations, in violation of the rules and customs of war, including as typical and systematic means by which the wars were prosecuted, murder for other purposes of civilian populations of occupied territories, the plunder of public and private property, the wanton destruction of cities, towns, colonies and villages, and devastation not justified by military necessity. The common plan or conspiracy contemplated and came to embrace as typical and systematic, and the defendants determined upon and committed, Crimes against Humanity, both within colony and within occupied territories, including murder, other inhumane acts committed against civilian populations during the war."_

  
Quatre looked over at his sisters, and Trowa. Catherine had somehow materialized beside him. Yaminah, who was beside him, squeezed his hand reassuringly, and he smiled at her gently. 

It was official- his trial had begun. 

There was no going back. 

May Allah help them all. 

  


* * *

  
**Scene VIII: What Happens When the Lights Go Out**

  


_" When the walls around you won't stop laughing,  
Where do you go?"  
--Life of Agony, Ugly_

  
Li had wanted to see the look on Quatre Raberba Winner's face when he found out that the man his sister had been sleeping with was none other than Heero Yuy. But the room where they'd taken Atsuki's body was private, and she didn't think the dark-skinned boy who was keeping watch over her would appreciate a third party. So she left Quatre there at the front doors of the hospital, making him promise to call her if anything came up. She knew he wouldn't. He looked fragile and innocent, but he was as tough as nails, as cunning as they came. 

That was, after all, why he had been a Gundam pilot. 

It was fully dark by the time she returned to the main part of the base, to a headquarters full of chaos. The main building, she was told as she pulled into the area, was locked down until a sweep could be conducted, and General Une was away to Bern. She was directed to the temporary main control center which was a mess of flustered guards trying to direct lost civilians, babies crying, people demanding to know when and how everything would be fixed again. Li paid them no heed, and the few who began questioning her backed off when they saw her major's ranks, the hard set of her face, and the death glare she fixed on them. 

She had grabbed the nearest available Preventer officer, a young captain who was calmly giving directions and looked like he had a brain in his skull. "Where's General Po?" she demanded. 

"Next building over, ma'am," he said, then recognition dawned in his eyes. "Major Li! General Po was asking you to report to her. Should I radio her that you're coming?" 

Li opened her mouth to say no, then reconsidered. "Yes. Please tell her I'm on my way." 

It would be wise to make everything look normal. For now. Until the computers were repaired. 

That was her worst fear, her every nightmare come true. It wasn't the base that concerned her, but the computer system. The terrorists had violated her personal territory when they'd slipped that virus into the systems, and they would pay, if it took her a million years to track them down. Those in their right mind did not anger Aidoru. 

She fought down the overpowering wave of fury and despair at the temporary loss of her domain and ducked into the next building, searching for Sally's office. It didn't take her long to locate it. The door was open and she could hear the muted clicking of keys from within. She knocked lightly. 

"There you are." 

She took those words as a signal that she could enter, walked in to find the general seated at the end of a long conference table in front of a laptop computer. They'd set up some temporary servers in the office - nowhere near the power of the central base system, but adequate. 

There was a staff sergeant standing there by Sally's chair, taking notes. Li ignored him, turning her attention back to the honey-haired woman who was gazing at her with a weary expression. "General, the computer systems are completely down. The base is a sitting duck." 

"I'm well aware of that fact," the general had snapped back, her voice raspy and tired. "Major, I'm glad to see you're safe. I asked you to come see me precisely because of this issue. I'm putting you in charge of getting those systems back online as soon as possible." 

"It could take weeks," she said. "Ma'am." Looking Sally in the eye. Sally knew how important those computers were to her, but there were some things that even the Preventers' second-in-command couldn't fix. 

"One week, Li," Sally said, not looking. "If not less. You're good, Li…that's what I told Une. Now I want to see how good." 

Li saluted, feeling the tension in her muscles as she did so. "Yes, ma'am." 

Sally hadn't wanted to admit in front of the sergeant how central the computer systems were to base operations, but Li knew. Sally's tired posture had told her that much, but there had also been something else there, something that worried her. Something that said, we're running out of time. 

Li didn't want to believe that. There had to be more time…for her, at least, to do what she wanted done. This Preventers Headquarters would not go down without a fight, and when she had won this battle, she would go after the bastards who had dared to venture into her territory. It was personal now. 

It took less than four days to fix the system, after Li had personally gone down and set up camp in the information headquarters. Her first act after seeing Sally was to march down to see the system chief, a lieutenant colonel that had sneered at her when she'd walked in and had been almost reduced to tears as she walked back out. It was nice knowing that she had the power to do that. 

On the network, she had the power to do even more than that. More than the power to cause fear, even more than the power to kill. Once she set her mind to it, she could destroy a life. Erase someone as if they had never existed. 

On the fifth day after the attack, she went to see Sally again, to inform her that the computer systems were online. Not fully complete, but online and fully secure. To her relief, the security walls had held even through the electric and network blackout and none of the classified information had been hacked into. Perhaps the lieutenant colonel was more competent than she'd given him credit for. She'd gone to see him again after reporting to Sally with a cautious congratulations and a promise of promotion if he could get the system fully up and running, even more smoothly than before, in the next two days. 

He exceeded her expectations. He did it in one. Even she was impressed. 

She'd have given him a promotion herself if she had had the time, but there were more pressing matters to take care of. The main building was still off-limits, so she'd had to settle for the rigged-together system in her makeshift office in the temporary building, but it was enough. She'd remembered to take her VR goggles with her out of the building, though everything else, including all the correspondence locked in that drawer of her desk, was still inside. No one should be able to get into those files, but then again, Une's Gundam pilot files were supposed to have been confidential as well. 

As soon as she moved back into the main building, she would have to destroy any evidence that those files in the drawer existed. 

Six days after the attack, she'd tested the system to find it sufficiently ready for what she had been planning to do a week before. The delay did have an advantage…Masamune would have had more time to find good assassins for her. His reputation was good…she was about to find out how good. 

The rest of the base was still asleep at 0400 hours, and she kept the lights out in her office as she slipped inside, closing and double-bolting the door. There were no security cams in this room, which was one less thing she had to worry about. Her computer was on standby and as she sat down, the motion sensors detected movement and the CPU hummed to life. She plugged in the goggles carefully, adjusting the brightness on the screen so that it wouldn't be seen from under the door. 

"Activate," she said quietly. 

The screen flickered and the lines of familiar code began scrolling down. So far so good. She took the long way, just in case she was detected by the security 'bots that she'd personally ordered the lieutenant colonel to place on the system. Nothing like a show of bravado after the storm to keep people on their toes, and she was pretty sure that if she'd continued working on that system, she'd have the lieutenant colonel eating out of her hand before long. If he wasn't already. 

She slipped on the goggles, and the lines of code abruptly became a long corridor of red sandstone with an iron door at the far end. She hurried down the corridor, hearing her footsteps clicking on the stone floor, not concerned with her appearance. She'd adjust that later. Her fingers flew on the keyboard and through the goggles, she saw her virtual fingers move, producing a key, unlocking the heavy metal padlock, throwing open the door. Heard it slam behind her as she stepped through into black nothing. 

She was in. 

Drawing a deep breath, she swallowed. The network looked the same as it had a week ago, the liquid mercury shimmering as waves of light passed through its murky, transparent depths, but it was nearly deserted. Instead of the familiar patterns of Holes, Bugs, and tracers, there were mostly "shadows," faint traces of Holes that had once been there and had been closed up. Plunging into the eerie quiet, she kept alert for any foreign presence that would explain the sudden disappearance of most of the network's population, but except for the lapping of the mercury ocean, there was nothing. 

Li would gladly have lingered in the shallower parts to do some readings and tweak some code tracings, but she had no time for that today. Plunging directly into the data sea, she was prepared this time as the sensation of Pulling overtook her, watched as the blackness of the Dungeons dissolved into…a tropical rainforest. 

Disoriented, she blinked and glanced around her, turning in a slow circle to take in the landscape. She was standing in a small clearing surrounded by towering trees wrapped in thick, heavy vines, tropical flowers bursting with raucous color. Somewhere overhead, a bird cawed. 

Her present garb was beginning to make her feel hot and uncomfortable, so she discarded it, pulling up the android visualization, giving herself a darker metallic skin than the bright silver she usually preferred. Taking a step forward through the thick, muggy air, she found the ground under her foot was spongy, squelching slightly at the pressure. She made a face. 

"You don't seem to like our current landscaping." 

Li jumped before she could help herself, then swung her head around to glare at the man emerging from the curtain of vines that swung at one edge of the clearing, a man who could only be Masamune. He was dressed in the same Japanese shogun costume, but instead of looking incongruous, a man out of place, he blended right into the colorful swirl of vegetation that now seemed to her more than anything like a backdrop, a scenery set, a curtain for a stage on which he was the central player and she the helpless audience. 

She didn't like that feeling. 

"Whatever you deem suitable," she said coldly, reminding him that she was the one in charge, the one with more power. Or at least, she tried. She saw the look of amusement in his eyes as she did so, knew with annoyance that no matter how powerful the name Aidoru was, the Dungeons were Masamune's domain. 

"I've found your assassins," he said, not bothering with the niceties of a formal greeting. He knew what she was here for. "I was wondering when you would come back to claim them." 

"I was…delayed." 

He raised an eyebrow. "Actually, you couldn't have come back at a more opportune time, Aidoru. They're just about to make their move." 

She narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?" 

He smiled, that thin, watchful smile that would have made her skin crawl, if androids had skin. "This particular group was…a bit anxious to get the job over with, especially with the amount that I offered. They also seemed to have personal reasons to take the deal. Whatever the case, they're already on mission." 

"What?!" 

He gazed mildly at her. "Should I have waited?" 

Li stared at him, fuming. It wasn't the issue that he had somehow found out the information of who she was trying to kill before she had had the chance to tell him. It was the Breaks, after all, and someone would have found it sooner or later. She'd dropped hints around the place while looking for assassins on her own. But the fact that he had let the assassins go after the target before she had the chance to speak with them… 

"I sense you're angry with me," Masamune said abruptly. "I thought you would be." 

"You bet I'm damn well angry with you!" Li snapped. "I haven't even personally talked to these assassins of yours yet! How do I know they're reliable?" 

"They are reliable," Masamune said coldly. "Trust me." 

"I don't even know you," she countered, just as coldly. "Trust is something that one builds up over time. I don't believe we've had that time yet." 

"What if I told you," he countered, "that these two assassins were relatives of Seki Hikaru?" 

For the umpteenth time that day, she did a double take. "They're what?" 

"Relatives," he said. "A great-nephew and a grandson." He smiled again, showing his teeth. "Rivalry is strong in the Breaks. What better way than to pit snake against snake?" 

"You're a bastard," she said, but she knew he could sense her grudging admiration, and didn't bother to hide it. "So where are they now? Are you monitoring them?" 

He gave a curt nod. "If you'd like, you'll be able to witness the final kill." 

"If it's not an inconvenience," she maintained, putting emphasis on the last word. He was still smiling. 

"Not at all. You've paid me well, and I told you that you could trust me. This way." 

He led the way along a trampled footpath of jungle foliage, through a jumble of exotic plants thriving in the ever-humid air that condensed on her metal android body, rolling in large dewdrops down her arms and legs and torso and becoming uncomfortably ticklish on her face. She ignored the sensations, focusing on the mission, on getting there, making sure the job was completed, and getting out. She'd argued against this being done at all - in fact, she'd argued against using the Breaks and the Black Diamond Cartel as a resource in the first place - but now that it was in the works, she was damned if she would let it fail now. 

_We can't let someone like him run loose on us anymore. I was taking a big gamble with him, and it's worked out so far, but I don't know how far he'll test his leash. I don't want to find out. _

Seki Hikaru was a big fish, but in the end, he was only a fish. She had to admire the ruthlessness and the unwavering mindset of her employer. She herself would have let Seki alone, but she could see now that he was too dangerous, that he knew too much, and that knowledge could destroy them, should he ever try to use it against them. 

And that was why he had to die. 

"Here," Masamune announced, as they stepped into a second, smaller clearing. There was a blinking vidscreen on a pedestal of some kind, and both of them seemed to be made up of the same shifting, glowing mercury of the network ocean. He didn't seem to notice her surprise as he motioned her towards it and adjusted the display. "We shall be able to watch their progress here." 

"I'd prefer to watch alone, thank you," she said harshly. "Leave." 

She expected him to argue, but instead he simply bowed in the traditional Japanese manner. "As you wish." She stared after him as he departed the clearing, but he didn't look back, and sighing, she turned her attention to the vidscreen. 

At first it didn't show much - a bunch of squiggly lines that spoke of a broken connection, and she was about to stalk into the forest after Masamune and tell him that she was deducting half his pay - but as she watched, the lines resolved themselves into shadowy forms, forms that cleared and lightened into human bodies. 

The first was clearly still a boy in his teens, no more than sixteen or seventeen, she guessed, but she wasn't surprised that he was one of the assassins on this mission. Children grew up quickly in the Breaks, she'd heard, or they didn't grow up at all. The second was a little taller, broader in the shoulders, with the ease of motion of an adult male. His facial features looked very familiar and she struggled to place him for a moment before she realized where she'd seen him before. 

He looked like Shinobu. 

Before she could begin to digest the significance of that, the figures were already moving, almost too quickly for the virtual camera to keep up. She squinted her eyes to keep track of them for a moment, then noticed the blinking buttons on the side of the camera pedestal, fiddled with them for a moment. The top one apparently allowed the camera to connect directly with the VR goggles, and she adjusted the settings and switched it on. There was a moment of disorientation as the network maneuvered around the Preventers' system security walls, and then she was connected. 

It was an odd feeling. She had now essentially become a tiny, invisible, floating camera in the Breaks itself. She'd heard of such technology before, and knew more or less the specifics of how to make something like this work, but she'd never actually been inside it. It was only the very experienced and the very brave who would ever try something like this, and in a place like the Breaks, if someone was caught manipulating data flow like this by the cartels, it would mean instant death. 

Her respect for Masamune went up a tiny notch. 

The boys (yes, they might be old enough to be adults in the Breaks, but they were still boys to her) were making their through a hallway inside some building, which she assumed was the Black Diamond's headquarters building, with the bare gray functionality of the walls and the sparse décor. She'd heard that Seki was quite a cultured man, but there was nothing here that indicated culture, only monochrome color and greenish fluorescent lights guiding their way. The boys traveled smoothly, lightly, as if they were on a walk around the park instead of a journey to assassinate the most powerful man in the Breaks. 

It would be interesting to see what happened after Seki died. Would there be a power play, as with the Shionji cartel? Would the Black Diamond Cartel fall as well? Criminals pitted against criminals would make an interesting spectacle. 

Li smiled tightly to herself. She shouldn't be talking…if she were caught here doing this, she would be considered a criminal as well. She thought of the files still locked in her desk drawer in the main building and wondered how many of those would be enough to earn her a court martial. Ten? Two? One? 

The boys stopped in front of a low, narrow metal door, and she watched as two men slipped out of the shadows and conferred with them for a few seconds. Bodyguards? Whatever the case, the boys must have been deemed trustworthy because the bodyguards slipped back into the shadows and the older boy produced a key from his pocket and inserted it into the electronic lock on the door. It beeped and the lock clicked. 

She let out a breath she hadn't even realized she was holding. For a moment there, images had flashed through her mind of the guards stopping them, not letting them through, seeing all her hard handiwork gone to dust. It was absurd, of course - they were relatives…but nothing was impossible. 

The door slid open automatically and the boys entered. The room was dim and dark and at first it took several milliseconds for the camera's lens to adjust to the sudden decrease in light - milliseconds that her networked linked vision interpreted as far longer than they actually were. She was still trying to orient herself when she was suddenly aware of a strange glow filling the room. 

The walls were glowing. 

That wasn't true, of course, the data linked to her brain insisted. The walls were coated with some phosphorescent material that emitted a soft, natural light…but the overall effect was impressive. Glancing around the room, she found it was an antechamber of some sort, the kind of eighteenth century meets science-fiction outer room that one could only find in movies nowadays, with strangely shaped and weirdly beautiful statues and paintings scattered artistically around the walls. The ceiling was a dome made entirely out of one sheet of smoked glass, and she noticed a switch on the wall, which her data sensors told her controlled the tint of the glass. 

She now understood why they called Seki a cultured man. 

A vidscreen stood in the middle of the room, but it took her data sensors a moment to realize it was a vidscreen. The stand was in the shape of a slender tree trunk with a blinking keypad set just below the screen, and the screen itself was merely a wide metal ring balanced vertically. She saw in an instant how it worked: the image was projected from photon emitters around the inside of the ring, shooting towards the center and creating a picture suspended in midair. It was a new state-of-the-art design, almost priceless, but then again, being one of the richest men in the world, Seki could probably afford ten of these things. 

The boys had crossed the anteroom now and Li tore her eyes from the vidscreen, hovering just behind the two as they stopped at what seemed to be a piece of flat sheet metal set into the shimmering walls. On second glance, her data sensors revealed that it was a door of smoked glass, the same kind as the glass in the dome, but reinforced with steel. She'd seen these before, where the person inside the room could see out but those on the other side could not see in. The set up reminded her of Une's office in the main building. 

The older boy knocked. 

There was a silence and then the door swung open. Seki's office was as sparsely but elegantly decorated as the anteroom, and the theme here seemed to be oak and velvet. An oak desk, wine-colored velvet drapes and carpet, oak bookcase. In the leather chair, facing the door, was the crime lord himself. 

He rose as the boys entered. He wasn't as elderly looking as she had imagined him to be, but his face was heavily lined and his shifty dark eyes had wrinkles around the corners. He was wearing a severe-looking traditional Japanese hakama in blacks and grays, the fabric molding smoothly around a form that was surprisingly muscular for a man of his age. Here was a man who was powerful, and knew it. A man who was not only powerful, but supremely secure in his power. 

_Not for long_, Li thought grimly. _Your usefulness is about to come to an end._

The boys stopped in front of his desk, bowed. Li felt the data sensors tingling as they analyzed the scene, found herself wondering just how the two were planning to conduct this mission. The camera was obviously not equipped with soundwave sensors, because Seki opened his mouth and spoke, but she heard nothing. The older boy answered him, then gestured to the younger one, who looked faintly angry, crossing his arms over his chest. Seki laughed. 

She saw the younger's hand twitch slowly, realized he was wearing a gun strapped to his belt. Her heart plummeted. Surely they weren't that stupid, to think that they could just march into Seki's office and shoot him? He would have guards against that sort of thing. How had the gun gotten past the guards, anyway? She fixed her gaze on the older boy, hoping he had something else up his sleeve, but he seemed to be too busily engaged in conversation with Seki, who looked bored. The younger boy was tapping his foot against the carpet impatiently. 

Seki said something else and it was the elder's turn to be angry. He spat something and the younger one frowned, answered. Seki pointed a finger at him, glaring at both of them, and the older boy rolled his eyes. The younger one was shouting now, advancing at the desk. Li watched in fascination. Whatever they were, these boys were great actors. 

Seki pointed his finger at the younger boy and the boy spat something, and as the older one lunged forward, the other pulled his gun and fired. 

It would have been too fast for her to follow if she'd been watching this with human eyes, but the data feed to her nervous system alerted her to the fact that the bullet had not been aimed at either Seki or the older boy, but in fact at an almost hidden security camera in the wall. She saw the bullet leave the gun, saw it hit the camera and saw the camera lens shatter into thousands of tiny slivers. She watched as Seki glanced scornfully at the camera, then flicked his glance over the two boys. 

At once, Li realized two things. One, that Seki knew the gun was not dangerous and had allowed them to bring it into his office, because the antechamber was equipped with sensors that would not allow any real weapon to pass through. Therefore, the gun had not been loaded, at least not with any kind of bullet the sensors would recognize. And two, the thing that had hit the camera lens had truly not been a bullet of any sort. It was a capsule. 

A poison capsule. 

Her camera lens zoomed in to Seki, saw the tiny slivers of the lens, almost microscopic, burying themselves in the exposed flesh of his head and neck. Saw, as if on an x-ray, the poison creeping through his bloodstream. 

But if Seki had been hit, surely the two boys…? 

She zoomed out and saw that the older boy had fallen to his knees. Looked up at Seki again and saw the dawning understanding on his face as the boy's eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed against the velvet carpet. The younger boy was still on his feet. She could feel the fear rolling off of him, not from any program, but from his very stance and the look on his face. 

For the first time, Li wondered if the scene before the shooting had been scripted at all. This was a cartel, and the older boy clearly had had some kind of high standing in the family. Perhaps Seki was not the only one who had been tricked. 

She saw the cartel leader sway on his feet, press his hands to his desk to keep himself standing. She expected him to rant or rage, perhaps pull out a gun and shoot the younger boy, who seemed to be frozen, watching the still form of his cousin. But instead, the drug lord simply smiled. Then began to laugh, and as she watched his shoulders shake, she couldn't rid herself of the feeling that he knew he was being watched. That he knew, and was enjoying her discomfort, as if instead of being the loser here, he had in fact won. 

She was glad that the camera was not equipped with sound as his head lolled back on his shoulders and he slumped against his chair, his eyes wide and staring but the smile still on his cunning face. 

The door to the office burst open and bullets from the guns of the bodyguards struck the younger boy, but Li had been expecting that. As he crumpled to the ground and as the blood began staining the wine-colored carpet, she was already stepping back from the screen, keying her way out of the Dungeons and out of the network. Her fingers trembled as she hit the final keys out of the system and, pulling the goggles from her face, she rested her head on her hands, trying to calm her heart. 

Even though there had been no sound, even though she was kilometers away from L1, even though she was no longer connected through the mercury ocean, she thought she could still hear Seki laughing. 

  


* * *

  
**Scene X : A Traitor Among Us**

  


_"There's an unceasing wind that blows through this night  
And there's dust in my eyes, that blinds my sight  
And silence that speaks so much louder that words,  
Of promises broken."  
-- Pink Floyd, Sorrow_

  
She felt out of place; Geneva had become home, and being in Bern was a sign of her failure. Lady Une sat back in her chair, looking at Carrington, who had taken the seat across from her. "How is it going?" she asked, shuffling a few of the papers on her desk to give her hands something to do. She dismissed her sentimental feelings to focus on the matter at hand. 

"It could be better," Carrington said. She had just arrived from the third day of the trial in Geneva to give Une a first person perspective, and Une was relieved for her presence, for a change. Carrington would not bother with any flowery platitudes- she would explain the situation without glossing over any of the lumps. "Quatre is both the best and worse pilot who could be the first to go on trial. People want to hate him, but he's honest, and looking into his eyes makes you weigh yourself- and usually find yourself wanting. Still, they want someone to blame for the war, and he did destroy two colonies single-handedly… it'd be worse if it was one of the others… most likely." 

"Maxwell would rant about being the God of Death, Chang would lecture about justice and the strong surviving, and the other two would stare ahead blankly or do something just plain scary. Trowa and Heero aren't precisely the two most… normal individuals I've ever met." Une spoke precisely, her tones clipped and very factual. 

"That was my reading of the situation. Still, Winner is listed as one of the ten wealthiest individuals, and that makes people jealous. Getting the chance to bring him down makes some people salivate at the thought." Carrington flipped through the notes on her legal pad, the neat hand writing standing out against the amusing doodles and SD depictions of Fatima bint Narish getting her head whacked off with a herring. 

"What do you think the members of the assembly will say?" 

"Relena Peacecraft, Sylvia Noventa, and surprisingly Dorothy Catalonia seem to be very much on our side. I'm relieved that Lady Dorothy replaced her mother- Duchess Noventa is not a kind woman and bint Narish has her in her pocket, no matter what the Duchess thinks. Keets has become vehemently opposed to the pilots and Preventers due to their daughter's death, bint Narish is vocal in her opposition. Lord Jareth, Tatsumi-ou, and Dancing Horse seem to be taking the moderate stance… the others are either taking their usual stances or being unreadable. It was just opening arguments, though, so…" 

"How long should we anticipate this lasting?" 

"Weeks… months… as long as they can drag it out, they will. I hope Winner is prepared to be crucified, because that's what's going to be happening." 

"Quatre always did make a splendid martyr," Une said dryly. 

"That wasn't that funny." 

"...you know, I'm not sure it was supposed to be." Both women remained in their seats for a moment, thinking on the usually serene pilot. 

"I feel sorry for him…" Carrington admitted after a moment. "I think I feel sorry for all of them. And I respect them even more." 

"You?" Une asked in surprise. 

Carrington nodded solemnly. "I respect few people. Respect is something that must be earned. Who else has done more to earn it then they? Did you watch any of the trial footage?" 

Une shook her head, wondering where Carrington was going. 

"I was there… and when Fatima lit into Quatre, I wasn't sure what to do. But he remained calm, and… it was like he was centered. He's at peace with himself- he'd confident. He's here to tell his side of the story, and while he'd like us to believe him, he won't wilt away and die without our approval. 

"It's not just Quatre, though. The night of the attack, Chang was out helping. I see how loyal Barton is to his sister, or how much Maxwell cares for his friends. There's something in them… something deep. For a while I was wondering about Yuy, but all the others seem to respect him most of all. And he did stop the Libra from falling…" 

Une looked at Carrington. "Were you at that fight?" 

"Anyone who could fly a MS was there. That battle… well, I'm now on the ineligible list for combat duty. Look at my file much, Une?" 

Une shook her head. "I don't have time to. Sally's in charge of personnel." 

"Well, if you've ever taken a look at it, you'd seen that I've got PTSD. They wrote it in nice, big red letters all over my profile- the shrinks wanted me to retire, but I told them where to shove it. I need to keep working here…" 

Une was surprised. "What happened?" she asked. Carrington had always stuck her as tough-as-nails major who wouldn't let anything get her down. 

"I never met Treize- I envy you that," Carrington said, in her usual abrupt change of topic. Une tried not to flinch at the unexpected mention of the man she had loved for so long…. No one had said his name to her in ages, and hearing it aloud hurt, especially now that she had screwed up all of the ideals he had worked so hard for. 

"Treize was a very special man," Une agreed after a minute, setting aside the stack of papers she had been toying with. She wasn't going to be getting any work complete with Carrington there, and there was no point in keeping up the pretense. 

"I know," Carrington seemed to grow softer, and for once her hard features took on an edge that seemed to make her look almost attractive. "I saw him speak once, though… in London. It was before the Gundams descended, back when I was still an officer for the Federation." Her blunt fingers toyed with a strand of her graying hair, and she seemed to be looking for the right thing to say. "It was magical." 

"Treize was like that," Une agreed. "He believed in himself, and caused others to do so as well." 

A smirk transformed Carrington back into the woman Une was familiar with, something that relieved the general greatly. "It was more than that," Carrington admitted. "I think I was a little in love with him. Who wouldn't be? He was everything that I joined the military dreaming I'd follow. Handsome, intelligent, and with ideas- he had plans, and he meant to carry them out. He wanted to make the world a better place, and he offered me a chance to help him, even though he didn't know me. I wasn't a part of Operation Daybreak- didn't have a clue it was coming, though I should have. Anyone with a brain should have known something like that was coming- the Colonies sure saw it." 

"We often don't see what's right in front of our face," Une said, still speaking softly. 

"Heh. I was forty-two years old, and a career soldier. I thought I knew what I wanted, but as soon as Treize rose, I followed him…. I was probably a little in love with him, even though I was old enough to be his mother." 

"Anyone who saw Treize most likely was…. Some of us more than a little." Une blushed guiltily. 

"Some people are like that. Burning brightly, they illuminate us all. Entrancing, but those that burn brightest, burn quickest. Or something like that." Carrington shivered. "I saw Chang kill him. I see Chang kill him. I think I will see Chang kill him…." 

"What?" Une wasn't able to make sense of what Carrington was trying to say. 

"PTSD. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. A noise, a sight, something triggers it…. And I'm back there, watching the light leave the universe. It took me six months to get it under enough control. I still have to get weekly counseling and I'm on a few anti-anxiety medication." 

"How… how close were you?" Une asked, pained. She had never talked to anyone who had actually been that close to Treize as he died, had never been ready to. She never dreamed that the brash Carrington would be the first person she'd speak to. 

"Within half a mile. Close enough… sometimes I dream that I could feel the heat from the explosion… and then, the world just went insane." Her hands dropped like lead weights onto the desk. "Sometimes I wonder if it'll ever be sane again, with him gone. We pinned all our hopes on him, and he died." 

A knocked sounded on the door, but before Une could give permission to enter, Brown entered, trailed by the ever-present Lopez. Brown's face was tense with stress lines, and Lopez looked like he'd been sampling arsenic to get his skin the pure white that it was currently boasting. 

"What is it?" Une asked testily. "I thought you, Lopez, at least had the manners to knock." 

"Pardon us, Lady, but this is a little bit too urgent to observe the formalities." 

"Oh?" Carrington asked with interest. 

Une shot her a dirty look, but Carrington just shrugged. "Should I leave?" the unrepentant major asked. 

"No," Brown said. "I need everyone I can trust in here, and right now, I can count that number on one hand." 

"What's wrong?" Une asked, sobering up, forgetting her anger. Brown rarely got stressed, and she couldn't remember ever seeing him look this grim before. 

The two men pulled up chairs as Carrington hitched hers over, creating a half-circle in front of Une's desk. 

"Seki Hikaru died two days ago." 

"Seki Hikaru… I should know that name…." Une said, trying to place it. 

"He was the head of the Black Diamond Cartel," Lopez said. 

"Fuck," Carrington said. 

Une felt the same. "Great. How is L1 taking it?" 

"Not well. He was killed by one of his likely heirs, who died in the attempt. There's no clear succession- a few nephews, a granddaughter, a missing grandson… and lots of factions all wanting the power. The fight is starting to spill out of the Breaks, and L2-C is experiencing the repercussions, and the Black Market planet side is going to be hit within the next two days." He paused. 

"Why do I feel like you're not telling me the worst of it?" 

Brown and Lopez exchanged glances, communicating on the level that members of the same gender used to say something the opposite sex couldn't understand. "It gets worse," Lopez said softly, ignoring the towering difference in their ranks to speak freely. 

"Much worse," Brown agreed without humor." 

"Can it with the build-up and spit it out!" Carrington spat. 

Brown shot her a Look, reminding her who was the general and who was the major. "Seki was a vengeful bastard. As far as I can tell, he had some kind of system rigged up… if he didn't enter some kind of passcode every 48 hours, it would trigger a data dump of his files into mine." 

"WHAT?" Une exclaimed. 

"I have no clue how he got my personal account number, but he was one of the best. I've got months worth of information to dig through- I'm going to be able to make a lot of arrests, assuming the Preventers are still operating." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Seki knew he was dealing with people as dangerous as he was… he wasn't sure exactly of the name, but he knew that if he dumped into my system, I'd be able to combine it with what I knew, and be able to pin the bastard." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Une, we have a traitor." 

Une's mind reeled. "What? Who?" 

"Let me and Lopez break it down, and you'll see." 

"Seki was involved in supplying the rebel faction of A007," Lopez said. "He also planted operatives in various groups to incite anti-Gundam sentiment, hired the assassins for Chang Wufei, and has been doing other actions to undermine the World Nation." 

"Why?" Carrington asked. "I thought he was happy enough playing in the Breaks." 

"There's been a lot of power plays there- no ones' been able to keep what's been going on there straight. What I think happened is that he's afraid that the L1 government is actually going to keep its promise to attempt to clean out the Breaks- and that would have been very bad for his business. Criminals thrive on chaos." 

"So he gambled… and lost. He got himself killed," Carrington said with a bit of satisfaction. "What does that have to do with a traitor?" 

"Someone inside the Preventers was working with him- several someones. I'm starting to think that there is actually a rather large organization of people within the Preventers who are working to bring down the World Nation." 

"Why?" 

"Nationalists." It was Lopez who spoke. "Many people believe that the World Nation is just a return to the Federation under a different name. Some of the fighters feel… gypped by what happened. They fought during the war, and all the sudden everything returns to a status quo that seems frighteningly familiar." 

"So… we have traitors. That's no surprise." 

"It's more complicated than that. From the data dump I received, the person who is in charge of the anti-Preventer activities is very high up in our organization. High up enough to reassign personnel to where they become ineffective, or plant their agents where they can do the most damage." 

Une's blood ran cold at the thought. She herself didn't have time to do everything in the organization, so had learned to delegate to people she had thought were worthy of her trust. Apparently her feelings had been misplaced. "Who?" she demanded. 

Lopez spoke again. "The person had to have high security clearance. Personality-wise, it would be someone above suspicion, with an intense loyalty to his or her country of origin. This person would be able to place Banks near your office as a security guard, send Lucrezia Noin away, since she would likely catch on, rearrange staff whenever they started to catch on, keep agents off-balance with their postings, be able to divert military resources…" 

"Only three people have the security clearance high enough to do all that needed to be done. I didn't have any reason, you built the Preventers, so that leaves the third…" Brown trailed off to let Une put the final piece into place herself. 

She opened her mouth, but was interrupted by a priority one message flashing to life on her screen. "What is it?" she snapped. 

Etille's tired face flashed onto the screen. "Etille?" Une asked, wondering what else could go wrong. 

He blinked once, the only sign that he was surprised to see her. "I was calling for General Brown. I have some… unpleasant news." 

"MORE unpleasant news?" Une asked. Her mind still refused to come to the conclusion Brown was trying to lead her to- it was simply unacceptable. 

Brown rose and went over to where he could look over Une's shoulder into the view screen. "What is it? Did you get her?" 

He shook his head. "Negative. Apparently the information leaked, and she had a chance to escape." 

"WAIT just a second. Would you mind explaining what's going on?" Une demanded. 

"I issued an arrest warrant as soon as Lopez pieced enough information together. We didn't want to risk our bird flying the coop… even though she still managed to…" 

Une placed her head in her hands. Her head was throbbing, but she couldn't deny the reality anymore. Slowly she raised her head to look up at Brown in horror as all the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle clicked in an alarming and all-too-plausible whole. 

"Sally Po." 

  
**END SAINAN NO KEKKA ACT IX**

  
Act IX Part II | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	36. The Plotting Strings of a Marionette

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2002 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING **

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT X, PART I 

**Donna kotoba demo oboete iru  
Kono mune ni zenbu shimatte oku no  
Chiisana omoide sae mo kobosazu ni  
Jou o kakete kyou kara takaramono **

Soba ni irareru jiyuu kuchi ni daseba  
Kowaresou de kowakute  


**No matter what, I remember your all words  
They are all shut in my heart  
Without even neglecting the smallest memory  
I put them over me, making them treasures **

If I said I just wanted to stay with you  
I'd seem broken and frightened  


**--Gundam Wing, _Zutto Himitsu_  
[_Always a Secret_, Relena Peacecraft image song]**  


  
  
**Scene I: The Daughter of China**

  


_"The death of the heart is the saddest thing that can happen to you."  
--Chinese Proverb_

  
It wasn't where she wanted to be, but somehow she had expected it. 

Sally Po had known what things would most likely come to when she had started down this path. Still, that didn't mean she had to like it. 

That was one thing her mother had always told her, "You can dream many dreams on a long night, Sally," she had whispered, quoting a famous proverb. Sally had thought of that often, whenever times got tough. She had never been particularly close to her parents, but that was one thing she had been grateful to them for - perhaps the only thing. 

When she was little, she hadn't been quite sure what the proverb meant. Her parents had been fond of throwing them out, and on the surface, it was simple. Most Chinese proverbs were; they were a bit of common wisdom that was always true. Look beneath them, though, and the true depth of their meaning became apparent. She had spent many late nights awake, dreaming of things that were possible, and now was facing the true long night of her life. 

She was Chinese, and her parents had at least given her the chance to be Chinese. She pitied those who didn't know their cultures. 

It disgusted her, nowadays. People had no idea who or what they were, and the way things were going, that trend would continue until the world had assimilated everyone into one Unitarian society where everyone walked, talked, and thought alike. She hated the very thought of it. Identity was important to her. She believed in individuality, and after being a member of the Federation, she had seen how people had conformed to the standards the mainstream culture had placed on them. 

The knowledge that, as a soldier in the Federation army, she was one of the oppressors, had revolted her. When the Gundams had come and destroyed her government, she had eagerly joined the Chinese rebellion, hoping that something better could be formed. 

Something that allowed her to be Chinese… but in the end, there was a return to the status quo. Une had meant well, and Sally liked how she was earnest, but Une held no real power. Une was a ghost, a woman who wasn't truly alive. Without Treize, Une was nothing. Sally thought things might have been different if the pilots hadn't vanished. They understood national pride… and Wufei understood China. 

With a sigh, Sally leaned back in the shuttle seat, stealing a glance at the man who sat in her co-pilots' chair, Pierre Gils-Reve. He had left Bern and immediately raced to Geneva before Sally had even gotten out of the city to be beside her. According to Li, his cover was still sound, but he had insisted on coming with her when he had learned that her safety was on the verge of being compromised. He was fiercely loyal to her and her cause from the very beginning. She thought he had a little bit of a crush on her, and regretted that. Hormones had no place where they were going. 

"How much longer to the rendezvous point?" she asked, even though she knew. The oppressive silence was beginning to get to her. 

"Thirteen minutes, General," Gils-Reve said, his voice steady, even though his hands had shaken as they had initiated the launch two days prior. Since then, they had been moving around quite a bit to avoid capture, and Sally had been silently weaving her net closed, stealing what supplies she could. She only had subverted less that a sixth of the Preventers, but those she had turned, she had placed well. Her strike forces had already launched a few raids on a few of the more remote military targets, and she knew that within two days, she would be ready to launch an all-out assault. She had to move quickly, for Brown would be moving to block her and change everything. Li still hadn't been discovered, but it was only a matter of time. 

Still, she had a prize that would tip the scales a little more in her favor. She looked out the window, wondering how much longer it would be before she would see it. "Has radio silence been maintained?" she asked. 

"Yes," Gils-Reve answered. "There's been two fly-overs by Preventer operatives, but they haven't spotted us. It's your home ground, so I'm not surprised." 

"Neither am I." Sally glanced at her watch. Two more minutes. 

Those minutes normally would have dragged on, but since there was no flight crew aside from herself and Gils-Reve and he had been trained to fly combat suits instead of shuttles, she was the one who started the landing procedures. Even though she was no longer part of an official military order, she followed the steps to the letter. Discipline was important, and skipping steps was a bad idea. When order broke down, chaos reigned; and when chaos reigned, entire countries fell apart. 

That would be one of her key strategies in attacking the World Nation- not the only one, but one of the keys. 

By the time the plane landed with a slight jolt, she knew enough time had passed that if there were no problems, the people she should be meeting were there. "Are they here?" she asked as she shut down all the power systems to the shuttle. It would take time to restart them, but the Preventer agents would be looking for unexpected energy signals. She was the most wanted traitor on the planet, and they were expecting her to come to China. She had understood that, but China was home. 

Gils-Reve nodded. "Before you shut down my proximity scanners, I detected them." His eyes glowed. 

She nodded. "We'll have to manually lower the hatch." 

The two rebels went to the door and hit the cranks, pushing the door down. Sally hit it with her shoulder when it got stuck, and almost fell through when it suddenly gave. It was only Gils-Reve's quick hands catching her waist that preventing her from taking a header onto the ground eight feet below. 

His hands were warm, and she nodded her thanks. "Good reflexes," she said, and waited for him to release her. 

He seemed dazed, and was wearing a slight blush, and she upgraded her prior opinion of his crush to puppy love with an internal groan. He finally let her go after a few moments too long, and she moved out of his range as quietly as socially acceptable. Looking down, she judged the distance safe enough to jump. She was too impatience to wait to push the stairs down. 

When Sally landed, it jarred her teeth. She looked up to where Gils-Reve was still standing. "Coming, Gils-Reve?" she asked. 

"Yes, ma'am!" he said, grabbing the edge and swinging down. He landed gracefully besides her, and she wondered how he made it look so effortless. 

"It's not ma'am anymore. Call me Po or General." Her eyes flashed, and she looked down at her clothes, once again camouflage gear. The first thing she had done when she had found a spare moment was to discard the hated uniform. Clothes made the person and shaped the way people acted. 

As did names. 

She could see the realization of what she meant flicker in Gils-Reve's green eyes, reflecting a variety of emotions too quietly for her to follow before he clenched his jaw with determination. "Yes, General." 

Together they ducked under the belly of the craft, coming out from under the other side. She heard Gils-Reve take in a sudden breath of appreciation and couldn't keep from smiling. "This the first time you ever seen a Gundam?" she asked with amusement, even though the marvelous machine still took her breath away. 

Before them stood the brilliantly colored Gundam Heavyarms. 

She smiled up at one of her friends who had swiped it from right under Brown's nose. "Hey, Riley! How's the machine check out?" she demanded, shading her eyes from the late day sunlight's reflection of the glistening machine. She made a mental note to get it hidden as soon as possible, but for a moment, they could savor their small victory. 

"It's as good as when the day it was built!" Riley shot back, perched proudly on the machine's shoulder. The old man reminded her of Howard, and she wished she knew how to contact the Sweeper. He'd be a useful contact, provided he saw things her way. It was strange that he had such morals- most scavengers didn't; but those were what made him Howard, and she really wouldn't change him. She was fighting to give people the choice to be the way they wanted to. 

"And the shelter?" she asked, her voice losing its joking tone. 

Riley was quiet for a moment before scampering down the silent giant, managing to find impossible handholds. The wiry man came to stand in front of her, taking his time dusting his hands off on his gray coveralls. "We lost one man, and were forced to kill all four people there who weren't with us. After that, I set some explosives, and walked this baby out to the shuttle and took off. We've been jumping all over, and I've swapped shuttles twice. Complete diagnostics were performed on the way, and it's in working order." 

Sally walked closer so she could admire the trim. These machines held an elegant beauty, and promised soldiers a chance to dance with death. She had taken care of Heavyarms before, but this time, it was hers… and she would be flying it. The thought thrilled her, secretly. She was a very good pilot and she looked forward to matching her skills against it. It would be like riding a tiger, and not daring to let go. 

Gils-Reve stared at Heavyarms in disbelief, seemingly unable to comprehend that their band of nationalists had in their possession one of the five Gundams that had shaped the world. "How- why do we have it?" he asked. 

Her smile was mysterious as she touched the metal of the Gundam's leg. "It's about the pilots and who they are… you need to know them. Each Gundam is a part of the pilot, and when the war was over, there was no one to tell those teenagers what to do with them; they had to make their own choices. Heero and Duo hid theirs, and I assume Wufei did the same as well. Quatre had his melted down and used to build an irrigation system," she said, pausing as people winced at the thought of that desecration. "But Trowa…Trowa wasn't a warrior; Trowa was a soldier. 

"When the war was over, he did what any good soldier would do and surrendered his weapon to the victor." Her smiled was mocking. "Lady Une had it hidden in a small supply base, manned by ten men, and kept under guard. It was classified Level One, and that was supposed to be the end of it… but it wasn't. 

"I knew about it… and I just happened to assign as many of my people as possible there. As soon as it became apparent that I had to leave, I knew I had to tell Riley to let the others know that I needed my… severance bonus." Her eyes traced the machine reverently. "It should come in handy." 

Her eyes looked up at the cockpit, and she knew that it was time to do something she'd been waiting to do. "I have to make a call…" she said. "Riley, you and Gils-Reve show the others how to go about setting up a cold camp- we move at before dawn tomorrow." 

Riley nodded, and she could see that Gils-Reve barely checked a salute. He was having a hard time deciding which bits of military custom to keep and which to discard. He would learn, Sally knew, but it would take time. She turned her attention back to Heavyarms, and signed. There were no hoists currently attached, and since it was standing, that meant she would just have to climb straight up. She lacked Riley's knack for finding grips, so going up would be a challenge. 

It was lucky that she had made a point of putting in an hour of hard training at the gym every day, or else she never would have made it up. The climb was tricky, and once she almost lost her hold. Still, she made it up, and that was what mattered. She took a second to catch her breath before activating the hatch, which slid open smoothly. 

The indicator lights flashed as she shut the cockpit door, amazed as always how much it was like stepping into a different world. She ignored the custom harnesses and newswire feed and checked the lights, pleased that all of them were green. Leaning back into the well-padded seat, she took a breath of the filtered air. What had it been like, to sit here during a pivotal battle? What would it be like to know that people spoke of you as though you were the devil incarnate? 

Sally would know that feeling very soon, and she wasn't sure if it frightened her or not. Still, she had no time for musing. She needed to contact someone, and had to do it soon, if her time zone calculations were correct. With a slight smile she hit the communications button and hacked into the Preventers' system, glad that Li had kept her password active, despite standard procedures. "Connect me to Chang Wufei's room," she demanded. "Audio and visual feed, and scramble the frequency." 

The link surged into being with a speed that made her smile slightly with pleasure. Wufei was a creature of habit, and if she was right, she most likely would be interrupting him during his late evening exercises. He always ran a few forms before going to sleep, and she was hoping it would put him in a thoughtful mood. 

And she was right. She saw him poised on one foot, holding the sword parallel to his angled leg, wearing only the white pants of mourning that she had grown accustomed to seeing him in. It was a beautiful thing, to watch his toned body, and even holding the pose, it became apparent that he was truly a master of the art. 

Sally was silent for a moment, but that moment was all it took for him to be aware that he was being watched. His dark eyes narrowed and he whirled; his sword swinging up and his elbow bending as his left hand straightened and his feet became ready to launch. His breathing remained calm and balanced, but she saw the slight shock on his face when he noticed her image on the viewer. 

"You!" he declared, his voice sounding as though he had just stepped into a pile of something particularly vile. 

"_Ni hao_, Wufei," she replied calmly in Mandarin. "I see you've heard about my… allegiances…" she continued, sticking to the language. 

"I heard about your betrayal," he said coldly, replying in the same language, though his colonial accent was slightly more clipped. Wufei sheathed his sword on his hip before moving closer. She could see in his expression what he planned; subtlety was the one thing he had never learned. 

"Wufei… you can't trace this," she said lightly. "And rerouting my call will do you no good. Don't you think you should at least here me out?" 

"I don't listen to traitors," he said, moving to turn it off. 

She had been expecting this. "_The death of the heart is the saddest thing that can happen to you_," Sally whispered, wondering if her final ploy would work. 

"What?" he asked. 

She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, and her smile grew minutely. "For the friendship we share, and for China, will you listen to me?" she asked. 

Sally saw the hesitation written in the tension of his body, but she knew that she had him hooked. She had seen this before many times. "I… I will listen to you, woman. And then I'm reporting every word you say directly to Une," he said, as though the qualifier would absolve his sin. 

"Do that. I'm sure Une's very upset, and would like to know why her second in command has been plotting against her," Sally agreed. She pressed the tips of her fingers together and rested her elbows on her knees. 

"And she's going to be even more upset when she find out you somehow or other managed to run off with Heavyarms," he pointed out. 

She smiled. "I thought I needed a special severance bonus, since the Preventers weren't going to give me one." 

"How did you get it?" Wufei demanded. 

"That you would have to ask Trowa…" Sally said. "If you decide I'm right, you can bring Shenlong… and since Sandrock has been destroyed, that will mean each side has two. Quite a balance of power." She twisted one of her braids. "I'm not after power, Wufei, but I do understand how the game works." 

"So your after me because I have the only unclaimed Gundam?" he asked, sounding slightly disgusted, and maybe a little disappointed in her. "Sorry, Nataku is long gone." 

"Liar," Sally accused. 

He froze, and glared at her, raising a hand and smacking the screen. "Ta ma de! Nataku is gone!" he insisted. 

"But you can bring her back. You're not like Trowa… who handed his back to the military when the war was done. You're not like Quatre, who destroyed his Gundam for a better era. e to go, and the world would be perfect. 

Through the crushed velvet draperies, the sun was setting softly in the west amidst a cloudbank of brilliant gold and blue and purple, and for a moment she considered putting on a t-shirt and old jeans and asking the gardeners down below, who were pruning the roses, if she could go join them. When she had been around five or six, one of the Darlian house gardeners had taken her outside and showed her how to plant seeds. She wasn't sure why she still remembered that, but the feel of the moist, crumbly soil and the hard nub of the seed in her child's palm were still vivid memories. 

She could hardly remember her father now. Her family. Her real family, the Darlians, the ones who had raised her and cared for her, the ones who had molded her into who she was now. No matter how hard she tried to envision them, to her the Peacecrafts were still and always would be just portraits on a wall, a legend, dim vision of glory and days gone by. 

And then there was her brother. 

A knock on the antechamber door scattered her thoughts, and Relena jumped, realizing that she'd been dozing and that she'd promised to meet Sylvia and Catherine for a light supper out in the garden. No rose pruning for the Queen of Cinq this evening. 

"Sylvia?" she called, reluctantly standing and moving towards the bath suite for a quick scrub and to change out of her uncomfortable state dress. 

Thected us. And other countries agree. Look at those who follow me, Wufei… Gils-Reve is French, and he went six months without speaking his native language because of the World Nation. Riley is Irish, but the Federation made him drop the "O" from his name because the computers couldn't process the apostrophe sometimes, and he can easily picture the World Nation doing the same. It's a small thing, but if they can make you change your name, what else can they do?" 

Wufei watched her speak passionately about her cause. "Sally… I'm a colonist." 

"And that means it doesn't affect you?" she nearly spat. "If anything, it affects you more! You're from a colony that prided itself on its Chinese heritage. They practically told me I couldn't be Chinese anymore- what will they do to you, or other colonies that don't have so-called established customs? You and I both know that's a lie… and it's only a matter of time before the World Nation absorbs the colonies!" 

She saw in his eyes that he was listening… and Sally knew that he was on the verge of agreeing. She forced herself to stay calm. If she kept reeling, she could very shortly have one of the biggest fish in her net. "In a generation, maybe two, we won't have a culture anymore! _That's_ where this era of absolute pacifism is getting us! We need war to sustain our identities, and us! War brings revolution and changes in thought, yet unites a people together! War is not glorious, but it is necessary! Without it, we stagnate and lose ourselves! 

"I am Chinese! I am not going to live in a world where there are no national boundaries, for that means I have no pride! I love my language, yet it will die out- soon people will only speak Japanese and English, and then just English! I love my sense of family, yet soon the Western world will take that away!" she paused to take a breath. 

Wufei listened closely, his hand going limp and falling away from the computer screen. "Meilan.... those flowers..." he whispered. 

"Yes, Wufei! You understand what I'm talking about, don't you?" 

"I... remember..." 

"Yes! You were the one who told me that people were stupid to think the war was over! War is never over! Fight for what you believe in!" she said, pushing the final button. 

And then something flickered across his face, and she knew that she had said the wrong thing. "I believe in people," he said slowly. "I believe that we have given them the right to choose their own futures. I believe that war is an awful thing- it may never be over, but if we don't at least try to seek peace, we're never going to find happiness. I believe that happiness is something that you strive for…" He paused, and then he gave her a soft smile, one that she hadn't thought him capable of. Something inside of him had changed, and she suddenly realized that she didn't know the real Chang Wufei anymore. 

"I believe in my friends. I believe in the other pilots. I believe in the Preventers, and I am sorry that you never gave them a chance. I believe… I am not here to cause chaos anymore… I believe I am here to help the world." He looked at her directly, and the intensity in his face made her feel like she was drowning. 

She shook herself out of it, and felt her heart harden towards him. She had believed that he would see the justice in her cause, but he, too, had been taken in. "Good-bye, Wufei. I hope you like the path you've chosen." She shut the connection down, unable to stand looking in his clear eyes. 

Then she leaned back in the seat, hating how the battle lines had been drawn. But she was China's daughter, and she had made her choices. She would do anything for China, even turn against those who had once been friends. 

  
_Ni hao: Chinese, "Hello"  
Ta ma de: Chinese, "Goddamn you"_

  


* * *

  
**Scene II: The Girl in the Mirror**

  


_"Everyday I fight a war against the mirror  
I can't take the person staring back at me...  
I'm my own worst enemy."  
--Pink, Don't Let Me Get Me_

  
If she'd been asked a year ago, when she'd been up to her neck in foreign affairs, country rebuilding, and establishment of a new national government, Relena Darlian Peacecraft would have readily admitted that she hated politics. But she could never have dreamed that she could hate it with such a passion as she did now, a week into Quatre Raberba Winner's trial, with no end in sight, endless infighting among the seats of the World Nation, and Fatima bint Narish smirking around the corner at every turn. 

There were times in which she had just wanted to stand up, throw her papers on the ground, and storm out. She wasn't even sure what she was doing in the trial - as the head of the Cinq Kingdom, she had the duty to be there, but from the way the trial was going, it was Fatima versus Carrington versus Keets, and few people had managed to get a word in either way. She'd worked hard to prepare a list of statements, but it didn't look like she would ever be able to make them. 

Once again, she had the power to change the world, and once again, it meant nothing. If not for Sylvia Noventa and Dorothy Catalonia, she wouldn't have even made it this far. 

The manor was quiet as she let herself into the small back entry hall, slipped off her shoes, and took the narrow back stairs up to her suite. It was the house servants' day off, and Relena was sure that they were happily at home resting, wanting nothing to do with the current state of world events. She didn't blame them. 

"Dorothy?" she called as she stepped onto the landing. No answer. The slanting sunlight through the large, glass-paned ceiling windows bathed the hallway in a comfortable late afternoon glow, and the grandfather clock in the hall read 5:43. Dorothy had promised that she and Sylvia would be back by 5:30. She sighed and made her way down the hall, passing Catherine's closed door and Dorothy's half-open one. From a glance inside the other girl's room at the unmade bed and the clothes strewn carelessly in heaps over the chairs and on the floor, it was good that the servants only had one off day every week. 

Relena closed the door of her room behind her, kicked off her shoes in the antechamber, and shambled into the bedroom. Flopping onto her bed, she stared at the ceiling, so simple and white compared to the ornate, painted ones of the Cinq palace back home. Dorothy's Geneva manor was small but elegant, just what she would have expected an inherited home to be, and Relena's own rooms here were a charming suite, decorated in what seemed to be a 17th century Victorian meets 21st century Modernist cross-breed design. Since she and Catherine had moved in, they hadn't seen hide nor hair of Duchess Noventa, which was probably for the best, though Relena admitted privately that she had rather a morbid curiosity as to what the duchess would say to her, if they ever met. A few side comments from the servants led her to believe that Emily had gone back to France and would probably be staying there. 

That was one thorn out of their side. Just a million mor áÎ»Ô›¤¿ßf\ 


	37. The Plotting Strings of a Marionette

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2002 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT X, PART II

** Ienai kimochi wa  
kyou mo yureru kokoro ni  
Tayori nage na  
Nagai kage o otoshite iru**

Hanarete omou dake  
No ima wa hitori  
Dakishimeru sabishii kedo  
Suteki na kyori  
** In my shaking heart  
There are still untold feelings  
Bringing tidings  
A long shadow falls**

From far away  
I think only of one  
The embrace is lonely  
but it's a wonderful distance  


**--Gundam Wing, _Zutto Himitsu_  
[_Always a Secret_, Relena Peacecraft image song]**  


  
  
**Scene V: Ties Never Binding**

  


_"Please come now, I think I'm falling  
I'm holding to all I think is safe.  
It seems I found the road to nowhere  
And I'm trying to escape."  
--Creed, One Last Breath_

  
When the knock sounded on his door, he was still half asleep, and his only response to the insistent rapping was to pull his bedcover up over his head and mumble, "Go away."

"Hey, open up!"

He was instantly awake, old reflexes coming to the fore before he could help himself, sitting bolt upright in his belt and fingers groping for a gun when he realized two things.

One, he was in the Preventers Headquarters, no longer in the Breaks, and an attacker was unlikely to try to break into his room by knocking and requesting entry.

And two, that the voice at the door sounded very familiar.

Too familiar.

He rose stealthily to his feet, throwing on a pair of pants and slipping his gun into one pocket before padding towards the door, knowing what he'd find on the other side even before he opened it.

The pair of dark cobalt-blue eyes on the other side had barely even time to blink at him before he growled a grated, "Leave," and slammed the door in Wing's face, bolting it and leaning against it firmly as if he could stop the other from entering just with the force of his body. He realized he was breathing hard, as if he had just sprinted up a flight of stairs in pursuit of some target.

"Darkflight!" Wing's voice was muffled, but his words were clear. "Come on, dammit!"

"I'm not opening the door for you, you fucking asshole, so you can waste your time somewhere else!"

"Hey! Hey, listen to me, just open the door, all right?"

He pretended he didn't hear the voice on the other side, pretended he couldn't hear the hurt and anger that it carried. His heart was still beating fast and he pressed one hand to his chest, trying to calm it, as he stared at the far wall, trying not to think of her.

_She's dead. You killed her._

Atsuki was dead, and it was all because of the boy on the other side of the door.

He didn't understand how she could have died for him. For the unforgiving, lying, cheating son of a bitch that he had once known as his partner, Wing. The same boy who had worked faithfully side by side with him, the same boy who had left him as soon as fame and fortune came his way. It had all been a joke to him, hadn't it? All that he, Darkflight, had sweated and worked and killed for, had been a game to Wing.

Some friend.

He shouldn't even call him Wing anymore, because Wing was the silent, haunted boy of his past, strangely noble even in the midst of his sin. He didn't know the boy on the other side of the door. Heero Yuy. The name stuck on his tongue as he tried to whisper it, to see how it sounded, and he let it die unspoken. It was funny how names had a way of clinging to a person's identity, and how they could never be shed without renouncing the person you had once been.

He had always been Darkflight, as far back as he could remember. He had never needed to be anyone else.

"Darkflight! Open the damn door!"

"Why should I?" he countered harshly, pressing his palms against the smooth wood, wishing there would be a splinter or two to jolt him back to reality with the stinging pain.

"Because I want to talk to you."

"Oh, so it's all about you is it?" Darkflight spat sarcastically, idly wondering if there was anyone in the hallway outside besides Wing. He had a feeling that anyone passing by would be a little alarmed at this conversation. "All about you. Always been about you. I don't matter unless you acknowledge me, and then I exist to do your every bidding. Since you've gotten here you haven't even as much as said two words to me, and now you need to talk to me. Sorry. Not happening."

"It's not-"

"I'm not listening to any of your damn lies!" he shouted, kicking the door. It rattled on its hinges. "I'm no longer part of your private world, so why don't you just get the hell out of here and get your ass back to your fancy new friends, where it belongs?"

There was a silence and Darkflight thought for a moment that Wing had simply left. The thought weighed down his heart strangely, and he cursed under his breath, ashamed of himself for being so weak. Wing meant nothing to him. Nothing...

"They're not my new friends, Darkflight. I might have known them once but I don't anymore. Not now. They don't…you know me better."

"I thought I knew you."

"Come on, Darkflight. You're one of the only friends I have in this fucking place."

"If you think I'll suddenly break down in sobs and open the door, you're wrong," he growled.

"Look, give me five minutes. Just five."

It was the pleading note in Wing's voice that made him open the door more than anything else, because he'd never heard Wing sounded that desperate before, and it weirded him out. Reluctantly, he unbolted the door and swung it open.

The first thing he noticed was that his former partner had cut his hair. It was a bit ragged, as if he'd done it himself with a blunt knife, but it hung loosely around his ears. Wing saw him looking.

"Yeah, did that a couple of days ago. I think I might need a mirror next time…"

Darkflight rolled his eyes and he saw Wing raise his eyebrows slightly. In any other person, that might have been a smile. They'd never smiled, in the Breaks. He didn't ever think he'd seen Wing smile. He moved aside from the entrance and let the other boy walk cautiously into the room, surreptitiously scanning the walls as if searching for traps.

"If I'd wanted to kill you, I'd have done it by now," Darkflight said, turning to lock the door.

"Sorry."

"You've a lot to be sorry for."

He saw Wing clench his fists once, tightly, then relax his hands at his sides. "Darkflight, I'm sorry about Atsuki."

"No you're not."

Wing sighed heavily. His voice was bitter, laced with heavy sorrow. "I know it's hard for you to imagine me being sorry for anything, but you can't imagine the shit I went through after it happened, all right? I've done penance twenty times over and it'll never be enough. Not for me, not for you, not for Quatre. So…just drop it, all right? I don't need you on my ass hounding me about her too."

Darkflight swallowed. "I just-"

"You loved her too." At Darkflight's slight look of shock, Wing hurried on. "I know. We all loved her."

"How's her-" his throat stuck on the word. "-brother?"

"I don't think he's hasn't forgiven me yet." Wing sounded strangely gentle, his eyes old and sad. "I don't know if he ever will. He's changed. A lot."

Darkflight shrugged. There was an uncomfortable moment of silence.

Then Wing said: "I'm just…sorry." Looking at Darkflight as if he would understand.

And in a moment of clarity, it came to Darkflight what Wing meant about not knowing his old friends anymore. He'd assumed - naively - that it had been Wing that had gone running to them, abandoning his old life and responsibilities. But it hadn't been, after all. In fact it had been them who had gone running to Wing. Because there was something about the boy that drew people to him like a magnet, no matter how hard he tried to stop them.

Atsuki had been one of those unlucky enough to be drawn close enough that she would never be unable to escape no matter how hard she tried. Just like the other four Gundam pilots. General Une. The girl Relena, Queen of the Cinq Kingdom.

And Darkflight.

"It's all right," he said after a moment. "I understand."

And with that, it was all right. It was how things were sometimes - a long period of enmity banished by just a look and a word. There were no long, drawn-out apologies, no embracings and no explicitly stated bonds of friendship. They hadn't needed that when they had started.

Perhaps Wing hadn't changed as much as he had thought.

Wing's mouth drew back in a shadow of a smile, as much as Darkflight had ever seen him smile, and he offered an awkward smile in return. It felt strange, so he dropped it after a few seconds and jerked his head towards the other boy.

"What'd you come for? Just for that?"

Wing shrugged. "I…I'm leaving."

Darkflight blinked. "No one's stopping you. Door's that way. You just came through it two seconds ago."

"No, you fucking moron, I'm leaving. Leaving Geneva."

He stared. "What?"

Wing shrugged apologetically and a little uncomfortably. "I'm not even supposed to be telling you this, but I didn't want to leave again and not tell you where I was going. Duo and I are going on a special operations mission. We won't be back for…a while."

Darkflight felt a chill of fear slide down his back. It was a new and rather frightening experience in itself. He'd watched Wing leave for a hundred missions and never felt any fear - knew that his partner might die and accepted it as a fact of life. But now…it was different. Somehow.

"Darkflight?"

"Don't go," he said.

Wing was watching him with a strange look, a look he imagined he might have if he'd seen Darkflight in the middle of the street doing a stripshow. "What did you just say?"

"Nothing," he muttered, feeling stupid. "Forget it."

"It's not…" Wing began, and he knew that the other boy would now be trying to comfort him. He felt like a child being lectured by a parent. "It's not like you haven't seen me go on missions before, in the Breaks. It's the same, right?"

"No it's not!" he bit out. "It's not…"

Wing frowned.

"In the Breaks," Darkflight said, then stopped, trying to collect his fragmented thoughts that seemed to skip out of his grasp the more he reached for them. "In the Breaks…we were never…_alive_."

The look on Wing's face was unreadable, and Darkflight was afraid he might have gone too far, made his former partner think he was trying to persuade him to go back with him, but then he realized that wasn't it at all. Wing looked strangely reluctant, as if there was something he wanted to say but didn't want to.

"Stop that," Darkflight said at last. "You're creeping me out."

"There's something I need to tell you…something about the Breaks," Wing said. He seemed to be struggling with the words. "Promise me…you won't hate me."

"Why would I hate you?" he said, feeling a strange sense of foreboding.

"I went to see General Etille," Wing continued in a rush, as if to get this all out in the open. "And after he'd finished telling me about my mission, he told me that General Brown had been asking about you."

"Me?"

"Apparently a kid named Shinobu has been talking about you…trying to get some information." Wing paused. "One of Duo's friends. I think you've…met." Raised eyebrow.

"Yeah," Darkflight muttered. "We've met. Pity I didn't kill him when that happened."

Wing raised the other eyebrow. It was rather disconcerting to see him acting this calm and composed, like a rational human being, but he supposed that with the drugs out of his system, Wing could be as rational as anyone else. "He then asked me if I knew anything about your past. I said no. I told him you didn't even know anything."

"I don't."

"Well, anyway, he found that pretty interesting and took me over to the computer and started pulling up files."

Darkflight realized where this was leading. He realized that he didn't want to hear it.

"Stop," he said.

Wing's eyes were haunted. "You need to know this. Brown is apparently better connected than I thought, 'cause I saw what Etille was pulling - all these files on the Breaks and Operation Meteor and this thing called Operation Ares that I'd only heard of briefly, a long time ago when I was a kid."

"When you were a kid?" Darkflight wondered, curious in spite of himself.

"Yeah. Doctor J…my uh, mentor," Wing said, fishing around for a word, "told me that I'd been engineered by scientists from some Operation Ares. He didn't say much more than that…I figured there wasn't more, but I guess I was wrong."

His mind briefly reached back into himself, and he saw the flashes of light and bits of voices that had been haunting him since he could remember. He shook his head slightly and they vanished.

"Anyway, the files that Etille had drawn up…they were all records. Of the Breaks. Of one family in the Breaks…" Wing held Darkflight's gaze for a moment before looking away. "The Shionji cartel."

Darkflight gave a bitter laugh. "Don't tell me that that fucking kid's got you believing it too."

"What?"

"Don't lie," he snapped. "The day he saw me he swore up and down that I was one of the heirs to the Shionji Cartel. Which is ridiculous because it fell ages ago. No children or anything left. Any heirs would have to be more than forty years old by now."

Wing hesitated. "Etille showed me the files…they were some records. Really old ones. Spoke of a preliminary experiment to Operation Ares. An experiment which failed and in which the subjects had been placed in stasis, but the facility was believed to have been destroyed by the Black Diamond Cartel…33 years before the War."

Darkflight's throat was dry, and he put up a hand, as if to ward off the words coming out of his friend's mouth. "That's not true. You're making it up."

"The kid's name that they did this experiment on was Shionji Hideki," went on Wing almost ruthlessly. "This experiment was the first one of its kind, the one that pioneered genetic testing experiments on all the subjects that followed. Including many of the Gundam pilots. Including me."

"I don't understand," Darkflight said hoarsely. He remembered the hands out of the fog. He heard his own voice shouting, Niisan! And he heard the voice responding, calling out something, though he could never hear what.

"There's no way to be sure," Wing said, in a voice that was a little too gentle, "There weren't any genetic samples and the rest of the cartel is long gone…but if you really are Shionji Hideki, that means…we're the same. You and I. You'd be my 'older brother' so to speak. You were the prototype experiment for me."

No.

He looked at Wing. He could see it in Wing's eyes - that he terribly wanted to believe it. That he terribly wanted Darkflight to believe it.

_Prototype experiment._

So now he wasn't a friend, not even a person…he was a thing. Words on a computer screen.

Wing was glancing at him with a kind of hopeful, yet uneasy expression, and he just couldn't bring himself to touch him, though all he wanted to do was beat his former partner's face in. His hands were trembling and he locked them together behind his back.

"Prototype experiment," he said, his expression wooden. "So that's it. Why you came to see me. Is that all I am? An experiment?"

"That's not what I meant-"

"You never cared about me, did you? Don't lie to me, Wing. Don't give me your fucking shit."

"I've never lied to you!" Wing ground out. He was getting angry. Good. "I'm trying to tell you that we have something in common…that the only reason I'm here is because of you! I thought you'd like that. I thought-"

"Well, damn," said Darkflight in mock surprise. "It's not enough for you to want me to fulfill your every wish, but you want me to acknowledge that between the two of us, you're the better copy. The better experiment. Isn't that what you want?"

"We were both exp-"

"I AM NOT A FUCKING EXPERIMENT!" he roared. "I. AM. A. PERSON!"

"If you would just fucking LISTEN to me instead of-"

"I don't even know why I listened to you in the first place!" Darkflight cried. "Talk all you want, but I'm not listening to your bullshit anymore!"

He sprang across the carpet, flinging open the door, didn't stop as it slammed into the wall but kept running, down the hallway out the door. He was going to find Shinobu. He was going to have some words with the boy.

Some very strong words, because whoever said that the pen was mightier than the sword had another think coming.

He'd just gotten back from lunch with Helena and had half a mind to go look for Duo just to check up on him. There was a stack of papers sitting on his bed, forms he had been given to fill out for a security clearance. He didn't know what to do with them. He picked them up, glanced once more at the blank spaces on the sheet.

_Father's name. Mother's name. Mother's maiden name. Hometown._

What was that? Black Diamond Cartel, the Breaks, L1?

No, they wouldn't be giving him any kind of clearance any time soon.

Since the attacks, Duo had been around more, with Hilde tagging along by his side, but usually it was just a smile and a half-hearted wave and a "we'll be back later" before they would disappear again. He'd mentioned to Helena today how Duo always seemed to have a look of desperation about him these days, and she had nodded.

_He looks old_, she said. _Very old._

They'd been watching the trial on the vidscreen whenever they could. Helena had been close by lately, ever since he had heard of his grandfather's death. It shocked him sometimes that he wasn't more upset by the news. It had certainly shocked Helena two days ago when he'd come back from being called into General Etille's office and she had asked him what was wrong, and he had replied calmly, _oh, my grandfather was murdered yesterday._

Just like that.

The bastard had had it coming to him, and it was hard for Shinobu to even remember his grandfather as anything else but a conniving, cunning drug lord who didn't give a damn about anybody or anything except his own hide. But still, he had been family. Pretty much the only family Shinobu had had.

And the more troubling side of this was that he didn't know where that put him now.

General Etille had mentioned something about no clear line of succession and how the cartel was probably going to go down just like the Shionji cartel had, years ago. He'd stood there while the general had put one hand on his shoulder, murmuring consoling words about how he knew it was hard to lost a family member, and wondering if he needed any help.

He'd wanted to laugh in Etille's face, but the man meant well, and he didn't need to know about the confusing mass of Breaks politics that the Black Diamond Cartel was. He certainly didn't know who Seki Hikaru had named as his successor before he died. Shinobu had wondered why General Po wasn't the one to break the news to him, seeing as she seemed to have been most interested in his past and his grandfather's past involvement with the Breaks, but Etille had merely shrugged and looked away when he had mentioned it.

Shinobu hadn't asked further.

He knew two things right now: one, that the war of succession was likely to be going on a very long time, and two, the only way to stop it was for him to go back to the Breaks.

Because he was the rightful heir, no matter what Etille had been told. He had been appointed the next successor in line to the seat of power if anything should happen to Seki Hikaru. His grandfather had always been planning for the worst. It had been a cheap deal, but it was done, and he could not hide and pretend to be Matsuura Shinobu for much longer.

It was the last thing he wanted to do, go back to the Breaks. 

He didn't want the cartel.

Family pride and his sense of what was right warred within him for a moment, and he threw the security clearance papers back on his bed, gritting his teeth and turning to head outside to look for Duo. He needed some advice.

He'd gotten about two paces towards the door when pounding footsteps outside made him pause, and then before he even realized what had happened, a figure raced through the doorway.

"What-" Shinobu began.

He felt something grab his right wrist and force him against the wall. A flash of pain numbed his right hand for a second and he struggled, but the other was strong, too strong for him. The door slammed. He felt something cold next to his temple.

If the moment hadn't been so unexpected, Shinobu might have laughed.

_I'd wondered how I was going to die, but it never played out quite like this before._

"Don't say a word," a voice growled in his ear and he decided it was best to play by his captor's rules by now. He let his arms hang down to his sides, relaxing his muscles. The touch of cold metal on his temple did not waver.

"You told them."

His captor thrust his face close, and Shinobu's heart stopped for a second.

It was the boy Darkflight.

"You - what are you-"

"You told them," Darkflight said again, growling low and dangerously in his throat. The strange mixed features of his face, so Asian and yet so not, were twisted, almost unrecognizable in their predatory hatred. He'd known Darkflight was an assassin, had known that Shadowwing had been just about the best assassin group there was on L1, but he'd never come face to face with an assassin before. His grandfather had used them, of course. But that was his grandfather. And when he'd faced Darkflight before, the boy hadn't seemed anything that he couldn't have taken on, given a moment's notice. A threat, yes. Something to be afraid of, no.

Now he understood just dangerous a fully-trained and lethal assassin could be. In that last encounter, Darkflight had been angry, heated, in motion, but now all that active hatred had seemed to seep back into his muscles, coiled rigidly along his naked shoulders and back, leaving him cold, calm. Like death. Looking into Darkflight's eyes, into the cold, empty irises that stared into his with unblinking malice, Shinobu felt a shiver of pure terror crawl up his back.

"I told them what?" he said, struggling to keep his voice calm. Damned if he was going to show fear in front of this boy, assassin or not. 

_I am the heir to the Black Diamond Cartel. I am._

"You told them about the operation," Darkflight whispered, pressing the gun more firmly along Shinobu's temple. "You told them about me."

Shinobu stared as boldly as he could back into those eyes. "I did."

"Why?" For the first time, the mask cracked, and Shinobu felt a leap of hope. Darkflight hadn't come to kill him…he'd come for answers. He'd been troubled by this as much as Shinobu had; his very presence in this room now was proof of that.

Could Shinobu give him answers?

"Who told you that?" he said simply.

"Wing." The word was a low crackle of sound in the other boy's throat. Something had happened, Shinobu realized, looking into those black eyes. Wing…Heero…had…

It clicked into place.

"He went to see General Etille, didn't he?" Shinobu pressed. "Etille got the files from somewhere. The bastard."

"I won't become a part of your game," Darkflight said, and for the first time Shinobu noticed that he was breathing heavily. "I'm not an experiment. _I won't be_."

"I never said-"

"Wing did," Darkflight said, eyes cold once again. "He said that we were both experiments. He said that I was his prototype. He used me. I won't be used!"

Shinobu stared at him, sure that something had snapped and the former assassin was now raving mad. And the last thing he needed was to be killed by an insane assassin - that would help no one's cause right now. He took a deep breath.

"Darkflight. I never said you were an experiment."

"You said-"

"It was merely conjecture. I knew you were from the Breaks. I was lonely here, and I need some company, and I thought you and I could perhaps get along. I meant no harm."

"Bullshit," Darkflight spat. "You were out to get me from the beginning. You and your high and mighty 'I am the heir to the Black Diamond Cartel" fucking manipulations. You want me dead, but I'll kill you first, and there will be no one left to tell the tale. I'll put an end to your cartel!"

That was too much. For a brief flash, Shinobu saw his grandfather in front of him again, speaking to him. Rage welled up in his heart, rage and grief and pity that he never knew he had towards the family he had disowned. He moved, too quickly for Darkflight, who wasn't expecting his catch to struggle. The gun felt to the ground with a clatter, and Shinobu was pinning Darkflight to the floor, one knee in the assassin's throat.

"Never speak of my family like that again," he ground out, resisting the urge to jab his knee into the other boy's throat repeatedly until he'd rid himself of the gaze of those accusing eyes. "Do you understand?!" This time he did jab, but Darkflight simply smirked.

"Empty threats, Seki, empty threats. I'll say whatever I like about your damned cartel, because it doesn't mean anything to me, and I'll see it overthrown, if it's the last thing I do."

"Well, you're too late!" Shinobu shot back before he realized what he was saying. The reality of his words sunk in as he felt Darkflight tense, narrowing his eyes.

"Too late?"

"My grandfather is dead," Shinobu muttered, looking away. "The cartel's as good as gone. Sorry about your stupid revenge…you'll have to find it somewhere else, because getting rid of me isn't going to do any good."

"I thought you were-"

He laughed sarcastically. "The 'heir'? As much as anyone can be, I suppose. Who knows? As far as my family's concerned, I'm dead. Good for them."

"But don't you want the cartel?"

He suddenly felt sick and he jerked himself to his feet, wanting to rid himself of the sight of the boy on the ground, who reminded him too much of his past. "I don't want a damned thing. I want to be happy, that's what I want. I wanted to help Duo, and I went too far. I made a promise I couldn't keep."

"Those are the worst," Darkflight said, and it took Shinobu a moment to realize that the other boy didn't sound angry anymore. He turned around slowly.

"You don't want to kill me anymore?"

Darkflight shrugged. "I was mad. I'm not mad anymore. I'll just go kill Wing instead." He got to his feet, bending down to pick up the gun and disarmed it, slipping back into one pants pocket. "I'll quit bothering you."

The changes of pace were bewildering. One second, Darkflight had been out for blood, the next, his stance and expression were almost peaceful, nonchalant. For another second Shinobu almost gave in to his earlier assessment that this boy was indeed insane. 

And then he saw that Darkflight was struggling not to cry.

"Ano…." he said, feeling very stupid. He hated it when people cried, men or women, and having this stranger in his room trying not to break down into tears was disconcerting, to say the least. "I'll leave, if you want…"

"It's your room," Darkflight said, his voice thick. "Do what you like."

"I'm sorry," he offered lamely. Darkflight shrugged.

"Not your fault. You weren't an experiment."

"Maybe…you should talk to Hee-Wing?"

Darkflight gave a bitter chuckle. "Why should I? He'd just laugh at me. Call me stupid. Say I told you so."

"I don't think so," Shinobu said, and was rewarded by a piercing death glare, one that was made a little less effective by the tears that were leaking out of the corners of one eye. "I don't think he would ever do that to anyone."

"I've been his partner for the last year, Seki," the assassin grunted. "I think I know him a little better than you."

"And I've been friends with Duo Maxwell for the past year, and if there's just one thing that I have noticed about the Gundam pilots is that they have a genuine love for people."

"Bullshit," Darkflight said. He sounded hurt and lost.

"Listen to me," Shinobu said quietly. "I've never met Heero Yuy. I don't even know much about him from Duo. But I know they were best friends, and a boy like Duo Maxwell doesn't give his friendship easily. There must have been something - must be something - very special about Heero. Wing. Whatever you want to call him. People like you and me - we become so mired down in our problems and our little differences, but people like Duo and Heero - they can't. Because they have a bigger vision. They see things in color on the scale of the universe, and sometimes we can't understand that."

"Bullshit," Darkflight said again, turning to face him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

But his face told a different story, and Shinobu shook his head. "You're not stupid, Darkflight. If whatever program you came out of was the one that produced Heero Yuy, I know you can put this together. Wing isn't leaving you. He'll always be there - but he has a more important mission to take care of, as does Duo. That's what he said, and I believe him. You should too."

There was desperation in Darkflight's eyes. "He left me. When I needed him. He left."

So that was it. Shinobu felt a stab of pity for this boy who had come all the way from L1 just to believe himself left behind in the drama that was unfolding. He hesitated, wondering how to put this. He didn't want to risk being shot again, and trying to comfort someone he'd known for less than two minutes was not the world's easiest task.

"He didn't leave," Shinobu said. "You have to believe me. He didn't forget you."

Darkflight shook his head, and a lock of hair fell free from his ear. He pushed it back. He was no longer crying, but his face was pained. "I didn't want this, when I came here. I was on a mission. Just a mission…I don't know the first thing about Gundams."

"I bet you could have piloted one of those Gundams if they'd asked you to," Shinobu said.

A snort. "I don't want to pilot. I like my assassin missions just fine."

"Well," Shinobu countered, "think of it this way. Wing - Heero - is on a mission. And when this mission is complete, he'll be right there, as he always was. No matter how far away he might seem right now."

"You sound so sure," Darkflight said. A shadow crossed his face. "How can you be so sure?"

He sounded like a small child, and Shinobu wondered how old Darkflight really was. The Breaks did that to you, he knew, trapped you in a un-aging cocoon and didn't let you go, a desperate, deadly game in which people were left wandering forever in the ruins of their youth. Darkflight had been one of those people. He had grown up physically, but mentally, he was still a bewildered child that had been roughly pulled out of the twilight zone in which he had existed and forced to adapt or die. Kill or be killed.

It wasn't that Darkflight was insane, after all. He was just a child, hurt and lost, apparently abandoned by the people in this world who he'd tried to love, who he thought had loved him.

"Sometimes," he said gently, "you just have to trust that the people you love will do the right thing."

There was a moment of silence, then Darkflight blinked, swallowed slowly twice, and shuffled towards him a few steps. "I think-" he began.

But what he thought, Shinobu never knew, because at that moment there was a knock at the door, and a voice sounded.

"Darkflight?"

Shinobu looked back, saw the other boy's frozen stance, and knew immediately who it must be. He smiled.

"Go on," he said. "I believe that's your friend."

  


* * *

**Scene VI: Luck and a Vow Half-Forgotten**

  


_"If I could be who you wanted all the time…"  
--Radiohead, Fake Plastic Trees_

  
There had been no warning when ten of her mobile suits had appeared out of nowhere and crippled a Preventers scout party along the banks of the Indus River just outside Kashmir, and he had been expecting something of the sort, but it was still a shock. Because it was Sally Po. Etille hadn't known her that long, but she was a fixture in the history of the Preventers and the new World Nation, an icon on the side of peace.

Her betrayal had been…unsettling, to say the least.

He knew Une had taken it the worst. Sally had been her second-in-command, and to have that suddenly wrenched away from her, to know that the woman she had been confiding in for almost two years had been plotting treachery all this time, was a feeling that Etille could almost not imagine.

Almost, because he'd seen it time and time again during the little skirmishes that had led up to the great One Year War. Petty betrayals of underlings, fed up with their commanders' excesses and desiring to strike out for themselves. OZ and Federation, battling for power. Money, fame, fortune…

But Sally wasn't like that.

He couldn't believe she was like that.

His desk was littered with paperwork and empty, scattered styrofoam cups that had once held instant coffee. He hated instant coffee. He hated paperwork. He hated this office, with its smart, bleak white walls and the huge glass window which looked out onto the base proper and was the perfect target for a sniper who wanted to take him out. If there were any such people with such thoughts. He didn't know if he was important enough for that.

He was a general, but only by association. He'd wanted to keep the Lieutenant Commander rank he'd held on A007, because he'd been a commander in White Fang and in the Federation and that didn't exactly translate to general no matter what lens they used to look through. But Une had insisted. Sally was gone, and she needed someone competent by her side. Someone she trusted.

He found it somewhat amusing that she trusted him because he was a war hero. Or, at least, a symbol of war. 

Sweeping all the cups onto the floor, he turned back to his computer, paging through the reports of that skirmish in Kashmir. No one had been killed - Sally obviously had something in mind, because her troops had appeared, engaged, and then fled. The Preventers troops had pursued but had lost them in heavy weather somewhere north of the Kenya border. He didn't think Sally was based in Kenya.

China would be the logical answer, but he didn't even know if she was that predictable. For all any of them knew, she could be at the bottom of the sea. Or on a colony, hidden. Perhaps even in the Breaks.

No, not in the Breaks, because Seki Hikaru was dead.

Etille pushed back from his desk, heaving a silent sigh, glancing at the clock. It was 1700 hours…past time for Lopez to check in from Bern, but they had a lot of things going on down there.

He was so absorbed in staring at the wall that he didn't hear the door creak open.

"General?"

He blinked, then focused. The young man standing a few paces from his desk bowed politely, the foreign Chinese eyes shuttered as they came back up first to Etille's eyes, then settling somewhere on his forehead. 

"If I am intruding, I will come back later."

Etille laughed. "I was obviously doing nothing."

The young man's glance returned to his eyes, direct, unfazed. "I thought that perhaps you were meditating. Many people do so."

Etille said nothing, looked at him for a minute. "What can I do for you, Wufei?"

Wufei looked at him again, then looked away, scanning the walls as if searching for something that wasn't there. "General, I have something to ask you."

Etille waited patiently, folding his hands in front of him. The boy looked tired and pale, the dark bags under his eyes out of place for someone so young. Chang Wufei was only…17? But at that moment he looked old enough to carry the world on his shoulders. He felt a sudden need to reach out to the boy, to put one hand on his shoulder gently and to say, _it'll be all right. We'll make it through._

He thought of Dorothy, her voice cracking as she stared at him with bitter eyes after Noin's death. _Just leave me alone, you relic. Don't you remember what it's like to hurt? Or are you merely a puppet, a man who fights because he knows nothing else?_

"I've come to ask for something and to give you something in return," Wufei said finally, decisively, as if having settled on a definite course of action. A battle plan. Etille raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"I would like to borrow a mobile suit."

He had thought it would be something like that. "Straightforward, I see," he said, pressing his hands together. "Where are you going?"

"Greece." The slanted eyes narrowed in concentration. "I have some…unfinished business there."

Etille smiled. "I had expected something like this." He turned to the computer, punched in a short note to the combat crew chief. "You may take a mobile suit. Take someone with you as well."

Wufei bowed. "Thank you, General." He turned to go, but Etille raised a hand. He paused.

"Please…stay a moment. You promised me something in return. What is that?"

Wufei stared straight at him with those bold Chinese eyes and he had to steel himself to not look away. "My Gundam. Shenlong."

Etille blinked.

"At the end of the war I sunk it in the waters off the shores of Greece. I have a feeling that we might need it in the near future. I think it would be best if I go retrieve it myself before it falls into the wrong hands."

"You think Gener-" he realized his slip and stopped. "You think that Po knows where it is?"

Wufei winced a little at the name. "Sally doesn't know where it is. But she knows it still exists. She knows me too well."

"Ah." He didn't say anything else, just the simple noise of acknowledgment. 

"I'm not a traitor," Wufei said.

"I'm not saying you are," he replied mildly. "In fact, I admire your courage. There are many who could not stand up to her. You obviously are stronger than most."

The Chinese boy didn't look away. "That courage was paid for with blood, General."

"Most courage is. It doesn't come cheap, Wufei. I know you know that."

Wufei squeezed his hands into fists at his sides, once again staring at the wall as if he could break it with his eyes, looking beyond it to something far away. "General, do you believe….in luck?"

The question caught him by surprise again. He blinked. "Luck?"

"The Chinese believe in luck," Wufei said, his voice soft and questioning. "Lucky talismans, lucky findings, lucky numbers. Lucky stars. Do you believe in luck?"

"I've never really thought about the question before," Etille said, frowning. He would have been amused if not for the fact that Wufei's voice was so deadly serious, his black brows drawn together in a thin, worried line across his forehead.

"My father always used to tell me," Wufei continued, "that luck isn't something that's given. It's something that's earned." His stare bored into Etille's forehead. "In other words, luck really isn't luck at all. It's what you deserve. Isn't that right?"

"I suppose so." He cocked his head to the side. "I'm not quite sure what you're getting at."

"This war," the Shenlong pilot said steadily. "This war has all been a matter of luck, as people see it. I suppose all wars are. However, you Westerners…you view luck as something that comes to you whether you deserve it or not. You believe that if you wait, maybe your chance will appear and all you have to do is reach out and grab it."

"Some people do, yes."

Wufei's mouth twisted. "They are too blinded by their own narrow views to look to the world around them to see that there are some things that are too valuable for their kind of luck. Some things must be earned. Some things, like courage, General, which you said does not come cheap. Some things, like loyalty and courage and love, which cannot be simply plucked from thin air."

Etille stood up. He'd forgotten how tall Wufei was - no longer a child, but a man. They stood eye to eye for a moment. "I must confess," he said at last, "that I don't understand what you're trying to say."

"You, General," Wufei said. "You asked me if I was a traitor. I am no traitor. I believe in the World Nation's cause and their mission. No matter what Sally says, it is what I fought for during the war and I will fight for to the end. But I also believe in my Chinese blood, my heritage, which tells me that in order to prevail in this kind of desperate conflict, there must be sacrifices made."

"We have made sacrifices," Etille said. He felt uncomfortable, as if he were defending himself from an accusation unvoiced. "We're sacrificing troops right now as you speak - young men and women who are out on the field."

"If the leader is not willing to sacrifice himself," Wufei said softly, "the people die in vain."

Etille said nothing. The silence stretched.

Wufei bowed suddenly, shattering the moment. "Thank you, General. I will be leaving tomorrow."

The door swung shut behind him and Etille leaned on the desk, troubled. It wasn't the first time since the war started that he had heard those words, but Dorothy's accusations he had managed to dismiss. She had been tired, strained, broken by Noin's death and Milliard Peacecraft's apparent betrayal. 

_Don't you remember what it's like to hurt? Or are you merely a puppet, a man who fights because he knows nothing else?_

He'd been a soldier all his life, first because it was a way out, then because it was what he had been trained to do, then because he could not imagine anything else. He couldn't imagine himself as a bright-eyed boy at the seat of a giant machine, filled with battle fervor, screaming down from the sky upon his enemies. Wasn't that what Wufei had been? He had seen the boy fight like a demon in that Gundam of his, screaming out words of retribution and demanding justice.

But that had been then.

The Wufei that he had seen now had grown up. His eyes were no longer bright, his sword was seared by fire and dirtied with blood, and his memory filled with the names of the men that he had killed. And yet…

And yet he had come today with the same unwavering ideals. Justice. Truth. Peace. And…luck?

Etille's lip twisted in a small smile and he sat back down at his desk. He'd never thought about it that way before, that luck would be a factor in the equation of the battle. It was interesting how different people brought different perspectives to the same table, laid them all out and put the puzzle pieces together to form a perfect whole.

_Luck isn't something that's given. It's something that's earned._

He wondered if there was still luck in the world for him. He wondered if it was too late.

The computer pinged and he jerked his eyes back to it with a start before realizing that it was Lopez's transmission. The screen saver flicked off as he keyed in the password to access, and the screen shivered and reformed into the face of Brown's aide.

"Sir," Lopez said, saluting. He looked as crisp and prepared as always. Etille returned the salute, waved him at ease.

"What's the report?"

"We have no leads on any of Po's accomplices right now, though there is still a large possibility that she might have left a rather large fish in the organization to pick up any dredges after she left." Lopez sifted through his notes offscreen. "General Brown was actually going to ask you if you knew of a competent field commander who you could send to Asia Minor."

Etille frowned. "Why?"

"We have some intelligence that she might be planning something there shortly. We have some missile silos there that we don't want damaged."

Etille thought for a moment as Lopez watched him, thumbing through his notes absent-mindedly. There wasn't anyone that he thought was particularly competent, given the lack of experience in the Preventers as a whole of active combat experience. He didn't trust any of the greenhorns to command a full fighting force, not in a sensitive spot like that, and there were no seasoned commanders. 

"If you don't-" Lopez began.

Etille shook his head. "I don't think-"

_If the leader is not willing to sacrifice himself, the people die in vain._

He stopped in mid-sentence. 

No, that was absurd…he couldn't go. They needed him here. If he went, the Geneva base would be without a commander.

And yet…

Forty years of military service had given Dermand Etille the ability to make quick, decisive decisions, and he knew that there were times and places in which to make them. He knew that this was one of them. He would have liked to deliberate on it for a few days, perhaps a week, to make his rounds and see if there were any alternatives. But there was no time.

And so he decided.

It was that simple, really.

Just like luck.

"Tell General Brown to send me," he informed the puzzled captain, smiling. "I'm going to Asia Minor."

  


* * *

  
**Scene VII: The Strength of Man**

  


_"And they say that a hero could save us,  
I'm not gonna stand here and wait."  
-- Chad Kroeger and Josie Scott, Hero_

  
Sylvia Noventa had been a nobody, and she had been happy that way.

It was true that she had been the granddaughter of one the Federation leaders, but she did not bask in his light. She was just a girl… until the day Heero Yuy chose to show up, and presented her with the chance to kill her to avenge her grandfather. She hadn't realized it then, but that moment, when he had offered her the gun, had thrust her onto the world stage.

People did not choose to be great, her grandfather had told her. Greatness was forced upon them, and they had to choose whether or not they wanted to live up to it. Sylvia had thought him silly, but after seeing what had happened to Relena, and then having it happen to herself, she was willing to reconsider… to a certain extent.

Some people were forced into it. Others chose it. And some people kind of fell into it, landed up to their neck, and were made to deal with the consequences. Sylvia considered herself a member of the last group, but she felt she had dealt with the curveball life had thrown her rather well.

Still, as she watched her "cousin" scribble a note on handmade paper, she realized that Dorothy was one of the people who defied all categories. Dorothy had been born to it, and she had seized onto it and run, risking everything and losing so much. Now the blonde was poised on the verge of immortality, and Sylvia wondered if Dorothy knew it.

The two girls were waiting for Relena at Dorothy's house, in Dorothy's private study. The room was decorated in many rich shades of red and had drapes and pillows of crushed velvet. The old-fashion walnut furniture should have been at odds with Dorothy's cutting-edge personality, but the blonde seemed as comfortable here as anywhere else. Dorothy had the ability to belong wherever she was.

It was late evening after the trial, but Relena was at the latest in a series of meetings that they had taken to arranging with other members of the World Nation to consolidate power. They met alone and in groups, but all three knew that Relena was their powerhouse. Still, Relena was beginning to wear down, and the Sylvia was beginning to wonder how much more the young queen could push herself before breaking.

The Catalonia heir was a complex person, and Sylvia, ever one of the world's observers, felt herself drawn to the girl's odd magnetism. Dorothy seemed to pull the world along with her, and some people wanted to embrace the flame with which the cold blue-gray eyes burned. Dorothy was one of the most unusual individuals in the European nobility. "Dorothy?" Sylvia said quietly, disrupting the other girl's concentration after a moment.

"Hmm?" Dorothy said, shaking her pen, and cursing when a heavy blob of ink squirted all over the ivory paper. With a sigh she crumpled the note and carelessly tossed it into the nearest trash can. "I'll have to rewrite that. These little formalities are so irritating."

"You could have a servant do it, or just send an email," Sylvia suggested. 

Dorothy laughed lightly. "You've been in this game how long?"

Sylvia sighed, and pushed a lock of stray hair behind her ear. "I hate how people take offense over the slightest things. How the heck can they tell if you wrote it yourself?"

Dorothy looked over at her, an amused smile on her lips. "Sometimes I think they dust notes for fingerprints. But if I slight them in anyway, they won't come… we have to follow the steps when possible, so that when we become unconventional, we're more likely to be forgiven." She leaned back in the chair, stretching, the tips of her fingers brushing the expensive carpet in a stretch a cat would have envied. "There are rules, and we play by them when it's not too inconvenient." 

Sylvia sighed and curled her legs underneath her. "I know… but sometimes I wish I'd never gotten into politics."

"Any politician with any ounce of sanity wishes that. I know I think that at least four times a day, and I think Relena thinks it every other moment. It's when you start to enjoy it that people start questioning your sanity," Dorothy said. With a sigh, she looked on the pile of notes she had completed and apparently made a decision, kicking off her high heels and grabbed her long blonde hair, knotting it into a rude bun at the nape of her neck without the add of any ties or pins. "That's it, I'm done for today. I'm going to raid the kitchen… want to come?"

Sylvia couldn't help giggling as they made their way down the hallway, not bothering to turn any of the lights on to aid them. "Why don't we just ask your chef to fix something?" Sylvia whispered.

"Because Rosalie, my lady's maid, would get it into her head to see that we eat something nourishing for mind and body. She's been after me over taking care of myself, and frankly, I'm not in the mood. I have a craving for chocolate, and I'll be damned if I'm going to eat any spinach to get it," Dorothy hissed back, wearing a ferocious scowl.

Sylvia almost blew their cover by bursting into loud peals of laughter. The idea that her servants intimidated Lady Dorothy Catalonia was just… hysterical. 

The kitchen was dark that late in the evening. No one had actually eaten dinner there, so the place seemed sadly empty of servants repairing the usual damage from dinner. Dorothy, Sylvia, Relena and even Catherine were keeping busy social schedules, playing political games. The trial was eating their lives, and on top of that, there was the usual business of governance. It was like being made of taffy and seeing how far they would stretch before they would break.

Still, the large kitchen was much like the ones she used to raid in her youth. Dorothy seemed to be familiar with it, and automatically went to a large cupboard in the far right-hand corner. "What do you like?" she asked Sylvia. "They keep just about everything under the sun here, not that I get to eat much of it, being away as often as I am." 

"Do you regret that?" Sylvia asked. "I hate being away from home." That was true; she loved nothing more than to be in her English manor, Ivywalls, especially during the winter months. 

"This isn't home. It's merely a place I live sometimes," Dorothy answered easily. "I'm in the mood for chocolate… I might make a brownie sundae with chocolate ice cream…" she pronounced. "What's your poison?"

"Ice cream?" Sylvia said, perking up. "Brownie sundae?" It'd been far too long since she'd had anything of the sort- all of the desserts she tended to be served were obscure delicacies she couldn't even name.

Dorothy's grin turned devilish. "We'll have an ice-cream party. The ice-cream is in the freezer- grab a few flavors, but make sure one of them is chocolate- I'll get everything else."

Sylvia answering smile was equal wicked.

It took fifteen minutes for the girls to assemble every condiment under the sun, but by the time they were done, they were both laughing and stealing tastes of the treats. "This is so childish," Sylvia said as she took the large bowl Dorothy handed her and scooped ice cream into it.

"No… it's being a teenager," Dorothy corrected her. "When's the last time you just acted your age?"

Sylvia had to think on that one. "I can't remember. I'm too busy being 'Lady Sylvia' to do anything fun," she said as she took two brownies to form a base, watching in awe as Dorothy started out with four.

Dorothy raised an eyebrow, silently challenging Sylvia to say anything. "We had to grow up too fast… sometimes I wonder how we're suppose to represent the common man if we don't understand them," Dorothy said as she scooped out a variety of flavors of ice cream, all with chocolate in common. "You have to try this triple chocolate chunk," she said, handing the carton over before attacking the hot fudge.

Sylvia took it and added a scoop to the mess in her dish. Wondering how she'd eat even half of this. "I'm not going to be able to fit in any of my clothes for a week," she laughed, adding macadamia nuts and sprinkles. Dorothy started throwing chocolate chips on her confection, and Sylvia realized she couldn't even see the brownie base anymore. "Are you really going to eat all that?"

"Every bite!" Dorothy vowed. She raised a spoon and waved it playfully. "Tonight we're going to indulge… tomorrow the fight on the floor begins again, and we'll need the energy."

Sylvia sighed softly, regretting the reminder. After adding three cherries, she picked up a spoon and silently vowed to eat everything as well. At least if she had a stomachache the next day, she'd have something to think on besides the pointless yammering the Fatima bint Narish would be orchestrating. "How much longer do you think this can be dragged on?" Sylvia asked softly, shivering slightly as the cold dessert hit her throat. It was almost too sweet, but she shut her eyes, indulging in the unaccustomed sensation.

"Months. And then Quatre will have to mount his defense, and if he doesn't counter everything she's thrown at him…." Dorothy let the thought trail off, knowing Sylvia understood the ramifications.

Sylvia grabbed one of the cherries by the stems with her finger, raised it to her mouth, and used her teeth to bite it off savagely. The fruit tasted pleasant after all the chocolate Dorothy had brought out, and she found herself grabbing the bottle of cherries again, and adding another five to the top of her sundae. "Yaminah Winner and Carrington have done a brilliant job on cross-examinations, but he needs to be able to call his own witnesses," she said. "Do you know if he'll take the stand?"

Dorothy shrugged. "It's chancy. It's dangerous for them to, but it may be even more dangerous for them not to let him speak on his own behalf. Quatre's one of the most charming and sincere people you'll ever meet; he means everything he says, and he's sweet. People like him instinctively. Still, it'd give the prosecution a chance to cross-examine… I really don't know if it'd be the right move or not."

Sylvia wondered if it was her place to ask the next question, but knew it had to be done. "Will he break on stand?"

Dorothy started to laugh, and it rolled out of her in waves. "Quatre? Break? That's not something that would break him… I don't know if he can break… if any of the pilots can break. They may look like your average teenage heartthrobs, but underneath, they've got souls of titanium. They may get a little bit beat up, but they'll always survive whatever you throw at them." 

The amusement in the other girl's blue-gray eyes reassured Sylvia. She hadn't known Quatre; Heero was the only pilot she'd ever encountered before. Still… "I've heard that Heero Yuy isn't in that great a shape."

Dorothy's spoon paused. "That may be true… but my sources say he's bouncing back at an astonishing rate. He's needed again. He's not some weapon the World Nation can just shelve whenever there's not a crisis, and they need to learn that. He's one of the best resources we have- they all are. We're fools if we don't make use of them."

"Make use of?" Sylvia echoed, feeling uncomfortable. She didn't like having to think of people like machines, but it was clear that Dorothy could, and did, have that capability. 

Dorothy seemed to follow the cause for her unease. "Don't get me wrong. I wish to heaven we didn't have to send them out; but it's what they've been trained for. Casting them aside like relics we no longer need is more disrespectful than anything else that can be done. They are my friends, Sylvia, or as close to friends as I will ever have. I'm not a comforting person, and had the Scientists decided that female candidates would have done, I might have very well ended up in their ranks." There was no boastfulness in her voice, only a statement of fact.

Sylvia nodded slowly, setting her spoon down. "So… you're saying that we should keep assassins?"

Dorothy shook her head. "Most people don't understand what a Gundam pilot is… I guess you don't, either. A pilot is a soldier… but more. He's trained to be ready for any situation that can happen during a war, and react to it. He's trained to prevent conflict, and how to incite it. He's a balance, Sylvia… each of them are geniuses, and for us to ignore the contributions they could make to our world, now… well, it's foolish. If someone knows how to fight, that must translate into knowing how to keep peace, at least when you consider how advanced they are. They're scholars, tacticians, assassins, warriors, strategists, soldiers, and friends."

Sulvia blinked. She'd been listening to Quatre's trial for weeks now, but not really comprehending it. She'd understood that the pilots hadn't been villains, but until now, had only been listening to Quatre's trial with a bit of interest and fascinated horror as she realized exactly what he'd done during the war… and what his capabilities were. Now Dorothy was saying she didn't understand a thing… and she was right.

Very few people would ever have anyone like Dorothy explain the pilots to them.

"Dorothy…" Sylvia said after a moment.

"Hmm?" Dorothy was busy sopping up fudge with her brownie.

"There's something we need to do… for Quatre's trial. We need to make people understand what a pilot is. We need to take the bogeyman mystique off of them."

Dorothy smiled slightly. "We need people to get out of the 'It's a Gundam!' mindset, I agree. But that's just the beginning. We need Relena to start acting like the Queen of the World, again, rather than a second-rate politician."

Sylvia almost gasped at the insult to the Queen of Cinq. Then she looked at Dorothy's eyes and realized she was deadly serious. "What do you mean?"

"Relena's been waiting for someone to save her. She's not playing the game on her own merits- she's letting you and me support her… and that's okay, but she needs to stand on her own. Relena needs to remember what the real world is- she needs to stop obsessing over how many times she's been betrayed by those she loves, and just start walking forward." 

Sylvia shuddered a bit at how cruel Dorothy was being. "But…"

"You and I need to play a different game, but Relena had power that we can only dream of. She was once the Queen of the World, and people will always subconsciously bow to her. She needs to manipulate them… if Fatima is playing, then Relena needs to step up to her level. Relena still hasn't called in many favors she's owed, and they're favors I can't touch, and people who don't know you."

Sylvia stared at the melting sundae before picking up her spoon again. "It does seem a bit cruel, when you put it like that."

"Politics are cruel. Relena needs to understand the game she's playing… she's survived this long because people have either protected her, natural talent, or sheer dumb luck. Now it's time for her to use some skill and play with the adults."

Sylvia's eyes hardened as she ate her last cherry. "Is she strong enough? Will she break?"

She had hoped Dorothy would rush in with immediate reassurances, but the other woman considered the question first. "Relena had been tempered by war and peace, and by losing those she loves. My instincts say that yes, she is strong enough, but I can't promise anything. Relena… there's something weak in her right now. There's a flaw in her casting, and I wonder if she's going to shatter under this stress. She's one of the people I cherish most in this world, but…" Dorothy sighed as she idly stabbed at her dessert, "even the strongest tree can be struck by lightning."

  


* * *

  
**Scene VIII: Joy and Sorrow, Peace and War**

  


_"And we'll bask in the shadow of yesterday's triumph…  
--Pink Floyd, Shine on You Like a Crazy Diamond_

  
Duo wasn't surprised when Heero came for him.

He had been expecting something like it, actually.

Duo's specialty had always been listening, despite what people thought about him and his big mouth. He heard the unease within the Preventers, and it was less than a day after Sally's departure when he went to Etille's door and pounded on it, demanding to know if the rumors were true… if Sally really had been a traitor. Etille half had been expecting him. He had quietly granted him second-level security clearance, and confirmed.

He didn't know this Etille, who had appeared from nowhere, but he instinctively liked him. He was a soldier, and he fought for the people. And he had thought Sally had been the same, but after discovering that she was a traitor… well, that had rocked his foundations.

Who could he trust?

Ilene… Sally…. Who would be the next to betray him?

Would he betray those he loved?

Still, it wasn't Duo's nature to wallow for too long. He left the wallowing to the others; he was the happy-go-lucky one. Hilde was somewhat disturbed by his amazingly manic mood and his sudden surge of energy after getting him to climb out of Deathscythe. He had been all over the base, poking his nose into business that frankly wasn't his, and trying his best to prove that life was "kitto ok."

Still, Heero coming for him that evening was something that he'd been expecting, and half-hoping for, even though he knew that it would truly signal his return to the life of a soldier. He wasn't looking forward to what would come with it, but anything would be better than being powerless. 

The scab on his thumb had just healed enough not to hurt, but Heero had been illusive, tinkering with his Gundam. They'd only seen each other briefly since Quatre's trial had begun… but now things had come full-circle.

When Heero showed up at his door, lurking in the shadows, he knew that the new mission had been granted. The doctors were dead; someone else had finally realized the valuable tool the pilots were. They had been discarded once, when the war had ended, but now that the war had begun again, they were remembered.

Duo wasn't bitter; he understood how the game worked. Still, he knew he had something to be done before Heero and he could take off. There was closure to be sought… 

"Where are they sending us?" he demanded of Heero as the pilot of Zero leaned in the frame of his door.

"After Sally. She's got a damn good hacker covering her steps… but I'm still better," Heero's blue eyes displayed no pride, merely fact. "She was in China a day ago… she's probably moved since then. She's going to be going after Shenlong- thing is, we know where it is, and she doesn't. We'll get there first, lay an ambush…"

"You're rusty. It's been a while since you've played with the big boys," Duo returned. He thought for a second before correcting his statement, "Since we've played with the big boys…"

Heero nodded. "You're leaving Hilde behind," he said, stating a fact instead of asking a question.

Duo nodded, glancing back into the room. "She's damn good… better than most. Maybe even as good as I am with some things… but combat? No… that's her weak part. She's an intelligence officer, not a fighter. She'll get hurt."

The other pilot seemed to understand Duo's dilemma; he had dealt with stubborn women more than once. "She'll be angry when you leave without saying goodbye."

"I can't say goodbye- you know what she'd do… I'll leave a letter."

"Which will just make her even angrier."

"I'm caught between a rock and a hard place. I leave a letter, she throws a fit; I leave without saying goodbye, she kills me when she sees me again..."

"And saying goodbye in person is impossible," Heero finished. "How about giving a message to someone you both trust?"

"Like who?"

Heero seemed thoughtful. "Quatre. Wufei is leaving soon, and Helena isn't a pilot. She wouldn't understand, and Shinobu just isn't empathetic enough…"

"She barely knows Quatre."

"But he's a pilot." There eyes met each other, and the meaning was so multi-layered that it transcended spoken language. 

"He has enough on his plate," Duo argued.

Heero smiled slightly. "I think this would be something he'd gladly take on. Just knowing he was helping a friend…"

Duo's lips quirked slightly in response to Heero's smile, which seemed even more rare than they had been during the war. "Quatre would do anything for a friend. I… I think I want to see them all, just before we leave. Maybe we should call a convention or something, and make plans."

Heero's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but Duo had long since learned to be aware of every nuance of the other man's body language. "What do you mean?"

"We are the ones who shape the world, Heero. It's been proven by this latest crisis- whatever path we chose is what the world will follow. We need to communicate… and we need to know what the others are thinking." His eyes hardened as he thought of the pilot of 03. "We need to clear up the conflict between us- we need to be united again, because if we're battling each other, they'll destroy us. They want us to fall, and you know one of the basic precepts of war: divide and conquer."

"United we stand, divided we fall," Heero answered, and he stepped back. "Give me an hour, and we'll all meet an Quatre's rooms. The others will be able to slip away, I'm sure. Even with all the security on them, no one has yet stopped a pilot from being where they want to."

The lavender in Duo's eyes was predominant as his face hardened. "Put it under security clearance zero-million."

Heero went rigid. He hadn't heard that clearance since the end of the war… "Understood. An hour, Quatre's room. Do what you need to… we leave directly from there."

When Duo arrived at the door to Quatre's room, he took a deep breath, wondering. His life had come full circle, and it was odd to think that these people, who would soon join him, were the incarnations of that truth. While he had taken Heero as his blood brother, it could have just as easily been any of them.

And soon, he'd be confronting Ilene's killer, who had killed her for him. Duo hadn't wanted to think about that aspect, but he knew he needed to face Trowa again before he left. He needed to trust him again, because Trowa would most likely be at his back.

He needed to see if Trowa had been right to kill her.

The room he entered was dim, the lighting at only forty percent intensity, and Duo smiled in spite of himself. Back to the days of lurking in the shadows…. It seemed appropriate. There was only one other person present, sitting in a large armchair that looked black in the poor light, but could have easily been dark green or blue instead. The faint glow from the lamps reflected off blond hair, and Duo smiled at the man who was idly flipping through a pile of papers. "Yo, Quatre! Long time, no see!" he said cheerfully.

Quatre looked up at him, and Duo was taken aback at how much older the former Sandrock pilot looked. He had seen him on the news, of course, but the vid feeds hadn't prepared him for the intensity of the gaze that was directed at him, or how the smooth features had refined into those of a man, losing the childishness that had made him seem so innocent. Duo still thought him boyish, but there was a wisdom and a bit of world weariness in Quatre's eyes that didn't seem to belong there.

"It has been a while, Duo… too long," Quatre said softly, before dropping his eyes back to his papers. "There's so much to be done, and just not enough time."

"You'll need glasses if you read in lights like this!" Duo chided playfully, feeling awkward and off-balance. Something about Quatre's manner was cold and unwelcoming, and Duo had the feeling it wasn't directed at him; at least, no him, personally. He was the target of something larger than he knew.

"I wear them, occasionally." Quatre sighed as he straightened the papers on his lap and set them on the floor to the right of his chair. "I'd get a servant or one of my sisters to bring you something, but I was informed this is code zero-million." His eyes studied Duo again, and Duo reflected on how the normally sapphire blue color could look nearly black when the lights were bad. 

"No one but pilots, what we say, stays here," Duo said easily, rocking back on his heels and crossing his arms over his chest. "Still… where are the others? Am I that early?"

"You're on time. Trowa was with his sister, so he might be a little late. Wufei… well, I don't know… Heero was doing something." Quatre's voice lost all expression, and Duo picked up on it instantly.

"Heero's always up to something."

"He is," Quatre said even more quietly, and his gaze shifted away, over to the door. "Wufei's here."

Duo didn't even bother to wonder how Quatre knew; Quatre had always had an instinct for where his friends were. The door swung open after a tap, and Wufei entered.

"Hey, Wufei!" Duo said cheerfully, bouncing over to give him a clout on the shoulder. "How are you doing?"

"I am surviving, which is the best that can be hoped for."

Duo pulled back, his smile fading slightly. "Isn't it?" he asked wistfully. 

Wufei, too, had changed. His hair had grown much longer and he was taller. There was a serenity to him that the solitary dragon had always lacked before, and even though he was due to enter the war, there was a confidence that Duo envied. 

Wufei had found his peace, though, and Duo wanted to ask him how.

Quatre watched them from his chair without rising, like a prince holding court. His eyes regained their focus on them and he sighed under his breath, unheard. 

A minute later the door opened again, and the final two pilots entered. Duo's eyes flicked to Heero and then to the silent boy beside him. He hadn't seen Trowa since the day of the attack, and he wasn't surprised to find that his feelings still hadn't changed. He forced himself to meet Trowa's eyes, to sign a silent hello. Trowa returned his gaze with a nod, the green eyes shifting to the Arabian boy in the armchair. Duo followed his gaze, then blinked with surprise.

Quatre's tired expression had changed to one of…not hostility, but there was definitely dislike in those eyes. Duo frowned. There was something going on here with Quatre and…Heero?

Before Duo could open his mouth to ask what was wrong, Quatre stood gracefully, folding his hands in front of him. 

"Since we're all here, we might as well get started," he said softly, letting his gaze travel around the room, though he did not, Duo noticed, look at Heero.

He saw Wufei look around, shrug, and sit down on the floor. Trowa and Heero followed suit. There was one empty armchair to Quatre's left, and Duo wasn't about to sit on the floor when there was a perfectly good chair available. He plunked down in it, letting his head fall against the soft chair back. 

Silence.

Quatre looked hostile. Trowa and Heero looked carefully blank, and Wufei's expression was unreadable. Duo coughed.

"So…uh. What's up?"

Wufei laughed.

It was such an unexpected sound that everyone turned to look at him, the Chinese boy who they had never known to laugh at anything, much less in the middle of inexplicable tension. Duo couldn't help but grin.

"It's certainly been a while," Wufei said calmly. A trace of a smile still lingered around the corners of his mouth. "I suppose we should all talk about what we've been up to before we talk about where we're going?"

Duo shrugged. "Easy here. I was in school." He saw Quatre raise an eyebrow. "I was! I figured I was a teenager, I should act like one. I went back to the States…got into Cliffside…." He trailed off, trying not to look at Trowa.

The other boy decided to take up the slack. "I went back to the circus." He looked around the room, and Duo could feel those intense eyes on him, but he didn't meet Trowa's gaze. "I left when the Gundam news broke and went into hiding."

"It seems such a long time ago, doesn't it?" Quatre said softly. "Everyone knows what I've been doing - no surprise. Wufei?"

The Chinese pilot shrugged. "I was in China. Basically doing nothing…though I suppose I could say that my life changed when Heero tried to kill me."

Duo snorted. "I'll never understand that."

Heero smirked. "Wufei had a price on his head from one of the cartels. Why do you think I came back to Earth?"

Quatre started to say something but stopped. Duo looked at him. Quatre scowled.

"Dude-" he began, but Wufei cut him off with a sharp gesture.

"We all have our histories. It's been two years. I'd like us to put aside whatever problems we have with the past or with each other…because we can't win a war like this."

"So it is a war, then," Trowa murmured, looking down. "I was afraid of that."

Duo narrowed his eyes. "What else would it be? People don't go around murdering innocent civilians in peacetime, do they?"

"I could say I was sorry," Trowa replied. "But that wouldn't change anything, would it?"

"No," Duo said bitterly. "It wouldn't. God dammit, it wouldn't."

"You know," Trowa said, "I still don't understand why I did it." He sounded regretful but wondering at the same time. Duo wanted to punch him. "I don't…it was like I was staring down two roads. I didn't know where either of them led, but I had to make a choice." His head came up, fixing Duo's gaze. "She was beautiful. I am sorry. Even though it doesn't change anything, I'm sorry."

"Fuck you," Duo said sharply, feeling the pricks of grief and guilt rising up from a deep, dark place inside his soul. He grasped at the arms of the chair until his fingers hurt, digging his nails into the fabric. "You had no right. You-"

"Duo!" Quatre said sharply. "Leave him alone." Duo swung around, fist raised, but before he could act or speak, a voice rang out from the other side of the room.

"You're one to talk."

That cold voice sent a shiver of familiarity up his spine, and Duo swung his gaze back to Heero. The scarred face was impassive, set in stone, the blue eyes devoid of all the emotion he'd seen in his best friend in the past few days. He felt a tightening in his gut. This was Heero Yuy. Not the other, friendlier, haunted stranger he had known since the attack, but a side of Heero that Duo had always known existed, and would always exist, but seemed to have been intensified by two years of living in the slums of L1. 

"Leave me alone, Heero," Quatre said, turning away from him. "Let's all leave each other alone. There are some things that shouldn't be spoken of here."

"Oh?" Heero raised an eyebrow. "I thought we were all friends. Aren't friends supposed to share these things?"

"_Were_ friends," Quatre snapped. "I'm not sure if we are anymore."

There was another uncomfortable silence. Duo swallowed and fiddled with one of the buttons on his shirt, looking sideways at Wufei, who had his eyes closed. Meditating? He had always meditated at the oddest times.

"Wufei?" Trowa said, softly.

Wufei opened his eyes. In the dimness they were dark pools of nothing which caught the light and held it, sparkling, like lakes in the moonlight, resting on Duo for a moment in a liquid gaze, then shifting across the room. "Heero," Wufei said quietly.

Just one word. Heero tensed, the muscles in his shoulders and arms stiffening and then relaxing. The scarred face looked away. Duo looked from one to the other, hearing unspoken words echoing in the air around him, but not being able to make them out. He waited for a few seconds, then shrugged.

"Well, shit, if it's going to be like this…I don't want it to be like this. We were friends, right? Like Quatre said. There's no reason we shouldn't be friends again." He got up from his chair, sticking his hand out awkwardly. "Trowa…for what it's worth. I don't want this to get in the way, all right?"

For a moment he thought that Trowa would remain seated, ignoring him, but after a long pause, the former Heavyarms pilot rose to his feet to grasp Duo's hand. "I agree," he said simply, shaking it gently and releasing his grip. "For the sake of the team," he intoned, and Duo saw him look towards Quatre.

Quatre said nothing.

Wufei crossed his arms over his chest and stood up as Duo retreated back to the safety of his chair and out of the crossfire of Quatre's icy stare. "Quatre," he said. "I know you're under a lot of strain right now, and perhaps now isn't the best time. However, I also know that you know how much is at stake right now and that we cannot afford to argue. If you can't put your quarrel aside…at least don't bring it up. Got it?"

"Who died and made you leader?" Quatre said harshly.

Wufei's mouth twisted. "More people than I can count. And I don't want to have any more people dying on my behalf. This is why I'm here." He looked around the room. "This is why we've all been called here. Please, let's just do what we need to get done."

"The show must go on," Trowa murmured from the side of the room. Quatre's gaze faltered for a moment, and Duo could see him gathering himself as he shifted in his chair.

"Fine," the Arabian said, and sighed. "Let's get on with it." He did not look at Heero, but the Wing Zero pilot cast an unreadable look in his direction, then favored Wufei with a tight smile.

"Sorry," Heero said. He actually sounded apologetic. "It won't happen again."

Duo snorted. Heero gave him a small smirk.

"With that settled and out of the way," Wufei continued, "I assume that we all know why we're on this base and what exactly is going on in the world."

"Gundams," Duo said. "We won war. World hates us. Happy times for all."

Wufei sighed. "Thank you, Duo. I was actually going to say that the Preventers need our help more than ever, which sounds contradictory at first. But…they have given all their resources to protect us, and I feel that we should give them something back in return. Which is why I am leaving tomorrow to retrieve Shenlong."

Trowa looked up. "You still have it?"

"Nataku is alive. Functional, hopefully. We need to move quickly before Sally gets ahead of us, because if we don't, not only will the Preventers and the World Nation be wiped out, we will as well."

"Sally's not like that," Duo said. "She wouldn't." He cast a helpless look at Wufei. "Would she?"

"I don't know. And I don't want to wait to find out." Wufei's voice was tight, and Duo felt a pang of sympathy for him. He knew that Sally and Wufei had been close. How close, he didn't know, but their friendship had never seemed to him the sort of friendship which would develop into romance. It was a deeper, more sacred sort of bond, a joining of kindred spirits. And now she was gone.

Quatre looked surprised. "Tomorrow, you said?"

"Tomorrow. I would have given you more notice, but…Sally contacted me last night via special codes that we didn't know were built into the Preventers comm system. Tried to convince me to join her." Wufei sighed, and Duo was struck by how calm but weary he seemed, as if all the fight had been taken out of him in the past few days. "I almost gave in. I knew she wasn't right…but she knew all the right buttons to push. And if she knows me that well, sooner or later she'll figure out where Shenlong is. I can't let that happen."

Quatre nodded, looking faintly unsettled. "I had no idea. I'm sorry."

Wufei shook his head, smiling. "The past is the past. It's time to move on." Duo stared at him, and he frowned. "What?"

"Nothing…you're just…different. From how I remembered you."

"I hope so," Wufei said. "If just to show that even someone like me can change and become a better person."

"Who said anything about better?" Duo returned, and Wufei laughed, then quickly turned serious.

"Trowa, how is your sister?"

"She's fine. She's staying with Dorothy and Relena in town right now just until things calm down. I'm sure she's plotting something."

"Knowing her, probably," Quatre said. "You know that Dorothy and Relena are up to something. They've been sitting in my trial but I haven't heard them say anything. I wonder if they're waiting to make a big entrance."

"They'd better make it soon," Trowa said. "It's getting rather touchy in there."

"Yes," Quatre said tightly. "I know."

The room quieted for a moment, but the tense silence of before had faded into a more weary one that Duo was familiar with - the tired silence of the period just after a mission, when the shock and lack of sleep finally hit and the adrenalin was all ebbed away. That was the period in which the faces of those he had killed would pass before his eyes and he would count them out, one by one, even the ones he didn't know who had just been faceless, voiceless creations inside a mobile suit. Because he couldn't forget that they had been people too.

"Heero?" Wufei questioned. "I believe you have something to say."

Duo jerked himself out of his semi-daze and focused his attention on the Japanese boy, who was leaning against the wall and apparently looking for the right words. He knew it was hard. He had thought that it would be a cinch to fall back into the old pattern, but it had been two years and he was used to being a civilian whose biggest worry was what he made on the government test a week ago. 

Saying the words would mean that he was leaving that life behind, perhaps for good.

"Duo and I are going out on assignment for the Preventers," Heero announced finally.

As he expected, no one in the room was surprised. Trowa nodded slightly from where he was leaning against the wall, while Wufei relaxed slightly, hoping that his comrades had finally come to their senses. He wasn't easy with how they seemed to be verging on tearing each other's throats out… the war was outside, and if they couldn't unite, they would fall to the World Nation's manipulations.

"What's the assignment?" Quatre asked, directing the question at Duo, without bothering to cast a look at Heero, even though the Wing pilot was the one who had spoken.

"Heero knows more of the details than I do," Duo said, neatly deflecting the question back to his partner.

Heero didn't give a sign of his obvious unease. "We're to find Po, and take her out if we can't bring her in," Heero said, summing it up.

The others, even Quatre, sighed slightly in sympathy, understanding. It was one of the things they had hated most about being pilots. The word no one quite dared say aloud, but all of them understood to be a tacit part of their training. Duo and Heero had undertaken many of the jobs that came their way, and with the possible exception of Trowa, were the best at it.

Assassination.

"Sally's violated all the oaths she swore to uphold," Wufei said quietly, trying to still the disquiet he knew they all were feeling. "She may have once been our ally, but by turning against her honor, all promises to her are void. She's forfeited all right to our friendship."

Duo nodded slowly, and Heero seemed to relax slightly. "We're going to try to bring her in, first, and recover Heavyarms. That's mission priority. The… elimination is only if she doesn't come willingly."

None of the others needed to say what they thought the changes of her coming willingly were. Sally had never given up, especially not where China was concerned. Duo and Heero exchanged grim glances, knowing that chances were that they'd have to kill Sally.

"Are you leaving soon?" Quatre asked.

"As soon as we're done here," Duo replied. "Quatre? Do you think… you could possibly bring a message to Hilde from me?"

"You didn't tell her goodbye, did you? Have you ever heard the saying 'don't shoot the messenger?' I have the feeling that Hilde will forget it…" Quatre said. "You should tell her yourself."

Duo clenched his fist, wondering if he'd have to go back. "I-"

"I'll do it," a quiet voice said. "I didn't say goodbye once, and it hurt the person I love most in the world. The least I can do is help you say goodbye… consider it part of my penance," Trowa offered.

Duo looked over at the pilot of Heavyarms, realizing how much it had cost him to make that offer. Trowa was not an expressive person, and he tended to shut down in emotionally charged situation. He smiled over at the green-eyed pilot. "Thanks, Trowa. I'd appreciate it… but there's no need for penance. You did what you had to do," Duo admitted, flashing back to the maddened look in Ilene's eyes and the shriek of sirens on the base. "You acted as a pilot should."

The others were silent as Duo looked around the room. The tension between Heero and Quatre was thick enough to cut with a knife, and Wufei seemed to be mourning for the loss of a friend who wasn't yet dead. The meeting had healed the breech between Trowa and Duo, but Duo wondered if seeing his old friends together had been worth it. They had grown in the time since he'd known them, and he half-wished he could just remember them as they had been- perfect Heero, silent Trowa, cheerful Quatre and driven Wufei…

He preferred those memories to the grim reality before him

_Go to side Fairy Lights_

  


* * *

  
Act X Part I | Act X Part III | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	38. The Plotting Strings of a Marionette

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2002 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT X, PART III

** Anata ga kizukanakute mo  
Dakishimete kurenakute mo  
Hohoemu anata o ima  
Mitsumete itai**

Zutto himitsu no mama de  
Daremo shiranai keredo  
Konna ni anata o ai sete  
Sore ga shiawase  
** Even if you don't notice me  
Even if you don't embrace me  
Now I want to gaze towards  
Your smiling face**

As long as it's a secret  
That no one knows  
Loving you like this  
That is my happiness  


**--Gundam Wing, _Zutto Himitsu_  
[_Always a Secret_, Relena Peacecraft image song]**  


  
  
**Scene IX: Lessons in the Art of Duty**

  


_"And I want to believe you,  
When you tell me that it'll be okay...  
Maybe it's not too late."  
--Avril Lavigne, Tomorrow_

  
The other pilots were still all gathered in Quatre's room, discussing strategy, when Trowa left. He'd begged off because he had promised Catherine he'd be home in time to eat supper with her, but in truth, he'd just wanted to get out of there. He didn't like the stifling familiarity of that last conversation, didn't like the wash of tingling nostalgia he'd gotten when Heero had announced he and Duo were leaving.

He was supposed to have left all that behind him when the war had ended. He'd promised Catherine to leave it all behind, and the fact that he was even thinking about it made him guilty, because he was disappointing her. He'd broken her heart once when he'd left when the news broke, and he'd be damned if he would break her heart again.

He hadn't expected her to be sitting by his bedside in the hospital when he'd woken up from whatever they'd given him before the operation. He vaguely remembered stumbling dazedly out of the building after he'd shot Ilene, still seeing the crazed look of despair in her young face as she crashed to the ground, his bullet in her back. He'd taken about two steps when the pain hit him, a terrible throbbing in his temples so strong that the world swam around him and he had to fight to keep his balance.

That little boy in the resistance hideout in Milan must have hit him harder than he had thought.

An arm came around him and it was a moment before he realized it was Duo. Duo, tears still streaming down his cheeks, shoulders hitching with silent sobs, helping him stand. 

_She wasn't a fanatic. She was my friend._

He remembered very little after that - bits and pieces of conversation, the bouncing of truck tires across pavement, gently hands behind medical masks. But Duo had always been there. The last thing he had heard before the anesthesia hit him was Duo's voice, speaking, low and clear even though his pain and drug-clouded mind couldn't make out the words.

And when he'd woken up, Catherine was there.

"If you didn't have a concussion," she'd said, "I'd punch you."

He had stared at her familiar face for a moment, hardly believing that it wasn't a dream, that she really was there, standing in front of him, and then before he could say anything, she had begun to cry.

"Cat?" he wondered.

"You were gone…when I woke up, you were just gone…you never said goodbye…"

"I'm sorry, Cat, I'm sorry," he said, wanting to hold her and to make it all better, because whatever he had said or done in the past, he was there now. With her. Something twisted inside him as he watched her crying silently, face buried in her hands.

They were an odd thing, tears. He never thought he was capable of them until that day when he'd blown Deathscythe to bits in front of an entire ship and an entire colony just to prove a lie. When he'd gritted his teeth and forced himself to pull the trigger, knowing he was destroying something priceless. That was the first time he'd killed something Duo had loved.

He wondered what it was about him that brought sorrow to everyone he held dear.

Catherine didn't punch him after all. She didn't stay long, but before she left, she hugged him as tightly as she could and told him she forgave him. That she understood why he had left, and in the end, that she was still very proud of him. He didn't tell her about the bombing in Milan, or the girl he had just killed. He didn't tell her that one day not too long ago, she'd saved his life.

He didn't tell her that he loved her.

After the end of the war, he'd said those words very freely because she'd told him it was the right way to live, the good and healthy way to break out of the world he'd been living in and to start on a new and better path. Catherine loved passionately and unconditionally, and he envied her for that. He had wanted to be like her - to have her big heart and her fierce, unwavering loyalty to anything she believed in. He had tried.

It wasn't till the night he had left the circus did he realize that some things could never change, as much as he wanted them to. That there were some scars that would remain forever and that not even the unconditional love of a sister could wash away.

_Trowa didn't fight because he enjoyed fighting or killing. He fought because it was the right thing to do!_

Had he? He wasn't sure anymore why he had fought. The look in Ilene's eyes as she fell, gazing up at him, perfectly sane and insane all at once, haunted him. Duo's tears, trickling down his cheeks, mourning the loss of one friend as he helped the very man who had murdered her.

Murdered.

He'd never thought of himself as a murderer before.

It was later than he realized, and he got to the bus stop right as the last bus pulled up. Chose a seat near the back, stared out the window as the bus pulled out of the wide gates of the base and sped off into the city of Geneva. All the shop windows were still lit brightly, and throngs of people lined the streets, all smartly dressed. The terrorist attack on the base hadn't seemed to hurt the tourist industry here. Then again, many of these were probably politicians and world leaders here for Quatre's trial.

He had not had time to ask Quatre what was bothering him about Heero. Quatre was tired. They were all tired. He supposed it was inevitable, that they had all been destined to burn out some time, but this was a rather inconvenient time for it to happen.

The bus pulled up at his stop and he got off. The shop district had ended some streets back and this was clearly a high-class residential neighborhood, with its huge, old trees lining the wide white sidewalks and wrought iron fences speaking of grandeur and a time long gone by for the rest of the world. Old Geneva's residents were wealthy and established and proud of how far back they could trace their family bloodlines. It amused him sometimes how obsessed some people were with tracing bloodlines. As if the only way they could define themselves was through a family name, because names were such a futile waste in the end.

The Catalonia townhouse was brightly lit by the garden lights and he entered through the front gate with the key Catherine had given him. He wondered if she had waited for him or if she had given up and gone to bed. He reached the front door, knocked, and waited, glancing up at the night sky. The stars were strangely dim - muted, perhaps, in the false, cheerful glow of the garden lamps.

The door opened and he had expected to see the smiling face of the maid, Rosalie, but instead, it was Dorothy who stood there in a sweatshirt and loose pants, looking slightly disgruntled.

"There you are. Catherine was wondering. We were about to go send a search party."

"Where's your maid?" he wondered, nodding in greeting to her as he entered and took off his shoes at the door. He didn't think the custom applied here, but he'd been raised among the Yakuza on L3 and old habits died hard.

"I sent her home early…tomorrow's her off day and she deserved a break. Where were you?"

"Heero called a meeting," he replied calmly. "Is Catherine still awake?"

Dorothy gestured behind her. "In the kitchen, talking with Sylvia. You know where the kitchen is?"

"I think so," he said carefully.

She laughed. "What am I saying? You probably have the whole house memorized already from only being here once." He blinked at her and she smiled. "I'll be upstairs if any of you need me. Trying to finish some more of those damned notes."

He nodded at her and started off in the direction of the kitchen. The town house wasn't large by aristocratic means, but it was good-sized enough that it was confusing to one who didn't know where he was going. The kitchen was set behind the dining room proper and he could hear female voices coming from within. The door had been left propped open, but he stopped, knocked.

The voices stopped. "Come in," someone said.

He entered cautiously and saw the two women seated at a small wooden table in front of what looked like a large dishwasher and several sinks. Catherine looked relieved. "I thought something had happened to you."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Our meeting ran over."

"Meeting?"

"Heero called a meeting."

Sylvia raised an eyebrow briefly but said nothing. He nodded at her and she nodded back, smiling. He had only seen her once or twice from a distance at the trial, but he had heard good things about her from Quatre. "It's nice to meet you," he said.

"Likewise," she returned. Her voice was light and high-pitched, tinkling. She rose gracefully from the table as she spoke and gestured to her chair. "I'll leave you two to your own devices. I should go help Dorothy."

"Good night, Sylvia," he said politely to her, and she smiled again at him and Catherine before slipping quietly out the door. Catherine pointed to the chair.

"Sit."

He sat and she got up. He stared after her. "Cat?"

"I made us some apple pie."

"Thank you," he said, slightly amused. "But I haven't had dinner yet."

"I knew you'd say that! I didn't know when you'd get back so I already ate dinner…but I made yours and left it in the fridge." Opening the refrigerator door and triumphantly taking out a covered plate, she set it down in front of him.

"Thank you."

"You're quite welcome. How was your day? The meeting?"

He shrugged, biting into his ham and turkey sandwich. He hadn't realized how hungry he was. "It was a meeting. You know."

She laughed. "Yes. I know."

"How was your day?"

Catherine shook her head slightly. "Very boring. I've been out and about, trying to get in touch with people. Mostly got no farther than their secretaries, but I'm hoping one of these days my efforts will pay off…sometimes I feel my efforts pale in comparison to what the other girls are doing, but at least I'm trying, right?" She laughed. "Dorothy and Sylvia are still at it upstairs, and Relena is on base again for something or other." She slid back into her chair, a slice of pie on her plate. "Say…"

"Yes?"

"You're not…you don't have to…" she trailed off.

"Don't worry," he soothed. "I'm not going anywhere."

She looked relieved, but a little suspicious. "Are you telling the truth?"

He put down his sandwich and laid one hand gently on top of her small one. "I promise, Catherine, that I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here. With you."

Her smile was brilliant. "I'm glad."

"I saw you on television," he said suddenly, then blinked in surprise at how the words had just slipped out without him even realizing it.

She frowned, taking a bite of her pie. "On television?"

"Your show…with whatever her name was. She was interviewing you about me. I saw it on the news."

Catherine's face cleared. "Oh…that. Yes, that was Relena's idea. I wasn't sure I wanted to do it at first - talk shows and interviews have always seemed rather silly to me, but I'm glad I did. I do hope that I managed to make a difference through that." Smiling at him. "I can't do much, but at least that was something, right?" She frowned again. "That interview was done before the attack though. Where were you when you saw it?"

"You-" his voice was hoarse, like there was something caught in his throat. "You saved my life. That day."

She went still. "Trowa?"

"You were wrong about me," he whispered. "You were wrong…I didn't fight because it was the right thing to do. I fought because I didn't know anything else. I wasn't a warrior, Catherine…I was just a soldier. No, not even a soldier. I was a machine. I was…something that the scientists invented, just like the Gundams."

"Trowa-"

"I'm sorry I'm not the perfect brother," he plowed on, letting the sandwich fall from his shaking hands. The lights seemed suddenly bright and he squeezed his eyes shut. The image of Ilene, falling, was still there. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyelids, trying to block her out. "I'm sorry I couldn't be the person you wanted me to be. I thought…I thought…"

Warm breath pressed against his neck, arms winding around him. "Shh. Trowa. Don't cry. Please, don't cry."

"Am I crying?" he wondered, and then felt a wet warmth against his neck. His tears running from the corners of his eyes down to the corners of his mouth, to his chin, dripping. A clown's tears. "I didn't even realize…"

"You did your duty," she whispered, her voice muffled against his back. "There's nothing to blame yourself for. You did what you thought was right. I know you did. Even if you think otherwise."

"Duty…what is duty?" He touched the tip of his tongue to one corner of his mouth, tasting the salt there. "There's the word. Everyone uses that word. But…define it for me, Cat. Is it fighting for something you believe in? Is it fighting for a cause because it's the only thing you know? Is it something that keeps you alive? Does duty even exist? Or is it something…something that we make up simply to justify our actions because there is no justification for war?" Gritting his teeth in frustration, he stared blindly at the wall. "And if that's the case…what is right and what is wrong? I don't know who the enemy is anymore."

He felt her sigh. "I'm not a soldier, Trowa. If I could answer all this for you, I would. You know that. But I only know what I think, and I think that there is more to you than you know. You're a strong person, Trowa. Don't lose that strength."

"They haunt me," he whispered. "All those people…that I killed. That I will kill. In the line and in the name of duty. I killed her because it was the right thing to do. War is such a simple thing. 'Find the enemy and shoot him down.' Isn't it?"

Catherine didn't ask who he meant by "her." He hadn't expected her to. Instead, her arms relaxed around him and she leaned the top of her head against the back of his. "It's simple in concept," she said. "Never in execution. We learned that the hard way two years ago."

"Treize believed that as long as humans were alive, war would never cease. Should it be like this forever, then? Should war go on? In the name of duty?"

She kissed his cheek. "I can't answer that for you, Trowa."

He sighed. "I know. I just…I don't know why I'm still here."

She pulled her head away and cupped his cheeks in her hands. "My beloved little brother…look at me." He stared into her eyes, so warm and caring and he read the love in them, wishing desperately that he could love her back just as much. She kissed his nose. "I don't care who you are or who you were or where you've been. You don't have to tell me your past. I've never asked about it. I don't care what you were doing this past month after the news broke. That doesn't matter to me."

"Cat-" he said, but she shook her head.

"There's a conflict in you that hasn't been resolved yet. I thought I could fix it, thought that I could heal you. But I've discovered that I can't do that. You're the only one who can do that, Trowa - you're the only one. Not me, not Quatre or Heero or any of the pilots, not Lady Une or the Preventers. I thought I could understand you and why you fought. Maybe I was wrong. All I know is that I love you. Can you believe that?"

"I want to," he whispered, turning in his chair and putting his arms around her gently. She smelled like roses and summer sun, so far from the stench of blood and death that he knew he must reek of, no matter how many times he tried to wash himself clean. "I want to, so very much."

She broke her gaze and pulled him close. "Then that's enough. _Mon frère_…we'll make it through this. We'll make it through. I promise."

_She wasn't a fanatic...she was my friend._

  


* * *

  
**Scene X: Legends in the Stars**

  


_"Stars, in your multitudes scarce to be counted  
Filling the darkness with order and light."  
-- Les Miserables, Stars_

  
Late evening air made him feel alive. Perhaps it was just because his circadian rhythm was just really off, but Enrico Lopez never felt more vital than when everyone else was asleep. Then again, perhaps it was just because he was young. 

He walked through the dark base in Geneva, feeling a welcome sense of homecoming. The base had been rebuilt since he had been forced to flee with the command team, the night of the terrorist attack, but he hadn't had a chance to look around since arriving earlier that day, and his curiosity was nearly eating him alive. 

Lopez had always been called a golden child. When he was young, people had started to call him precocious at two, and it grew to such an extent that his parents had gotten him tested. IQ and EQ tests, along with multiple doctors, had determined something astonishing. Lopez wasn't merely smart; he was a genius who tested off the charts. His memory was a trap - he saw it, it was filed away, and never forgotten. 

Not only could he remember things, but he had the ability to apply what he learned, which immediately springboarded him into the category of someone with the potential to become legendary. And unlike most geniuses, he had a natural charm and curiosity about people that balanced his interest in academics. 

Not that he cared about his designation. It was everyone else who made a big deal about what he could do; to him, his abilities were merely a part of him, and accepted as such. Everyone else made it the issue where there should have been none, according to his opinion. Scientists were always calling him to participate in studies, and schools wanted him for their missions. 

As he grew and his intelligence refined, the calls became more frequent, and he been had practically been offered the world for his abilities. It hadn't mattered, though. He had already decided on the military by that point, and that had been the end of the matter. 

If there was one word people used to describe him, it was brilliant. The second was naïve... but the third was stubborn. He had set his heart on becoming a soldier, and he knew he'd make it. 

His genius, rather than helping him, got in the way. People didn't want to lose his potential to the military. Roadblocks were thrown before him consistently, and his parents were none too pleased with the idea. They had wanted their child to do something more important, something profound. He had been unable to make them understand that he saw in a military career. 

Lopez wasn't able to define exactly what the military's draw was for him; it was something emotional. When he had been seven, his father had taken him to an exhibit of Mobile Suits. It had been amazing to watch the giant suits fly through the air, but that wasn't what truly caught his imagination. 

After the show, he had watched the pilots disembark, and they had been teasing each other, playfully needling the others about missed tricks or offering complements of particularly difficult passes. And at that moment, young Enrico Lopez fell in love with the military. He wanted to be part of that family, know that sense of normality. Only later would the concepts of serving and protecting be broached, but by that time, he would have sold his soul to be allowed to become a soldier. A soldier, just one of the common men. 

Enrico had earned numerous bachelor degrees in the hard sciences and government before enlisting, for his parents had forced him to wait until he was eighteen to enter the military. He been immediately shuffled into the Federation's command school. Had Oz survived the Eve Wars, they would have drafted him most likely... But he was too late to enter that war, thanks to the stonewalling everyone around him had done. 

So he became one of the first recruits for the Preventers, instead. He knew he wasn't common; even in the Preventers, he shone. Promotions had come readily, and soon he was in the command staff. He had little doubt that within two years, he'd be one of the most powerful men in the organization. He had no particular ambition, but that was the way his life worked.

It hadn't been what he had wanted, but it had happened. He hadn't found that community he had joined for, but he'd found something more important... someplace that needed him. 

The smell of lemon met his nose, jerking him out of his reverie, and he smiled. The maids who had been assigned to clean this hallway had been through recently. He loved the scent of lemon, since it always epitomized clean to him. Une would approve, when she arrived tomorrow. The maids were probably frantically making sure everything was perfect. 

He'd been sent back to prepare for Une's return to Geneva because Etille, a man he'd never met in person, had volunteered to go to Asia Minor. Lopez understood intellectually that it was the best move the Preventers could make; seasoned commanders were too few to spare on bases, and after reviewing Etille's combat record, he knew that the man shouldn't be locked in a desk job. Une was going stir crazy in Bern, and having her return to Geneva was a wise move politically. 

In his heart, though, he was nervous. Une had never entirely forgiven him for being the one to force her off the base that day. He doubted she ever would, and her return would stir those feelings. It had been the scariest thing he had ever done, facing the General down. 

He, a mere captain, had gazed across the vast gulf of rank to the leader of his organization, and evacuated her to Bern, even against her will, as per regulations. She wasn't that much older than he was, he realized that day, but from the way her eyes had been shooting fire as she had threatened to have his commission, he recognized her power. He knew she was more valuable than he could ever dream of being. 

As he walked through the building, he noted the tightened security with approval. He was challenged four different times, and noticed at least three other agents make silent note of his presence. Security was tight, with two Gundams and five pilots on the base. Etille had left earlier tonight, and Une hadn't arrived, and for the next three days, he had temporary command of the base. Maybe that was another reason for him being awake. 

He shivered slightly in the chill summer air, wishing he'd thought to bring his telescope. There were supposed to be some interesting stars out tonight, and summertime was the best for seeing meteor showers. The night was set to be clear, and on top of the complex, light pollution would be at a minimum.

As he opened the door to the roof, he felt someone else there. It wasn't empathy, at least not the kind the Winner siblings were famed for. Lopez had always tested high on "situational awareness," having an almost uncanny knack for being aware of his surroundings. It gave him an edge in sports, adding to his already formidable abilities. It was too bad that he had a slight case of claustrophobia which kept him out of the piloting program.

"Who's there?" he called, trying to see through the darkness. Even though his eyes were brown, he had poor night vision. Another reason for him to stay out of the pilot's program, damn it. He'd always wanted to go up, just once, in an MS. There was something about those machines which was fascinating. 

He heard feet shifting before a soft voice answered. "No one. I'm on my way out of here." 

"Don't let me interrupt you," Lopez said cheerfully. "I just came up to study the stars." 

"Oh," the voice said, and the presence remained. 

Lopez recognized the voice, and heard the depression in it. He couldn't blame Quatre; God knew the poor guy was going through enough to depress anyone sane. Still, Quatre hadn't chosen to identify himself, so Lopez decided to play along, even though his natural curiosity was urging him to latch onto the pilot and ask question after question.

He'd never talked to a pilot alone before, and of all of them, Quatre was the one who was supposed to be the most brilliant. Lopez liked smart people, and there were few who were able to keep up with him. According to record, Quatre might actually be smarter than he was, and Lopez was enchanted by the possibility.

"I like watching the sky at night," Lopez said casually. "It's kind of like a scavenger hunt, sometimes with extra bonuses thrown in."

"Oh?" Quatre answered, and there was a slight bit of interest amidst the distraction. "I never really had time to take up astronomy."

"Sure. Summer time has some of the best meteor shows… in less than a week, we're going to be hitting the peak of Delta Aquarids… and then two weeks after that, the Perseids come through. You ever want to see a meteor show, that's the one to catch. It's amazing." Lopez's enthusiasm for his hobby caught his voice, and he walked closer to the edge of the roof, which was carefully framed with a banister. There would be a watch passing through in about twenty minutes, but that would give them enough time for a private chat.

"I wonder if they're visible from the colonies…" Quatre mused quietly.

"They are, though the angles are a bit different. One day, I'm going to take a year off from work, buy some great camera equipment, and just go around taking pictures of the sky from different places at different times, you know?"

"I'd like to take a year off from my life…" came the wistful reply.

"It's a pipe dream," Lopez said, laughing. "I'll have to wait until I retire… the stars will still be there."

"Will they? Some will, but… stars die, all the time. We're only seeing the light of stars that has traveled for thousands of years, and most of them are probably dead already."

Lopez wished he could see Quatre's face. The cynicism in the cultured voice didn't fit what he'd heard about the pilot; Quatre had a reputation for always seeing the best in everything, and he wondered what had changed. Perhaps the stress of the trial was making him crack. After all, learning you were a natural child and your mother had died giving birth to you when you'd always had thought you were a test-tube child had to have some effect…

"That's true…" Lopez said, not missing a beat as his thoughts raced a different direction. "But there's plenty of stars out there whose light hasn't reached us yet… Nothing is eternal, but other things come to take the place of that which passes, friend."

A laugh came, light and forced at the same time. The duality of it fascinated the ever-curious Lopez. "Funny you should call me that. Friend. I just denied the friendship of a person who I once would have died for."

"What changed?"

"He did… I did… I don't know." Feet shifted, and Lopez knew Quatre was moving closer. Evidentially, having an anonymous confessor appealed to the billionaire. 

"Would you still die for him?" Lopez asked softly.

Quatre was silent for so long that Lopez wondered if he was offended. Then the pilot spoke, and it make Lopez realize how truly special all the pilots had to be. "I… I would die for anyone. My life is upon the altar of mankind. I once thought he had laid his down beside mine, and we shared in offering ourselves as a sacrifice, to fight so others wouldn't have to."

"And he let you down?" The Preventer captain's mind was racing. Apparently one of the pilots had disappointed Quatre, and now there was dissension in the ranks of the former heroes of the Eve Wars. This was decidedly not good… 

"He let himself down, and those who depended on him. People have died because of him, people I loved."

Lopez was silent a moment, knowing that a slight nudge from him could send the situation either way. He was at the right place at the right time, and he knew he had to act. He was a born meddler.

"My favorite thing about astronomy is the legends attached to the constellations. I think almost all societies have them, so it's fun to learn them." He paused, and tilted his head towards the sky, hoping he wasn't going to screw this up.

"I'm Central American by birth, but we moved to Europe soon after, so I grew up on the Greco-Roman mythology. The constellations for the summer months aren't quite as good as the winter months, so I never was quite as interested in them. There's something about a winter sky, something magical."

"I've never seen one. I've always been in places that are warm during the Northern hemisphere's winter months, or the Colonies."

"You're missing a treat. One of the best constellations is out then- Orion. He's the hunter, and he's always near, but never confronting, Taurus the Bull. Around them others cheer them on, but the battle will never be over…" Lopez laughed. "I always think of it as a lesson in life."

"Oh?"

"We go around and around in circles, playing a part that someone else has set for us. Still, many of us never actually follow through on what we most want to do… or know we should do. So like Orion, we always hunt Taurus, and even though the bull may be in our sight, we never let the arrow fly." It was getting late, and Lopez had to stifle a yawn before completing his thought. "It may sound a bit fanciful, but I use that as motivation to always keep going, and do what I need to." He shifted his gaze over to the shadows where Quatre lurked. "You know what you need to do: the question is, will you?"

There was another of those long silences before Quatre replied, "I'm angry. Don't I have the right to be?"

"Yes. We all have the right to be; it's part of friendship. Still, we never discard a friend just because they've changed. We learn to accept the person they've become." He winced soundlessly, fearing he'd been a bit too heavy-handed.

Apparently he'd been right, for Quatre's next response was hasty and confused. "I- It's getting late, I have to go." Lopez listened to Quatre's hurried steps as the pilot fled.

"Did I say something wrong?" Lopez wondered aloud, then sighed. His younger sister had always told him he'd had a big mouth, and tonight it looked like he'd really put his foot in.

"Ah, well, you don't care, do you?" he asked, staring up at Scorpio. Not surprisingly, the scorpion didn't answer him.

  
_Link to information on astronomical legends_

  


* * *

  
**Scene XI: At the End of Something**

  


_"For after all, we belong…two in one galaxy."  
--Alice Holiday, Galaxy_

  
He had just rounded the bend in the corridor when he saw her. She was leaning against the wall with her eyes closed, by the huge window by the elevators that opened up to the night sky. His first thought was to turn the other way, go back into that lighted room, to escape her, because he had been working so hard to avoid her these past few weeks, ever since he had arrived in Geneva. The hallway was dimly lit, deserted except for the two of them. He turned to retrace his steps, looked at her again, and the force of her presence hit him suddenly and he took a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes closing because the sight of her was too much.

He heard her shift against the wall.

"Hello, Heero," she said. 

He opened his eyes, looked at her over a space of two heartbeats, meeting her eyes. If she was surprised to see him, she didn't show it.

"Hello…Relena."

She gave him a polite smile. "How are you?"

"Fine," he said hoarsely, his heart suddenly beating faster, though he didn't understand why. Her eyes were impossibly blue in the soft light of the wall lamps. "What are you doing here?"

"I had a meeting with General Etille," she said flatly. "Une called and wanted to talk to me."

"I see," he said after a pause, unable to think of another response.

"He told me you were leaving. Tomorrow."

For some reason, the flatness of her voice irritated him. If she had sounded angry, if she'd sounded confused or regretful or even happy…it would have been all right. But there was no emotion in her voice at all, just the robotic tones of the words leaving her lips. She sounded dead.

"Yes," he said at last, after another long pause. "I am."

She met his gaze for moment, then looked away. "I have to go," she said stiffly. "I'm sorry to bother you."

"Don't…Relena," he said.

She'd taken a step away from the window and paused at his words, staring at the floor. He saw one fist clench against her thigh. "I don't think you should be ordering me around," she said tightly. "Heero Yuy."

"I-"

"We have nothing to say to each other." Her head came up, staring into the darkness beyond. "Do we, Heero?"

He didn't answer.

"You made that very clear that first day you came back, at the landing pad. There's nothing more to say."

"I'm sorry," he offered clumsily, wincing at the taste of the words in his mouth, wondering why. Why he had spent this entire time avoiding her only to be caught now. He hadn't wanted this. He didn't want to hurt her any more than he already had. 

"Sorry…I'm sorry too." The blond tresses shook slightly. "But sorry can't change the past."

"You look tired," he said by way of answer. He didn't want to think about the past, the times when he had wished he were dead, when he had felt more dead than alive.

"I've been busy. So have you, I've been told. Not that I inquired about you specifically."

Her last words rankled him and he took another step towards her, her back facing him, the stiff set of her shoulders that told him that she was angry. He remembered that about her, one of the little things that made her Relena. One of the little things that had made her real. He knew that now, even in the calm tone of her voice and the equanimity of her stance, she was angry.

"It's odd, isn't it, Heero? That once it would be me chasing after you, yet these few weeks I've done nothing more than leave you alone, because that's what you wanted. So I don't want to talk to you now."

"Stop it, Relena," he said.

Her hand clenched again. "Stop it? I'm not the one to blame - not the one who's been acting like a little lost child when the entire world is looking for a savior. I've been working hard, Heero. I've been holding up my share of the deal. I've been supporting you in all that we do, and you haven't once returned the favor."

"Relena-"

"So you know what?" she continued, whirling around suddenly, and he was shocked to see the tears streaming down her cheeks, sparkling in the soft glow of the lamps. "You know what? I'm sick of this farce. I waited for two years for you to find your place, waited for two years for you to keep a promise you made to me, and you showed me that promises don't matter anymore. If you ever cared for me, if you ever…the best thing you could do is to leave me alone!"

"Relena," he said hoarsely, stumbling towards her, reaching out one hand to her. She reached out her own hand and for a second a fluttering hope rose in his heart, shattered as he felt the stinging sensation on his skin as she slapped his palm away.

"Leave me alone," she whispered, moving away from him and he was frightened that she would disappear down that dark hallway and leave him there, but she stopped, leaned against the wall again, her form just a slight shadow against the darkness of the sky outside the window and the millions of twinkling stars unshielded by clouds.

"I made a mistake," he said. Swallowed. "I've made lots of mistakes. I…I've been…avoiding you because I didn't…I was scared you wouldn't want the man I've become. When I left you two years ago I was a boy trying to find some shred of meaning in a life which didn't seem to matter to anyone. Not even to you. I thought…I thought…I didn't know what you thought."

"You mattered," she said. "You mattered, Heero."

"I didn't believe you. I wanted to…hell, I didn't know what I wanted. I wanted something more but I didn't know where to find it. I wanted to forget and start over…except I couldn't. I'm broken, Relena. I've discovered that I can never forget the blood I've spilled, no matter how hard I try. I've learned that there are some things that can't be erased. The past is one of them. It took Atsuki dying for me to figure that out."

"Atsuki," she echoed, but there was no bitterness or jealousy in her voice, just a quiet question. "You loved her, didn't you?"

He glanced out the window at the velvet sky, seeing a star streaking across the sky, moving too fast for a star, a transport lifting off bound for Bern. For just a moment, an intense wave of longing swept over him and he remembered what it was like to fly among the stars in the mystery and beauty of space.

He heard Atsuki say, _they were my heroes. So daring and brave, knights in shining armor…_

"I loved her," he said. "But I didn't love her enough."

"I don't understand."

"I took her…I used her. She was my stability in a world that wouldn't…couldn't stop changing. We needed each other. We kept each other alive. But it was a selfish kind of love…it was a game that we played, a game that one of us would lose eventually. We knew that. And in the end, she lost. In the end…I killed her."

"Don't say that, Heero," she whispered, her golden hair whispering across her shoulders as her head turned towards him, her profile traced by the silver-white stars through the window.

"It's true," he said harshly. "She knew it as well as I did. That's why I didn't want to come back. Even after I realized who I was…especially after I realized who I was. I can't keep that promise I made to you two years ago, Relena, when I said that I would find you again. I'm not that boy anymore. And if you want me to go away…I'll go. I don't want to hurt you like I hurt Atsuki."

"I'm strong," she whispered. He heard her voice tremble. "You know I'm strong. You know I would have forgiven you for anything. For everything."

"Would you?"

She took a deep breath, let it out. "Don't throw my own words back in my face, Heero."

"You were always strong," he said softly. "Maybe too strong. I don't deserve someone like you, Relena."

"Don't say that!" she bit out, and he was surprised at the vehemence in her voice. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Heero. You've paid your penance, you've done your time, and you've come back here for a reason."

He placed one hand on the glass, feeling its cold slickness under his fingers. "I thought I had," he said. "Now, I'm not so sure."

There was another moment of silence and then he felt a stinging pain on his cheek, felt his head snap back slightly as her palm met his cheek in a sharp slap. He blinked at her in surprise, almost took a step back at the fury in those blue eyes.

"Relena?"

"You're pathetic," she snapped. "Pathetic! What kind of soldier sits around, moping, telling himself he's not good enough? Like it or not, you're here, and you have a duty to those around you! I won't sit here and watch you throw that away!"

"I-" he began, but her voice swept over his like a tidal wave heralding the approach of a storm. For some reason his mind flashed the image of Zechs at the controls of Epyon, the avenging angel, or perhaps the avenging devil.

"You listen to me, Heero Yuy! Two years ago you left the battlefield believing in peace and a world that would one day believe in peace. I don't know what's happened to you, but I can't believe that you've thrown away everything that you cared about. I'm a stronger person because of you, Heero. We all are! What are you afraid of?"

"I-" he tried again, suddenly seeing where this was going and wanting desperately to stop it. Her eyes were at once knives digging into his soul and windows to her own, and he was frightened by what he saw there. "Relena, don't-"

"Don't what?" she said, angrily, and he cursed himself as a tear leaked from the corner of her eye. "Don't tell the truth? What do you want me to say, Heero? Do you want me to lie to you, like the people in the Breaks lied to you? Like Doctor J lied to you? Like OZ lied to you? I'm sick of the lies. I'm sick of hiding, Heero Yuy, I'm sick of fighting you and myself at every turn, and I'm sick of trying to hide-"

He grabbed her shoulders desperately. "No, Relena, don't say it!"

"-that I love you!"

He felt her shoulders shake as he squeezed his eyes shut in despair. "Relena, please, no. Don't."

"Do you want me to deny it?" she demanded. "You know it as well as I do. You've known for two years that I'm in love with you. That you've fascinated me ever since I set eyes on you, whether I liked it or not, and that you mean more than the world to me."

Shaking his head. "No, Relena. Please, no."

"What do you want me to say? That I hate you and don't want to ever see you again? I tried that already! It didn't work!" He felt her trying to wrench her shoulders away and tightened his grip, suddenly needing to feel her beneath his fingers, needing that human contact, needing the sense of her presence.

She stopped twisting. "Heero…" she said in a small voice. "That hurts."

He felt his soul tighten at the words and suddenly wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to him as she began to sob against his shirt. Suddenly there was nothing else except pure need, the need to just hold her like this forever and know that there was nothing between them. The intensity of the wave of emotion sweeping over him was frightening, and he tightened his grip, holding her even after the last of her sobs had faded away.

"I'm sorry," he heard her whisper.

"There's nothing to be sorry about," he said, trying to stop his own voice from shaking. "Nothing at all. You said it yourself, that sorry can't change the past."

"I know you don't feel the same way I do." Her voice was muffled in his shirt. "That's all right. I shouldn't have…I shouldn't have presumed."

"No," he said, surprised at how calm he sounded. "I don't."

Even for all her brave words a moment ago, he felt the slump of her shoulders as he said that. Felt her world begin to tumble about her shoulders, and he raised one hand to stroke her hair. Saw her gaze up at him, her face confused.

"Heero?"

"I don't know how I feel about you," he said softly. "Before you…everything was so…clear-cut. It was black and white, life and death. And then you came…I've never known a woman quite like you. Not Atsuki, not anyone. I tried to erase you from my mind because I couldn't even think straight when I thought of you. There are times I need you so much that I feel like I can't go another day without seeing you, and there are days where I can't bear to come near you because I feel like you could destroy me just with a glance. I needed to be…the perfect soldier, and I thought I couldn't be, if you were there."

"Heero, I-" she began, but he shook his head.

"Just let me finish. I'm leaving tomorrow…I might never see you again. We both know that. I wanted to give you a chance…a chance to be rid of me. You said yourself that you've been fascinated with me since the day you met me, and more than anything, I want you to live your own life. I don't want you to define myself using me, Relena. You seem to have done well without me for the past two years…you're a woman now, a queen and a leader, someone who is better off without a man like me. Especially a man like me."

She was quiet for a few seconds, and then he felt her shoulders shake slightly. Alarmed, he thought she had started crying again, but he looked down and was surprised to find that she was smiling.

"You're an idiot," she said.

He blinked.

"Everything I've done," she murmured, "has been because of you. Because you're the kind of person who gives everyone hope."

"I don't underst-" he began, but didn't get any further than that because then she arched her neck and kissed him.

It was more of a peck on the lips than a true kiss, but the brief brush of her lips across his was enough to send his heart racing and his adrenaline pumping, and as she loosened herself from his grasp, all he could do was stare at her.

"I need you, Heero," she whispered. "More than anyone…I need you. You can't get rid of me that easily."

He knew he looked like an idiot when she began to laugh, but somehow he didn't mind, felt the corners of his lips begin to turn up. "You're making a bad decision, Relena."

"We'll see," she said teasingly, reaching out one hand to squeeze his briefly. "There's a long road ahead."

He held onto her hand for a moment longer, then released it reluctantly. "Just remember what I said."

"You remember what I said," she replied promptly, giving him another smile, but this one was shy, full of hope. "I'm going to bed. Good night, Heero. And…good luck."

"Sleep well," he said, watching her turn and disappear into the darkness of the hall. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, inhaling the lingering scent of her hair, of her perfume, of her, and wondered how he had been able to live without her for so long.

_Because you're the kind of person who gives everyone hope._

She'd said that to him, in his dream when he'd lost Atsuki. She'd been there in his dream. Even when he'd given up on himself, she hadn't given up on him. It was Relena. In the end, he knew it had always been Relena.

_I don't know what's happened to you, but I can't believe that you've thrown away everything that you cared about. I'm a stronger person because of you, Heero. We all are!_

Was that true? He didn't know. But for the first time since Atsuki's death, he thought he could let go. Just a little bit. Let Atsuki's ghost go, because she needed to rest. Because like she had said, he needed to choose, and he had chosen.

She would be happy, if she knew.

The stars were still shining brightly through the window and he closed his eyes, sent her a wish. To wherever she was now, for everything that she'd done for him, releasing her. Resting his forehead against the glass, he thought he could hear her voice.

_I believe in you, Wing. No…not Wing. Heero. I believe in you, Heero._

  
Act X Part II | Act X Part IV | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	39. The Plotting Strings of a Marionette

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2002 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING **

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT X, PART IV 

**Hiza o kakaete hitori nakitai  
Yoru mo aru kedo  
Mata ashita au toki ni wa  
Kitto egao de... **

Zutto himitsu no mama de  
Daremo shiranai keredo  
Konna ni anata o ai sete  
Sore ga shiawase  


**There are nights when all alone  
I clutch my knees and want to cry  
But when we meet again tomorrow  
I'll surely be smiling **

As long as it's a secret  
That no one knows  
Loving you like this  
That is my happiness  


**--Gundam Wing, _Zutto Himitsu_  
[_Always a Secret_, Relena Peacecraft image song]**  


  
  
**Scene XII: Fire From Heaven**

  


_"I'm waiting for the sky to fall;  
I'm waiting for a sign."  
--Our Lady Peace, Somewhere Out There_

  
The controls of Epyon were so different from that of a Taurus: lighter, leaner, more deadly even as sticks and sheets of metal under his hands. He could feel the power surging under the Gundanium muscles. After more than a year of waiting, Eypon was ready and eager. Epyon was hungry. 

Eypon wanted blood. 

Rebuilding the Gundam had taken less time than he expected. He was down in the hangar for most of the week, not letting himself rest, fearing that if he took the time to think about what he was doing, he would have to stop. Dimitrios hadn't asked what he was doing or where he was all day. The old man had probably had much practice with Treize's peculiar quirks and habits, and Zechs was grateful for it. 

Zechs. He was Zechs now. Not Milliard. Both names made his head hurt. He had been Zechs during the war, then Milliard. Then Zechs again and then Milliard. 

_Lady, my name is Milliard Peacecraft. Zechs Merquise is dead._

But this time it was different. This time, Zechs Merquise really was dead, burned up in the last battle in a blaze of sacrificial glory like Treize had always wanted for him. He hadn't wanted to be like Treize, but it was only too late that he had realized that it had in fact been his destiny. That Treize had been right yet again about him. 

Zechs Merquise had died in the Eve Wars and Milliard Peacecraft had died on A007. So was he now a living, breathing ghost, doomed to haunt the earth for all eternity? 

It was the evening of the ninth day when he had pounded in the last bolt, welded the last portion of metal in place and sat back on his heels, exhausted, seeing through blurred vision the towering form of the Gundam rising above him. The green eyes were dark and the gleaming finish had been permanently dulled by fire scorches that even his careful restoration work had not been able to erase, but all the same, it did not matter. He could almost feel the Gundam calling to him, the eerie crowned head and the whip-tail offering a silent challenge. 

_Are you still worthy to pilot me, Zechs Merquise?_

He placed one hand on the cold Gundanium armor of its leg, closing his eyes, trying to remember the feel of power that piloting this craft had given him. This mobile suit, Treize's last gift to him. The way it had gathered under him, the way it had leapt forward at a mere touch, faster and more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. A shooting star through space. Lucifer, the vengeful angel. 

He wondered if that was how Treize had seen himself. Knowing that he could never be the savior of the world, had he made himself into the archenemy? 

"Treize?" he said aloud, as there was a grinding sound and the hangar door behind him creaked open. 

He spun around, hand fumbling for the gun at his belt, not even stopping to wonder who had breached his sacred hiding place. He had brought it up and around, pointed towards the noise, before he realized that the weapons was pointed between the eyes of a slightly smiling old man. 

"Di-Dimitrios?" 

The old man nodded, no longer smiling now. "I am sorry to disturb you, Master Zechs. But…there is something you should see." 

"How long have you known about this place?" he demanded, not dropping the gun. 

Dimitrios did not seem fazed at all. "I've known," he said simply. "I have only been down here twice, however, and that was before the war." Gesturing to Epyon. "I did not want to disturb your endeavors these past few days, and I regret having to do so now." 

"You knew?" Zechs said again, hoarsely. 

Dimitrios smiled, sadly. "This place is a testimony to the greatness of Master Treize. Before he died, he asked me to take care of you. So I have, in all the ways I could." His eyes hardened in a way that Zechs would never have thought possible. "But now, it may be too late." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"Come with me, please," Dimitrios said. There was a pleading note in his voice that frightened him, and he put the gun away with clammy hands, casting one last look back at Epyon before following the old man out of the hangar. The door slammed shut behind them. 

It seemed a long walk to the surface, and yet he felt like it should have been longer as they emerged out of the tunnel to the first floor of the house. He heard someone talking, realized that the vidscreen was on in the next room. "Dimitrios, what's going on?" 

The servant gestured to the entrance to the den and he walked through wonderingly, glancing towards the vidscreen as he absentmindedly drew a chair to him and sat. 

"-be back in just a minute with more news on this breaking story," the pretty anchor said, and the picture of the newsroom dissolved into the bright colors and loud music of a car commercial. 

He felt a chill. The last time there had been a breaking story, they had succeeded in throwing the world into another loop of mass chaos. With a sinking sensation, he realized that the news hounds had uncovered something else, probably related to the Gundam story, and that it was important enough that Dimitrios had breached his unspoken promise and gone down to the hangar to fetch him. What could it be? he wondered. Had they discovered the A007 rebellion? Had one of the pilots died? 

He suddenly realized he had been entirely cut off from the world since his return to Earth. Une might have needed him, and she had no idea where he was. In a time of crisis, when he had the opportunity to show how much the new world peace meant to him, he had run away yet again. He was always running away. 

_Does it matter? Noin is dead._

Before he could begin to digest the importance of that thought, the commercials ended and the screen flashed back to the logo of the World Nation news before once again showing the face of the pretty anchor. 

"Good morning from Geneva," she said. "I'm Akiko Kawamura, reporting live from the World Nation news headquarters. Tonight we have had a special request from the president of the World Nation himself, President Sidney Alderman, to present this breaking story. This is something that concerns all of us, as residents of this new and peaceful world, and in the face of the recent crisis with the Gundam pilots, it may have great repercussions." 

He leaned forward a little as the screen flashed to a picture of the Preventers Headquarters. He blinked as it zoomed in on the main tower, wondering what all the construction cones and machines were doing there. Had Une ordered additional construction? 

"As you all know, the Preventers Headquarters was attacked last week." 

He froze. 

Attacked? 

He gripped the arms of his chair so hard that it hurt, staring at the vidscreen as more pictures panned out, obviously of the afore-mentioned battle. Fire. Smoke. The quality of the footage was blurry and he could hardly make out anything more than shadows of buildings, but it was enough. His throat was dry and he forced himself to relax, to sink back against the cushions of the chair and to listen, to process the information in his head. 

"The attackers are thought to be one of the many terrorist organizations that are massing throughout the world and the colonies in the face of the Gundam threat. However, there were no known survivors within the ranks of the attackers so this theory will mostly likely remain unproven." 

Terrorists…that made sense. He was willing to bet that many of the leaders of these terrorist organizations were former White Fang soldiers, not willing to give up the ghost of a cause long dead. He wished he could speak with them. Tell them that it hadn't been worth it, tell them that he had been wrong. 

But he couldn't do that. That part of him he had left behind on the Libra, when he'd sacrificed himself to bring about an end to the war. 

"The terrorists did no real damage to the base or to any of the key personnel within," the voiceover continued, showing more recent, clearer pictures of the headquarters. The main building did not seem to have been damaged, though there was much construction going on by the main gate. "General Une was evacuated to Bern during the attack, with General Sally Po left in charge of the Geneva base. However, little did any of us known that in fact, this was what had been planned all along." 

He sat up slowly, feeling time stretch, as it always seemed to do when something terrible was going to happen. Images flashed in front of his eyes - Etille's worn face, Dorothy's accusing eyes. Noin. 

"Major General Sally Po has been declared an official traitor to the World Nation." 

He didn't even feel shocked. There was no rage, no anger at Sally for destroying everything that he and Une and all the others had worked so hard for, just an endless question. 

"Why?" he whispered. 

The picture of the newsroom flashed back again, showing Akiko gathering her notes in front of her. "Our correspondent on base, Runako Kouyate, has more on the story." 

The picture changed to that of a pleasant looking African man holding a microphone and lit by camera lighting against the rapidly darkening Geneva sky. "Thank you, Akiko. General Sally Po was one of the founders of the new Preventers military in January 196 at the end of the war. She was the deputy commander of the Preventers as well as the commander of Mission Support Command and the head of personnel. All those credits are as impressive as they sound. General Po rose through the ranks of the Federation as a doctor before allying herself with the Gundam pilots during Operation Nova and gaining the admiration of then-Lady Une." 

He found it vaguely amusing that the next shot was of the inside of Sally's office. It looked much as he remembered it, except that many of the books and personal trinkets that had characterized it were missing. "Little did anyone know that Po had her own version of peace and justice for the Earth, and apparently, it didn't involve the World Nation or the Preventers. While acting as a loyal commander and role model for thousands of troops on Earth and in the colonies from AC 196 to 197, Po was secretly gathering her own forces, both in the ranks of the Preventers and out of them, to form her own rebellion." 

A picture of Sally in her Preventers uniform. "Much of this information has yet to be unclassified, but it is clear that Po was behind many of the formations of various terrorist cells throughout the world, as well as rebellions on the outlying mining colonies. The largest of these rebellions was on mining colony A007 in the Outer Territories." 

That was Sally? 

He stared at the screen for another second before feeling a weird bubbling start to rise in his stomach. His head was light and his vision had suddenly blurred again, as if he were drunk, but his brain felt remarkably clear, as if the last of the fog had been cleared away, and he wondered how he couldn't have seen it before . A007. It hadn't been just a rebellion after all. Noin had been right. It had been something else…. 

Noin. 

If Sally had been behind the rebellion, that meant that she had been behind Noin's deployment to A007. She had been head of personnel. She had sent Noin. 

She had meant for Noin to die. 

He took a deep, ragged breath, wringing his hands together to stop them from shaking. He had been meant to die too, on A007. It hadn't been just Noin…Sally had gotten Une to transfer him too, so that he would be out of the way. And he, foolish man that he was, had taken Dorothy…if Sally's plan had worked, Dorothy would have been killed too. 

"Damn it," he said quietly. "Damn you, Sally. What did you have to go do that for? Wasn't one war enough? _Wasn't one_…?" 

Runako Kouyate was still talking and he caught snatches of speech about terrorist attacks and conspiracy theories and something about a Pierre Gils-Reve. He glanced up at the screen at that to see a picture of a young officer that looked very familiar. He wondered how many Sally had managed to sway to her cause. 

"Right now we have reports of fighting in Asia Minor as well as minor skirmishes across the Balkans. Po's forces, according to the Preventers, are trying to seize missiles from silo sites around the globe. Her true intentions as well as her whereabouts are unknown, but General Dermand Etille, commander of the Geneva base in General Une's absence, has stated that the Preventers are working with all deliberate speed to try to determine this information." 

He was only mildly surprised to see Etille on the screen next, obviously at some sort of news conference. He looked different than Zechs remembered him - perhaps it was the Preventers uniform. 

"I cannot give out specific information at this time," Etille was saying, "but rest assured that all who remain in the Preventers are loyal to the World Nation and that we are employing all available resources to combat the work of this traitor who is trying to plunge the world into another war." 

He knew what Sally was going after in Asia Minor. The Kashmir base had an entire armament bank of missiles there - the most powerful that they'd had since the arms cutback after the war. He didn't know what Sally wanted the missiles for, and he didn't want to know. He hoped Etille knew what he was doing. 

"Master Zechs?" 

Dimitrios. The old man was back. Zechs stood up slowly, keeping one hand on the chair arm to steady himself. "I'm done here," he said hoarsely. 

"What are you going to do, Master Zechs?" 

"Sally's in Asia Minor," he said with a tight smile. "She's a traitor. I am, technically, still the Chief of Operations for the Preventers and the commander of Combat Command. Am I not?" 

"I have no heard anything to the contrary," Dimitrios said quietly. "Are you going to Asia Minor, then?" 

"I was thinking about it," he heard himself say. "Is there any reason why I shouldn't?" 

Dimitrios gazed at him with dark eyes, the Greek features unreadable. "I promised Master Treize that I'd take care of you," he said at last. "But even Treize understood that there would come a time when that would no longer be possible." 

"I'm not going to die," he said. "You make it sound so…morbid. I came back from A007, didn't I?" 

"Perhaps," the old man replied, watching him. "Did you?" 

He didn't answer, brushing past the servant on his way out of the room, stopping in the hallway outside the door. There was an old painting of one of the Khushrenada family on the opposite wall: a young woman, her large, dark eyes gazing at him sadly out of a pale face framed with golden curls. 

"She killed Noin," he said at last. "She tried to kill me. She almost killed Dorothy. This isn't…this isn't something I can overlook. Even for Treize. Treize would understand…didn't he say that war goes on forever? We were foolish to think that we could stop it with something as simple as a sheet of paper, the building of an organization." 

"I lost Treize to those ideals," Dimitrios said. "I do not wish to lose another." 

He clenched his fists at his sides. "I'm not fighting for those ideals," he snapped. "I tried to, once…I tried to sacrifice myself to end war altogether…and Sally just proved that what I tried to do was just pointless in the end!" 

_I'll do it for you, Treize…I'll finish what you started._

His words, just nine days ago. He'd thought he could do it then, thought he had done his penance and could uphold Treize's high ideals once more. He had rebuilt Epyon to prove it. And now…he wasn't sure what he believed anymore. Sally's betrayal changed everything. If even she could betray him, who could he trust? 

What had Treize fought for in the first place? The nobility of man…the glory of war? That didn't seem quite right. Treize was still an enigma to him. But one thing he knew: Treize had believed in the will of the soldier above all else, and Zechs Merquise was still a soldier. 

"I'm going to Asia Minor," he said. "Don't try to stop me." 

He had slid into Eypon's seat, powered up the engines with smooth, long-missed motions and keyed in the coordinates of the Kashmir base. He didn't know if Sally was there. It didn't matter. As long as there was something there for him to fight…as long as he could match himself against something tangible, a visible enemy, instead of fighting the conflicting emotions inside his mind…it would be all right. He was so tired of feeling like nothing he did mattered. 

_Noin, what would you do now?_

Epyon rose into the air like a silent hawk, pursuing a course westwards. The digital chronometer read just past 0300 hours, and the night around him was quiet and still. The humming of Eypon's engines was a soft buzzing in his ears and the cockpit shivered around him, as if adjusting to all the time it had wasted sitting alone and in pieces under Treize's grand mansion. He adjusted the comm channels, keying in the Preventers frequency, hoping to hear something - anything. If there was fighting going on in Asia Minor, as the news station had said, something would have to come through. 

He was not disappointed. Through the static he could hear voices, the clipped tones of mobile suit pilots, but they were soft and tinny and muffled through the bad reception. He was still too far away. Faster. He wasn't fast enough. 

"Fly for me, Eypon," he whispered, bringing all power to engines, and the great craft lurched, seemed to pause for a moment in midair, and the g-forces slammed into him as it leapt forward on wings of air. He gritted his teeth. He had grown used to the sudden shift of forces in Tallgeese when he had first started piloting Epyon, but he had been out of the cockpit for too long, and a Taurus was no match for the power of this machine. 

The sky grew lighter as he flew westwards. He kept to the higher altitudes, gauging the wind currents. The night flowed around him like a living thing, a blanket of hidden secrets, and the screens around him remained dark. Not that he was afraid. He had conquered the Zero system, and its secrets were revealed to him. He was safe. 

_I'm going to kill Sally._

The words left a sour taste in his mouth, but he forced himself to wrap his mind around the thought. Kill Sally, the woman who he had trusted for so long - admired, even, for her courage in the face of danger. He supposed he was still courageous in a way, in some twisted, bizarre sort of fashion, if sending friends to their death could be called courageous. He didn't want to kill Sally. But at the same time it had to be done, because only by killing Sally could he end this cycle of war. 

She was his true enemy. 

His brain seemed sluggish and the crackle of static in his ears was suddenly painfully loud. No, that wasn't the Zero system. That was his own thought. He was sure of it. The Zero system hadn't activated…the golden glow was missing and he was fully in control. Yes. 

"…request rein…too many…not able to…hold thi-" 

The transmission was cut short in a shower of static, and he gripped the controls tightly, resisting the urge to call in on his own frequency, announce that he was coming to help them. That he was coming to save them. He would save them all. He was the savior of the world, of the colonies, and nothing would stop him. 

He was above the Kashmir base now, could see the bright explosions of combat down below on the surface now, and Epyon dove sharply, but he didn't feel the familiar shift of g-forces, felt instead a floating sensation of incredible pain and pleasure all at once and something in the back of his brain telling him that this was wrong, that it was all wrong, and he should turn back. 

_I'm going to kill Sally Po. _

I'm going to kill her. 

Kill her, my true enemy. 

With a cry, he let Eypon go, felt the great craft screaming through the night air, saw the beginning glow of dawn as he brought the Gundam up sharply and heard the stunned voices on the comm. 

"What's that?" 

"It's a Gundam!" 

"GUNDAM!" 

The beam saber was ignited and in Epyon's hand before they hit the ground, and he was guiding the Gundam into the firefight. Who was the enemy? It didn't matter. They were all enemies, the ones who had sent him out to die. The ones who had killed Her…he saw Her face in front of his eyes, saw Her smile, saw Her mobile suit exploding again and again. 

_Noin! _

Kill Sally, She said, Her voice harsh and unnatural and for some reason he thought it was odd that She didn't sound like he remembered. But She turned and looked at him, Her eyes glowing golden like a hawk's and he felt himself falling into Her gaze. 

_Yes. Kill Sally. Sally._

A wordless cry of rage rose in his throat, spilled out in a long, harsh sobbing breath as Epyon's beam saber rose and fell, as he heard the screams and the explosions over the comm. He was doing the right thing. He was ridding them of their misery, just as Treize had wanted. Just as She had wanted. 

He saw the mobile suit rise up in front of him, heard the frantic call of its pilot. "Stop! Colonel, stop! It's us! You're after the wrong people!" 

"I have no need for you!" he cried, and Epyon's saber came down, cutting into the Taurus with a shower of golden sparks, because everything was golden in front of his eyes now, glowing with a blazing white-gold, just like Her eyes, piercing into his soul. He saw the explosion as if in slow motion, the golden shards of the mobile suit spilling over into a golden slow flow of molten metal, falling to the golden earth in a shower of golden fire, as the earth melted away. 

_My life is destined to be stained with blood. It's too late for me to escape from my sins! _

No…this is wrong. 

"Noin," he breathed, his throat ragged and raw, his hands sweaty and cold. His head was swimming and everything was warm and cold at the same time, and he felt Epyon's presence around him like a living thing, taking him in its coils and slowly wrapping around him, crushing, as he screamed and no one would listen. 

_Kill Sally. Kill. Kill her. _

NO! THIS IS WRONG! 

"I…Noin…" he gasped, and he felt Epyon stumble, saw the missile silo in front of him go up in flames as the missiles themselves ignited, saw them shooting towards the sky in a terrible arc of smoke and golden fire. 

"NO!" he screamed, pounding on the controls, trying to bring Epyon's cannon to bear on them before they got up through the atmosphere, before they got away…but it was too late and he knew he could do nothing as he watched them streaking away, and he knew that people would die. Because of him. 

Eypon was falling. 

_KILL SALLY!_ She demanded, those golden eyes digging down to his soul like grasping claws shooting fire. _KILL HER!_

_I CAN'T!_

He gave a great heaving sob and felt something inside of him break as the Gundam hit the ground, felt the restraints holding him to his seat give way and he slumped bonelessly down on the consoles, taking deep, gasping breaths, eyes squeezed shut. 

It was quiet. 

"-craft? Do you hear me? Colonel Peacecraft? Hello? Answer me!" 

An explosion rocked the side of the Gundam and he slowly opened his eyes. It was dark, the golden glow gone, though he could still see its echoes in front of his iris if he did not concentrate. Epyon's engines were silent, dead. His hands were shaking too much to even grasp the stick, but he wet his lips, swallowed. 

"I'm…here," he said. He could barely hear himself talk. Everything was a blur of light and darkness, and he felt like he would be sick. 

"Colonel Peacecraft, get away from here!" 

He managed to push himself up on one elbow. The viewscreen was blank, and he fumbled for the control buttons, pushed for an outside visual. The sun was coming up above the steaming wreckage of mobile suits, and he could hear explosions behind him. From the camera angle, Epyon was lying almost face down on the ground. He could see that the missiles were still there, the silos silent and unarmed. They hadn't been released. It had all been an illusion. 

The Zero system. 

Another explosion. He could see a group of Leos swooping in his direction, their guns pointed at him. 

"Peacecraft, they're aiming for you, and if you don't move, there won't be anything I can do to help!" 

That voice… 

"Etille?" he whispered. 

"Took you long enough," Etille returned, and there was a roar as an entire brigade of mobile suits passed over him and dropped down in front of the Leos, taking them head on. "Peacecraft! This is no place for you. You better get you and Epyon out of here." 

"I…can't…the engines…" 

"From my reading, you have one operable engine left. Both of them cut out when you fell for some reason, but one of them should be working. It's enough to limp back to Geneva on." A Leo exploded, and shrapnel pelted the camera. "Get out of here! This isn't your fight!" 

"Then what is?" he demanded. Etille was right - one of his engines still worked. With a groan, Epyon picked itself up from the ground. There was 30% damage to the outside hull, but the Gundanium armor was still strong enough to take on anything a Leo could throw at it. He saw one out of the corner of his eye, turned, jammed the beam saber through it. It was all he could do keep the Gundam upright through that motion. Epyon's balance felt off, and the thrusters wouldn't work properly. 

Etille's voice was grim. "Dammit, Peacecraft, this isn't a game! I don't have time for your theatrics…this is a war! Get out of here now!" 

He couldn't think straight and Epyon wasn't responding quickly enough, but the golden glow was still gone and he supposed that was good enough. "I'll go…" he said dazedly. "I'll…be back…" 

"Get out of here NOW!" 

As if on its own, Epyon leapt into the air just as a burst of fire streaked through the air where he had just been. He waited for someone to pursue him, but there was no answering fire, no shaking to signify that he'd been shot out of the sky. His throat was still raw and his hands were still trembling. The Zero system…he thought he had conquered it. He thought that it was a thing of the past. 

He'd wanted to it to be different, but it was the same as it had been two years ago. He still wasn't strong enough. 

For some reason, his thoughts flew back to that last terrible battle, heard himself shouting again through the echo of memory, _It is the stronger that create the weaker!_

And heard Heero Yuy's voice responding, a thing out of the distant past. _You and Trieze are the same. To protect the weak you destroy justice, but in the end you can't save them that way! All human kind is weak…you and I are the weak!_

"I'm sorry…Noin…" he whispered as Epyon began its slow, limping flight towards Geneva. "I couldn't save you…" 

  


* * *

  
**Scene XIII: The Ones Left Behind**

  


_"I have been fighting the good fight  
And what if there are no damsels in distress?  
What if I knew that and I called your bluff?  
Don't you think every kitten figures out how to get down  
Whether or not you ever show up?"  
--Ani DiFranco, Not a Pretty Girl_

  
She knew, in her bones, that Duo was gone… again. 

He was getting damn good at taking off, leaving her behind, and she was getting damn sick of it. This time he hadn't even bothered to leave a note for her, and she had just about had it with him. If this was what life with Duo was going to be like, not knowing if he was going to be beside her from one day to the next, she was ready to tell him to shove it. 

She loved him, but she refused to be treated like something he could pick up and set down as he pleased. Sure, he was a Gundam pilot, but that didn't mean he could leave without saying goodbye! 

Besides, didn't he realize she could take care of herself? He had trusted her enough to help him retrieve Deathscythe and Zero… It was true that she hadn't exactly followed what he'd been planning, taking Zero without his permission, but it'd all worked out in the end. She was a competent pilot, and she wanted to be at his back, if possible. 

If only he would give her that chance, rather than making the decision for her. 

_Damn him._

Hilde had no clue why she was so convinced he had run off; he hadn't even been gone for twelve hours, and it was barely past midnight, but something in her knew he was gone. She was starting to develop a sense of him, and she knew almost the moment he left the base. 

_Double damn him to the hell he was so obsessed with sending others to._ When she got her hands on him… 

That was assuming she stayed. Did he expect her to just wait for him, like a good little woman at home, while he went out and saved the world? Was she supposed to be there for him when he decided that the time was right? 

_When hell freezes over! She thought furiously. I'm not going to take this lying down, Duo Maxwell!_ She stalked towards their bedroom, preparing to pack. She had no clue where the hell she was going, but she was sure if she asked Etille, he'd be able to find something for her to do. Heaven knew the Preventers needed competent people right now, with over a fifth of their force defecting with Sally. 

Her hand just landed on the door handle when the doorbell rang. She jumped slightly at the unexpected sound, swinging around in confusion before she placed it. "Come in!" she called, confused. _Who the hell is calling this late?_ she wondered. 

The door slid open silently, and a man entered. She blinked once, wondering if her eyes were working right. "Trowa?" she whispered. The last thing she had known, Trowa Barton wouldn't have come anywhere near this room, for Duo would most likely have shot him on sight. 

Trowa nodded, his enigmatic green eyes full of shadows. "Can I talk to you for a bit?" he asked. 

"I'm not playing mediator between you and Duo," she said, playing her hands on her slender hips. Even though Duo was gone, and she was angrier than she could ever remember being with him, there was no way she'd betray his trust. The one thing anyone would say about Hilde Schbeiker in her epitaph was that she was loyal. 

Trowa should his head, somehow managing to maintain eye contact as he did so - an amazing talent. "I already saw Duo tonight. We've made our peace." 

Hilde was glad for that; it seemed wrong for the pilots to be at odds. Still, a part of her was resentful that Trowa, the man Duo had been ready to kill twelve hours ago, had seen him more recently then she had. "Oh." Her voice was flat. 

"Duo wanted me to talk to you." Trowa looked around uncomfortably, and she knew that he was trying to break through his customary silence. 

_Well_. She had no intention of making it easy on him. "Oh," she said again, speaking even more blandly then before. Had Duo been there, he would have run for cover, recognize the brewing storm. 

Trowa stared at her for a moment without blinking. "You're angry at him," he said. 

"He leaves me on base without telling me where he's going, who he's going with, offering me the chance to go with him, and basically implies that I should just wait for him to come back. Why would I be angry?" she asked in her sweetest voice. 

The pilot thought for a second, processing her words seriously, and she wondered just how brain-damaged he was. There was just something not right with Trowa Barton. "You're a lot like Catherine," he told her. "She was angry with me when I left her," he said softly. "I didn't leave a note, either." Even though his voice was quiet, there was a hint of wistful regret in it. 

Hilde's retort died on her lips. Apparently he had taken her seriously, and wasn't planning to give her platitudes. "So it's part of your training? Leave without a word, come back in six months and pick up where you left off?" she asked bitterly. "That's no excuse!" 

"It's not an excuse. And it's not something we're trained to do - it's just a mistake we're prone to… because we're human." He moved over and sat down on the couch, waving a hand for her to join him. 

She almost snapped that it was her room, and that he was being presumptuous, but she knew that carrying on an emotional conversation was difficult for him. Duo had talked about the pilots a lot in the first three months after the war, and sometimes he had wondered if Trowa was slightly autistic… or something. Trowa had a difficulty connecting to emotional issues and understanding them. 

Which was one of the reasons Ilene Keets had died. 

Hilde didn't blame him for killing the girl. She rather thought that Ilene had gone too far over the edge to be saved. 

"Human? How could he…" 

"He left you because he treasures you above everything," Trowa interrupted. "He left you where he thought you'd be safe." His eyes grew distant. "There's nowhere safe on this earth, but where he's about to go, he's risking death. And he doesn't want you to do the same." 

Her blue eyes flashed dangerous and she leaned closer to him, whether to strangle him or wave a finger in his face, she didn't know. "I can take care of myself!" she insisted. 

"I agree. You're one of the most competent women - people - I have ever met. But love doesn't always let people see clearly… and having you there would be an unnecessary risk. Tell me, would you let Duo die, if the mission called for that sacrifice?" 

She opened her mouth to say that no, she never would let Duo die, but then her vision in the Zero came to her. "I… yes. If it was needed, I'd kill him myself." She shut her eyes and glanced away, feeling the burn of unshed tears that she refused to let fall. 

Trowa seemed surprised. "I… I didn't know you were capable of that. Perhaps they should have taken you." 

"They?" she said, pouncing on his slip. 

Trowa appeared even more surprised by his uncharacteristic blunder. "You can guess. I can't tell you." He rose, and started for the door. "I just came to tell you goodbye for Duo, since he couldn't do it for himself… that, and he loves you." 

She clenched her fists, the tears finally spilling over. Trowa looked over his shoulder, hesitating, before coming back. Kneeling down beside her, he brushed her tears off her cheeks using his thumb. His skin was rough against her smooth cheeks, and she looked up at him through her long lashes. "I… I want to hate him for doing this to me." 

He was quiet for a moment before speaking. "Loving a pilot is the hardest thing in the world. Chances are, none of us will die of old age… our luck will run out someday. When I left my sister, I doomed her to always wondering about me, and having no definite answers. To love us, there's always that uncertainty… I wonder how you can do it. You are so much stronger then we are, for you're the pillar of strength we lean on." 

She just looked at him blankly for a moment before her coldness came apart, and she fell forward, her face buried in her hands as she sobbed. Trowa Barton merely watched, helpless to offer comfort, for he had no idea how. 

She, of course, regretted crying later. 

Hilde hated to cry, for she wasn't one of the women who knew how to cry prettily. It always left her face blotchy, and eyes swollen. Besides, she hated losing control, especially over a man. She wasn't some silly girl whose life depended on what the man in her life did to her - not even a man like Duo Maxwell. 

She had sent Trowa away almost as soon as she had regained enough voice to speak, not wanting to let anyone see her cry. He had fled almost gratefully, obviously overwhelmed by the emotional storm from the woman he barely knew. 

It had been kind of him, in his awkwardness, to try to bring her the message Duo had sent. She knew what it must have cost the Heavyarms pilot to reach out to her, and she appreciated it. But right now, she didn't want to see any of the pilots. 

She had allowed herself to indulge in a good two-hour crying jag in her room, throwing her body across the bed. Trowa's words had taken the anger away from her, leaving only the pain. She had let Duo go before, and now she had to do so again. The vision she had in the Zero circled through her mind, of catching the world and letting Duo be shot, simply because the world was more important then one person - even the person she loved more than her own life. 

She was a soldier. She understood how these things worked. 

She had let Duo go, again. This was the third time…. Were they forever damned into a relationship where they were forced to be separated? 

A week ago, he had asked her to let him stay, and he had already taken off… 

She gasped, as she remembered what she had answered. 

_Hilde, will you let me stay? _

I love you, Duo. Even if we're not together, I want you to know that. 

It bore thinking on. She needed to move, physical activity, to stimulate her thoughts. The gym was open all hours, and there would be few officers there to see the damage she had done to herself in her emotional tirade. 

She pushed herself upright, feeling her swollen face that no make-up would disguise. She had never learned how to use make-up that way, anyway. So all she could do was splash some cold water on her face and change into a pair of workout sweats. She'd never been into the tight workout outfits that displayed the body, and since her encountered fleeing the Libra, she had a few nice scars that attracted more stares than she was comfortable. After grabbing a sweatband, a water bottle, and a swimsuit, she decided to go. 

The VOQ was blessedly close to the gym, which meant she had a short jog. She was asked to show her ID twice, and did so grumpily, feeling imposed upon. If Duo was with her, she wouldn't have been grabbed. Everyone knew Duo. 

Still, she was right. The large Preventer gym was almost empty when she arrived, and she smiled, knowing that she wouldn't have to fight for any of her favorite machines. She'd tried coming at 5 a.m. once, and the place had been nuts. 

"Hilde?" a soft voice said. 

She spun around, surprised at the recognition. She hadn't met anyone, really, since coming on base, because she'd spent most of her time with the Gundams or Duo. She blinked, trying to recognize the girl in a cute pink and green workout suit like the ones she so disliked. It took a moment for her to place the face, because she always saw this girl dressed in business clothes or formal gowns. "Relena?" 

The girl smiled and nodded. "Yes. It's so good to see you…" She held out both hands and Hilde clasped them awkwardly. 

"Um, yeah." Hilde wondered what Relena was doing up at this hour, in the gym, on Preventers' base. "It's nice to see you again…" 

"It's nice to see you too," the other girl responded graciously. "I've wondered what happened to you after you left the Libra that day, and I heard you were on base with Duo…but I've been so busy…" 

Hilde blinked. "Then shouldn't you be sleeping now?" 

Relena laughed, though it wasn't a sincere one that met her eyes. "I couldn't sleep. I had a late meeting, so I decided to stay here, rather then go back to Dorothy's. So I had someone get me some clothes to work out in - it's been a while since I've done anything physical, and I think I'm dreadfully out of shape. Sitting behind a desk or listening to Senate sessions doesn't lend itself to physical fitness, I fear." The sweat on her forehead was a testimonial to the work out she'd been doing. 

"I doubt it would." Hilde was amazed at how self-conscious the graceful, self-assured ruler of Cinq made her feel, and wished there was some polite way to ditch her. She had come to think, not for company. No one came to the gym at 2 a.m. for company. 

The other girl tugged on her ponytail. "I was about to head to the pool… the nice thing about being the so-called Queen of the World is that I'll get it to myself. Would you come with me?" 

"Well, I was about to go for the exercise bikes," Hilde said, knowing Relena's quick eyes had noticed she was carrying her swimsuit in her left hand, so she couldn't use that as an excuse. 

"I have something I want to talk to you about… I ran into Heero tonight, as he was on his way out," Relena said softly, and Hilde saw the deep sorrow and confusion in her eyes. The queen's slender hands clenched. "Please… I… think you might be the only one who can understand." 

"They went together," Hilde said softly. "Just those two, I think." 

"Then come?" Relena asked. "I… I really need to talk to someone who won't laugh at me, or call me an obsessive, foolish girl." 

Hilde smiled back, feeling a kindred spirit, and amazed in spite of herself. A soldier and a pacifist, both who loved pilots. "Let's go get changed." 

The pool was competition-sized, but both girls stuck to the shallow end. Hilde dipped her toes in and sighed. "It's too warm," she complained, before swinging right in. 

Relena, on the other hand, eased in more delicately, shivering. "Speak for yourself. I prefer my pools to be around 85." 

"You need help," Hilde said, dunking her head and face, hoping it would erase the rest of the damage her tears had done. 

"I think we all do." Relena's hair had been piled carefully on top of her head, and her suit was a modest one piece with an attached skirt. Hilde rather thought she looked like someone's mother. "But not for the reasons you think." She looked over at Hilde. "I managed to catch Heero today… right before he left." 

"You're lucky. Duo sent a message through Trowa…. I mean, talk about an emotional goodbye." 

The girls exchanged bitter glances, and Relena fell backwards into the water, floating for a moment. Hilde did the same, enjoying the weightlessness. It was similar to being in space… the space which she and Duo loved so much. Almost like Zero G… but not quite. 

Then on some unseen signal they swam over to the steps and sat together. "It's hard, loving him, isn't it?" Relena asked. 

"It's the hardest and easiest thing in the world," Hilde said. "Loving him is easy. Putting up with everything that goes with it is hard." 

Relena smiled softly. "I… I think I know what you mean." She stared down at the bottom of the pool. "Sometimes it feels like I'm drowning. I keep trying to surface, or hold my breath just a bit longer, but… well, tonight, I think I took a mouthful of water." 

Hilde raised an eyebrow. "What did you do?" 

"I told Heero I loved him." 

Hilde fluttered her lashes a bit. "Oh…my. And?" 

"It didn't go well." Relena didn't seem depressed, merely resigned. 

"I gather that. Duo's a bit easier to deal with on an emotional level." 

Relena laughed a bit, but there was a hysterical edge to it. "I'll say. Heero's so screwed up that I doubt anything will ever straighten him out. But I love him so much it burns inside me, and I had to let him know, I had to say it aloud." 

"Loving a pilot - it takes strength and selflessness. Because we keep letting them go, hoping they'll come back. And we know someday, they won't." Hilde looked at her fingers, which were starting to wrinkle from the water. 

"Everyone else calls me selfish," Relena sighed. "Because I keep shoving myself at him." 

Hilde laughed. "No, you're not. Heero needs you to love him; it's been the one constant in his life since he descended with Wing. But you need to focus on another goal; your goal can't be Heero."

"What?" Relena asked. Everyone had been trying to get her to do something, and now Hilde, the first person who had told her it was okay to love Heero, was telling her the same? The confusion in her eyes was almost tangible. 

"Heero most likely won't live forever. There's only so many miracles he can pull off. I've accepted that Duo won't die of old age… so I've made myself another goal. You need to accept your other duties, so you have something to keep you going when Heero is gone. For the day when he doesn't come back." 

Relena blinked slowly. "People have been trying to tell me I should do things. Dorothy has been trying to get me to take a more prominent role in Quatre's trial. Others want me to be the Queen of the World politically. My brother… I don't know what he wants from me. Everyone wants something from me… but all I want is Heero, and he leaves. He left with Duo." 

"And we're the ones who get left behind," Hilde said bitterly. "Well, I'm not going to take it lying down… are you?" 

Relena turned startled eyes onto the other girl. "What?" 

"You're the Queen of the World. Take your throne, your majesty. You're the most powerful politician in known space. You have the power to end Quatre's trial - all you have to do is act, rather than react. You have the power to go against what Heero tells you - that or aid him. I've been watching the trial, and from what you've told me about Heero, all you've done is just sit back and let events take their course. Dorothy's hinted at it, hasn't she? Well, I'm not hinting - I'm telling you… you need to just make up your mind." 

Relena's eyes flared. "How - how _dare_…" 

"I dare because someone needs to come flat-out and tell you. You've become a puppet for other politicians. Is that Relena Darlian Peacecraft? Or is she the one who makes up her own mind?" 

"I -" Relena stared a moment at Hilde before she started to laugh. "You are one of the craziest women I've met. You've just pissed off the Queen of the World!" 

"What are you going to do about it?" Hilde asked challengingly. 

"Second, I'm going to call Dorothy and Sylvia and tell them that we're going ahead with our plan. It's all or nothing, but if it works, Quatre's trial is about to blow up. Third, I'm going to figure out exactly how to show my brother and Heero that I'm there for them." 

Hilde's eyes sparkled in joy. "Count me into your plans. I'm one of your best resources… but what's your first plan?" 

Relena smiled mischievously. "I'm going to drown you for your _lesse majeste_!" she declared at she lunged forward, attempting to pull Hilde underwater. 

  


* * *

  
**Scene XIV: Finding the Path in the Darkness**

  


_"You're never safe 'till you see the dawn  
And if the clock strikes past midnight  
The hope is gone, to move under..."  
-- Savage Garden, Carry on Dancing_

  
The whispers were getting louder. 

Une had known that people had thought her organization was faulty from the start, and now she understood why. When the very foundation was built with rotted wood, it was inevitable that the structure crumple. And since Une was standing high on the ramparts, she knew she was going to fall, and the fall was going to be a long and hard one. 

Sally Po had betrayed her. The idea seemed unthinkable, but it had happened. Sally had been one of the most loyal people she had known; it was too bad her loyalties hadn't been with the Preventers or the World Nation. 

Lopez, the golden child of the Preventers, was still unweaving the webs Sally had spent months spinning. Une feared that they would never uncover all the traitors within their organization, and each report Lopez delivered to her made more and more sick to her stomach. The Preventers had been her unofficial memorial to Treize, and to have it perverted like it had been just enraged her. 

She had been trying to protect people, and in the end, she had been used. It was such a bitter pill to swallow. 

"Ma'am?" 

A quiet voice interrupted her reverie, and she looked up to see Li enter. Gils-Reve was gone, and Une had quickly recalled Li to her side, needing her experience. Li had helped keep the Preventers from falling apart, transferring personnel to the places where organization was worst hit by the defections, and otherwise ensuring the smooth-functioning of operations. Her level-headed coolness was one of the few things that had kept Une from throwing one of her fits. 

It was no time for her tantrums. 

"Yes, Li?" she asked. 

"We have a recommendation from Brown that you return to Geneva and resume command from the main base." The woman's face was carefully devoid of expression as she handed over the hardcopy. 

_Going back_… Une thought. She stared down at the words which spelled out what she had been hoping for and dreading. "It would reassure people that we're back in control…" 

"It's wise, politically, as well," Li added. "Etille is leaving for Asia Minor to take command there, and while we can put Lopez as interim commander, he just doesn't have the rank needed to keep the position." 

"That's too bad. He'd do a better job then just about anyone else, don't you think?" Une asked on a sigh. "I really wish I could jump him that high…" 

"Ma'am?" Li asked, obviously wondering if she was supposed to answer. 

"Rhetorical question. What's the other options if I don't go?" Une asked softly, wanting to think this through. Going back to Geneva was… something she was dreading. Her base, the one she had nurtured, wouldn't feel the same, not after the terrorists had violated it. 

"Brown goes. Or we yank someone in from one of the branch offices, but that would leave another hole. You and Brown really shouldn't be sitting together. You're too tempting a target. One well-placed missile and the entire command is wiped out." 

_I could send Brown…_ she thought, and for a moment she almost took the easy way out. But then she smiled, and looked at Li. "Tell Brown to send Lopez to prepare the base for my arrival. I'll be arriving there tomorrow." 

Li looked a bit surprised. "Ma'am? I'm your aide… wouldn't it be better if -" 

Une shook her head. "I'm reassigning aides. Brown is going to need you here, to establish a secondary command; he'll tell you what to do, and you need to be cross-trained if what I have in mind for you is going to work. We had all of our eggs in one basket… it's time we learn how to delegate a bit more. And I'm going to train Lopez up to take Sally's place… I have no clue where the hell Peacecraft is, if he's alive, so I'm going to need Etille over in Operations. I need someone, and you're a communications officer, and there's no one else good enough to untangle the mess Sally made. If Lopez can survive my intensive course, he's my next Support and Personnel Director." Her eyes flashed. "We're going to see just how bright our golden child really is." 

Lees than twenty-four hours later found Une disembarking the shuttle, blinking in the late afternoon sunlight of her base. She glanced around, wondering who was going to be there to meet her. She had told Lopez no formal side party was necessary, but it would be unprofessional of him to not have anyone there to greet her. 

Still, Lopez did tend to be a bit literal, and that was going to be something she had to whip out of him, if he was going to become one of the top brass. She frowned, glancing around the tarmac, feeling irritated. _Lopez is really going to-_

"General?" a quiet voice said. "Captain Lopez asked if I would accompany you today." 

She turned around, feeling surprised. She had known he was on base, and she immediately chalked extra brownie points onto Lopez's card. There was no one she would rather see, and Lopez had somehow known that secret desire of her heart. "Trowa!" she exclaimed, feeling a genuine smile bloom on her face. "It's so good to see you!" 

He nodded his head, and there was genuine respect there. "It's good to have you back," he replied, but a slight smile tugged at his lips. "Shall I get your cases for you?" 

She laughed and waved a hand. "Let an airman do it. They can throw it in the quarters I never see. I hope someone dusts in there, or else the dust colonies might be ready to apply for admittance to the World Nation," she returned. "I'd rather have you accompany me to my office… I have something I want to talk to you about." 

He raised an eyebrow, but followed her, respectfully a step behind. As she walked through the base, she became aware of personnel turning their heads to her, smiles lighting their faces as they snapped her crisp salutes. She nodded back, and she saw there eyes light as they returned to their tasks with renewed determination. 

_I should have come back a week ago…._

Her office was still, and she was aware of the scent of freshly washed carpets and lemon from the cleaning fluids. Une sighed as she kicked the heavy oak doors shut behind her, smiling at Trowa. "I'd offer you coffee, but I have no clue where my aide is, and I have the feeling his coffee is terrible, anyway. He's a bit of an intellectual." 

"It's okay," Trowa replied. "I'd rather know what your mind is plotting." 

She went around her desk, and fell into her large chair, gripping the armrests. It was the final stage in her homecoming, and it felt right. She studied Trowa, smiling at him gently. He had always been her favorite pilot, simply because he was a soldier. He knew what a soldier's life was like, and she understood what it meant. "You've grown quite a bit since we've last met," she said softly. "Grown older, and wiser, if the sadness in your eyes is any measure." 

"General?" he asked quietly, and the confusion on his face was classic. She almost laughed, because in emotions, he was an innocent. 

"Trowa," she replied. "Call me Une… there's no need for formalities. I'd like to think that we, at least, can be friends." 

He considered it for a moment before hesitantly nodding. "Une." He examined her face for a moment, returning to her shadowed eyes. "As a friend, would it be forgivable if I said you looked like hell?" His voice was unsure, and she realized that few people had offered him friendship. 

She laughed lightly. "As a friend, yes. It's a friend's duty to smack a person on the head when they're over exerting themselves." She sighed and raked a hand through her hair, the fingers catching on the knots. "Still, I have little choice. The Preventers are falling apart around me." 

"Which is why you invited me," Trowa stated softly. He rose to his feet and circled her desk, looking down at her. "No barriers, Une. What do you want?" 

"The other pilots are fighting this war, Trowa… and I wanted to offer you the chance to as well," she returned. They stared at each other, neither backing down. The moment was an eternal one before he broke the silence. 

"How? Sally has stolen Heavyarms." There was no anger or accusation in his voice; merely statement of fact. Had it been another pilot, he would have spoken of a loss of his soul… but Trowa was different. 

Trowa was an obsolete soldier, and it was up to her to turn him back into the man he should be. 

Une nodded. "And that's partly my fault, for trusting her. So let me offer you a way to fight." Her eyes met his and she leaned forward, her hands resting on her knees. "I want to give you control of the Preventers' central missile defense system in Kashmir." 

He blinked, and for a moment, she thought she saw genuine shock cross his face. But it was gone too fast for her to be sure. "You what?" he whispered. 

"I want to give you control over the missile defense," she repeated. "What do you know about the missile defense system?" 

"Not much," he said after a moment. "I heard them debating it on television right when the Preventers were formed. But not much more than that." 

Une snorted. "I wanted a defense system that would be competent enough to hit an enemy on the ground, in the air, or in space, including on the colonies. The World Nation said it was too much of a superweapon. They compared it to Libra's cannon." 

Trowa nodded. "But you managed to pass it through on the charter, didn't you? I don't think a few nuclear missiles are anywhere near to what Libra's cannon was." 

"It's not Libra's cannon," she admitted. "But it's close. I wasn't comfortable with leaving the Preventers' defense to a few mobile suits, and with the World Nation's seeming policy towards total demilitarization, I supposed I overreacted. I regret it now, but the thing cost quite a bit of money, and I'm not about to admit that I was wrong. Yes, they passed it, after Brown and I haggled with them on the issue for days. 

"Whatever the case, that system is the key to this war. These are state-of-the-art nuclear missiles that can hit any target around the Earth and the colonies, and if Sally gets ahold of them, we're history. I created the Preventers to be a high-security organization, and security breaches have already happened twice. I don't intend to let them happen again! The World Nation isn't going to get the last laugh, if I can help it!" 

"And that's why you want me." 

"I still didn't know if I was right to build that missile defense system," she said. "But it's here and it's ready to be used, and if it comes to it, I want someone trustworthy to push the button." 

"Why?" he asked. "You can't give control of those to a civilian…" 

She locked onto his gaze with burning eyes and stood. He was taller than she was now. They were less than a foot apart, and she was aware of how much change eighteen months had wrought. He was an adult now, and though he had always been her equal, now he was physically one as well. Treize had been taller, but one day, Trowa would be of the same height as the man she had loved. 

It was disorienting, to realize that so much time had passed since Treize had died. Trowa had had time to grow up… 

"You're not a civilian," she returned, and continued to stare him down. "The only two places that the system can be controlled from are Geneva and the Kashmir base. The controls require manual input, and Brown, Sally and I were the only ones who could operate them. When Sally defected, the codes were changed, so that leaves just Brown and myself. But since Brown's in Bern, he won't be able to operate them… and if I'm not around, I need someone to do it in my stead, whose judgement I trust. Who I can trust." She grabbed his chin in hand, leaning forward so their faces were no more than six inches apart. "I've learned that I can trust very few people, but the world needs to trust the pilots. We put our faith in you once; let me put my trust in you again." 

He pulled back, stepping away and turning his head. "Why me? Why not one of your officers?" 

"Because, Trowa, there's no one I trust more. The pilots have never lied; they've always stayed true. Quatre is fighting on the political battlefield, while Wufei, Duo, and Heero have gone to the physical one. I'm offering you a soldier's battlefield, where your decision matters." 

"I -" He turned around, and she knew he was going to deny her request. 

"Trowa, who on this base, aside for you and me, would have the gumption to fire those missiles if the situation called for it?" she demanded, stepping towards him. 

He stepped back, as though trying to escape, but his inherent honesty wouldn't let him deny her the truth. "No one." 

"That's right. I need you to do this for me, because I believe very shortly those missiles are going to become a large part of this battle. They will be our chance to destroy these renegades, and that means unleashing them…but the cost will be high. You and I know how to weigh these decisions; you and I know what acceptable losses are. No one else can do it, for no one else can live with the burden. So tell me, Trowa, is there anyone else I can trust to do this?" 

He met her eyes, and shook his head. "No." 

She nodded. "I need to be my right hand, because I can't be everywhere. When you release those missiles, you'll destroy my career, but it's an acceptable sacrifice. Because I believe." 

He smiled at her again, and the gentleness in it took her back. "No." He picked her hand up and squeezed it, and her eyes lit as hope stirred inside that somehow, this man would pull a miracle out of nowhere for her. "Because we believe." 

Assigning command codes to Trowa without anyone, even Brown, knowing, wasn't that difficult. She needed to protect as many of her Preventers as possible, especially Brown. She knew that her fall was going to come soon, but she didn't want to take anyone else with her. 

_"I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith…"_ she murmured to herself an hour after Trowa left, wondering if there was anything else she could do. "I'm tired," she whispered. "I need to go to bed, and maybe sleep for a while." She rose to her feet to do just that, but on her way out, she jumped a bit at a sudden noise. 

The fax machine began to clatter ominously, and she stared at it, for some reason plunged back to the day when she had received the fax reporting Noin's death. She turned to it, wondering if it was reports of more casualties. "I don't need this right now…" 

Her eyes quickly scanned the report, and she cursed under her breath. It had only been a matter of time before Sally went after that missile defense system, and apparently she had decided that today was the day. Thankfully, the rebel forces had been repulsed...and Trowa would be doing some very heavy duty security work tonight, if she had anything to say about it. Sally was playing the game, but she could play it too. She'd fought hard for that missile defense system, and damned if she was going to let the World Nation point another finger at her and say that she'd been wrong again, when all they were doing in this latest crisis was sitting back, watching what seemed to them to be a power play inside a military they didn't even really like in the first place. She wondered if even President Alderman realized that Sally Po was much more dangerous than she seemed. 

The Kashmir forces had been fighting a losing battle…when…Milliard Peacecraft had showed up. She pursed her lips at that, not surprised to learn that Milliard was back - with Epyon. She had always suspected he had kept his Gundam, but had known better to press him. After Noin's death, she'd let him go have his grief, knowing that he'd be back, and apparently he'd chosen just the right time to show up. 

The report went on in cursory detail to explain that Etille had shown up in the midst of the battle with reinforcements to relieve the Kashmir forces. Eypon had apparently been damaged, and Milliard was coming back to Geneva for repairs. She'd have to have a talk with the man when she saw him. He was still her Chief of Operations, and as far as she was concerned, he had a duty to fulfill, whether he liked it or not. 

She read it over once more and then threw the report on the desk, heaving a sigh. She'd have to request a more detailed report later…they were ahead in the game…but for how long? 

"Well… this does make life interesting, doesn't it?" she murmured. "Maybe it's time for me to light a fire under the World Nation…" 

Her eyes lit as she realized that she'd been passive for far too long… and that maybe Milliard had the right of it. She clicked the com on, dialing her exec. "Lopez?" 

"Yes?" he replied, his voice coming back almost immediately. 

"Can you have that girlfriend of yours track down the best tailor in Geneva?" she asked. "I have a little… project." 

"Huh?" Lopez said. "What-" 

"Never question a superior's orders, Lopez," she replied. "Can you do it?" 

"Sure. Give her two hours," Lopez answered. 

"Tha-" Une started, but was interrupted as the fax began to clatter again. She turned to it, expecting the casualty reports, but froze when she caught the heading at the top of the page. 

TRANSMISSION FROM SPARTA COMMAND BASE VIA EMERGENCY CHANNEL  
THREATCON DELTA ATTACK IMMINENT 

She swore explosively. She also forgot the comm was on, because Lopez was knocking on the door, entering the room before she gave permission. 

"Ma'am? Are you alright?" he asked, panting. 

She let the breach pass and pointed at the fax. "I am, but _this_ isn't. Sally just launched simultaneous attacks - one involving the damn missile defense system and Commander Peacecraft in Asia, and the other was with Chang Wufei in Greece… over Gundam Shenlong." She clenched her fist. "She wasn't supposed to know he was there, dammit!" 

Lopez's face cleared. "The mobile suits at Sparta. She was going after those…and Chang happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time." 

"You're probably right," Une said tightly. "I suspected she'd be after the missiles…but I didn't realize she'd be going after the mobile suits in Sparta too. Our security has held so far…but we don't know how many resources Sally has. It's going to be hell." 

"We won, right?" Lopez asked. "If she's going against those two -" 

Une stared at the second report. "Peacecraft was damaged but Etille came in with reinforcements, and it seems like Sally's forces have withdrawn for the time being. Our Chief of Operations is actually making his way back here." She shut her eyes, taking a deep breath. "The battle in Greece is still continuing. Reinforcements have been called from Sparta...but they're not sure if they'll be in time to save Wufei." 

  


* * *

  
**Scene XV: The Spirit of This Place**

  


**Mui yut tian mong hoi mui yut tian sung dui.  
Han mong lei yin yi mut yuw yiu ngaw bit hui dik hong gui  
Ngaw tzik si lei hoi lei dik tian hong lui.** **Every day we face each other across the ocean.  
I hope that you haven't given me inescapable fears  
Even if I leave your sky** **--Beyond, _Qing Ren_**  


  
Sunrise over Greece was more beautiful than he remembered. The last time Wufei had been here, his vision had been clouded with the fog of war, blinded by the despair he felt over Treize's death. This time, he consciously made the effort to look out over the coastline, to see what he had missed, the golden light rays over the impossibly blue water of the Ionian Sea, silver sand sparkling for miles and miles along ancient shores that had changed little over the centuries. 

Shenlong was there somewhere, buried deep under the waves where he had sunk her, thinking that nothing and no one would ever touch her again. 

The transport he flew was an older model, a little bulky and not meant for transporting anything more than a few antiquated tanks, but it served his purpose. The newer transports were all being used for the backup effort in Asia, and far be it for him to try to take resources away from people who were actually going to the front lines. It surprised him when he had heard that Etille was going as commander, but he supposed that out of everyone, only the general had the combat experience necessary to outwit Sally. 

Still, he wondered if that was enough. It wasn't Sally's wits that had led her to survive this far in the game - it was the sheer fact that she never took no for an answer. He had admired that quality in her once. He supposed he still did, though now it was the deadlier, colder admiration he held for his enemies. 

He looked over at his copilot. It was the strangest of circumstances that had brought Machida Varis to him, and even stranger still that the two of them were now allies in this desperate race against time. Varis had actually been the first person Wufei had thought of when Etille had given him the order to bring someone with him. He hadn't actually thought about bringing a backup, though the idea had crossed his mind that he could bring another of the Gundam pilots along. On second thought, however, he discarded it. Two Gundam pilots on a mission together, without a Gundam at their disposal, was too easy a target. Two years ago, that wouldn't have been a problem. But they had changed, grown apart, and been at peace for far too long. 

They were out of practice. 

He wouldn't have known who to take, anyhow. Heero and Duo were off on a mission of their own. Quatre was on trial, unable to leave Geneva. And he didn't think that Trowa would have gone with him even if he'd begged. The Heavyarms pilot had his sister's safety foremost in his mind, and that meant that wherever Catherine was, he would be. 

Varis had come up as a viable alternative: combat-experienced but yet low-profile enough to not render him a target if somehow Sally got a hold of Wufei's mission specifics. The other man hadn't hesitated when Wufei had come to visit him that day, and in fact had grabbed Wufei's hand and pumped it enthusiastically, thanking him for the chance. 

_You don't know how much this means to me, Varis had said. You won't regret this. I promise._

Sometimes he wondered about the man. Ever since the attack, he'd sensed a change in the other's demeanor, a tightness about the way he carried himself.. He recognized the symptoms. Varis knew that something was about to happen, and like any good soldier, he didn't want to get left behind. That was what he had said when Wufei had first met him in the little border town on the edge of nowhere. It seemed like ages ago, though it had only been two weeks. _I know you're innocent_, Varis had said then. _I want to help prove that. I just want to get back there so I can do something!_

Wufei didn't have the heart to tell him that there was nothing glorious about this new war that they were fighting. What had Sally said, that night? _You were the one who told me that people were stupid to think the war was over! War is never over! Fight for what you believe in!_

Treize had believed in that - the never ending, noble war in which all those who were true warriors accepted their lives and deaths as part of a great natural cause. Wufei hadn't understood that, and he wasn't that he did, even now. The world had changed too much, and the stakes were no longer what they had been during Treize's reign. There was no room now for the philosophy of the defeated that Treize had embraced. 

He wondered what Sally's explanation of the war was. If she would take Treize's stance, or the Federation's, or White Fang's or branch out on her own righteous crusade. She had tried to sway him using his own argument, and had failed. At the time, he had thought that was because she had been trying to twist his words against him, because he didn't want to believe that she was truly that blind. 

_To me, it's about China. The China that loves all her sons and daughters…didn't you tell me that? If we come back to her, China will love us…_

He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a minute against the bright sunlight outside the transport cockpit, and he heard Varis adjusting the thrusters slightly to bring them a little higher above the coastline, hovering. 

"Wufei?" 

He opened his eyes. The altitude gave them a birds-eye view of the near coastline without bringing them too high up. He had been nervous about setting this course, since their lower altitude rendered them visible to the naked eye, and one never knew who might be watching. Varis, however, had convinced him that speed was more essential than stealth. If he'd had a more advanced transport, it wouldn't have mattered no matter what their altitude was; with the new pinpoint target system built into the things, he had a much better chance of locating Shenlong within a matter of hours. 

As it was, he wasn't sure they could even find Shenlong. 

"Where should we start?" Varis questioned, leaning his elbows against the console and giving him an appraising glance. 

"I know I sunk her somewhere near the coast," Wufei said. "Unfortunately, that doesn't help much. And with my memory as fragmented as it is…we could be in the wrong place altogether. I won't know until I go down and take a look." 

"I don't think so," Varis said. He pushed a button and a map came up on the screen. "Your harbor town, from where you took the transport to China after you sunk your Gundam…it's only a few miles down the coast from here. We'll search from here…give me a probable radius and if we don't find it in the next hour, we can adjust our plan." 

Wufei smiled slightly. "You're so sure." 

Varis shrugged. "It never hurts to try. Not when we have some time." 

"You could put it that way," Wufei said thoughtfully. "Let me bring the transport closer down." 

He touched the controls gently and the bulky craft glided gently forwards and downwards. Wufei felt the slight pull of g-forces tug at his seat harness, felt himself give in gently to the tugging. It had been far too long since he had flown anything that had even the slightest resemblance to a spacecraft - all he had been in since the war were passenger liners, with their cushy pressurized atmospheres and adjustable gravity. 

For once, he was rather absurdly glad that they'd landed an older transport model. 

"Cruising altitude 15,000 feet," Varis reported, touching the dials. Air hissed from somewhere behind them and he felt an abrupt shift in the balance of the craft. "Hatch open." 

"Thank you," Wufei responded, unbuckling his harness. "You have the controls." 

"I have the controls," Varis responded. "Do you need any help with your pressure suit?" 

"I think I have it, thank you. If I do, I'll yell." 

Varis grinned. "I don't think you'll have trouble. They're not that different from a regular space suit." 

"It's been a while," Wufei said. At the narrow cockpit doorway, he turned. "Varis…if you see anything suspicious…anything at all. Warn me immediately. Don't try to take Sally on yourself. The transport can't handle it." 

"And you can?" Varis retorted. "If we don't find Shenlong?" 

"I'll have more luck than you. She'll only attack the transport if she thinks I'm aboard." 

"That's the point," the Special Forces Agent said, almost too softly for him to hear, but Wufei caught the words. 

"Varis," he said sharply. "Don't try to die a martyr's death in my name. That won't do me or any of the other pilots, nor the Preventers, an ounce of good. We need you alive." 

"We need you alive too," his co-pilot responded, looking at him solemnly. "The same goes for you. Don't do anything stupid." 

"I'm a Gundam pilot," Wufei said quietly. "That's my job." 

He was out the hatch before Varis could say anything else, sealing it behind him as he entered the small closet-like space behind the cockpit and slipping the oxygen mask over his head. This section of the transport was not atmospherically sealed, and though the oxygen 15,000 feet above sea level was still breathable, he didn't want to take a chance, in case something went wrong. He'd heard too many stories of hypoxia victims who thought they were safe and hadn't taken the proper precautions. 

The pressure suits were in a closet to his left. He opened it and took one out, discarding his bulky g-suit and slipping into the slippery plastic-like material. He left the oxygen hose unhooked, shoving the g-suit into the closet and closing the door securely. Varis was right; except for the material and the slight difference in the oxygen tube and mask, the pressure suit was almost exactly like a space suit. 

Checking himself over one last time, he took a deep breath, then pressed the blinking button to his right. 

The doors of the cargo hatch in front of him began to slide open, groaning and creaking. Sunlight streamed through the cracks in the rear unloading doors in little trickles and pinpricks, crisscrossing the bulky object that lay parked in the center. 

There were very few Cancer mobile suits left in the world, and this one had been extremely hard to get a hold of. 

Fortunately, the Geneva crew chief had made a few well-placed calls as well as a few well-placed threats, and had managed to persuade the naval crew at Forteleza Sea Station in South America to part with one of their beloved Cancers, promising to return it in prime condition. Wufei wasn't exactly sure that the crew chief's promise would be fulfilled, but he was more than willing to take his share of the blame if anything happened to it. 

He'd never been in a Cancer before, but everything seemed to work along the lines of a regular mobile suit. He popped the hatch and dropped into the cockpit, powering the suit on. It hummed to life smoothly and the displays lit as if new. Evidently, the crew at Forteleza loved their Cancers very much. 

Wufei made a mental note to write them a thank you letter after all this was done. 

He connected his oxygen hose to his mask and then to the port to the side of the pilot's seat, then turned on the comm, flicking a few switches to make sure that it was hot and the line was secure from the Cancer to the transport. It wouldn't do to have anyone tapping into this frequency. He was almost positive Sally didn't have the means to do that. 

It was absurd, really, all his worries that she'd find him here. It was true that Sparta Command Base was only a few miles away, but her search there would lead her to a dead end. Most of the mobile suits had been evacuated and hidden once news of her betrayal had been broadcasted, though he didn't know if she knew that. Still, she wasn't stupid. With Milliard Peacecraft still currently missing and Noin dead, there were no important personnel at Sparta worth taking out. 

He hoped. 

"Varis?" 

The comm crackled in his ear for a minute, then he heard the familiar voice. "Everything green?" 

"Affirmative. Let her down." 

"Roger that. Standby." 

He heard the transport creak around him, felt the Cancer's supports shift in response to regain their tight clamp on the cargo hold floor. The altitude reading on the meter showed the transport descending. He watched the digital display roll. 10,000 feet. 8,000. 5,000. 3,000. 

There was only a slight jolt as the transport touched, and if he hadn't been looking for it, he would never have noticed the slight rolling motion that signified a successful touchdown into the water. The comm crackled again. "Looks like a go," Varis said. "Launch confirm." 

He pulled the throttle. "Launch confirm in five, four, three, two, one, zero, go." 

The floor dropped from underneath him and with a resounding splash and faint bubbling noise, he saw the water close around the cockpit, saw the bottom of the transport drifting with the morning sun shining faintly through the water, creating a rippling blue-purple-white glow. 

"All systems go," he reported through the mic. "I'm going to head towards point niner three three…will cut through in a radius of approximately three miles. I'll see if the scanners pick up anything. We can go from there." 

"Acknowledged," Varis said. "I'm launching. Will notify if anything comes up on the scope." 

"Roger. Tango mike." 

Bubbles drifted past the windshield as the transport pulled away and he gunned the thrusters, propelling himself downward and into the ocean that had swallowed up Nataku. Sunlight filtered down into the water, which grew progressively bluer as the Cancer dove. He had heard that once there had been abundant sea life up and down the Greek coast but that industrialism and pollution in the 20th and 21st centuries had managed to destroy about half of it, and the excesses of the Federation had managed to destroy the rest. 

It was a damn shame, really. The ocean here was so beautiful. 

The last shafts of sunlight disappeared and the water turned black. He turned on the Cancer's outside lights just in time to see something shoot through the water from the corner of his left eye. He turned to look, but it was gone. A fish? 

The Cancer could have easily have descended to the sea floor, as it was designed to comfortably navigate the deepest oceans that Earth had to offer, but that wasn't what he was here for. He reached his designated coordinate point and spent the next hour drifting in a wide radius around that point, sonar turned on, watching the screen. 

He found nothing. 

Half an hour after that, Varis called to check up on his progress and notify him that maybe they should move along. He agreed. The possibility loomed large in his mind that perhaps they were on the wrong section of the Greek coast. He didn't think his memory was that faulty now to make him think he'd sunk Shenlong off Greece when he actually had not, but it could very well be that he had pinpointed the wrong town and the wrong section of coastline. 

Three hours later, he was ready to admit defeat. Even Varis sounded a little disappointed when their search had turned up nothing. "Maybe you'd better come in and take a rest," he said over the comm. "We can come back later." 

"I'm sorry," Wufei said. "I shouldn't have assumed…" 

Varis laughed ruefully. "It's all right. I-" 

There was a short bleeping noise and then silence. Wufei frowned. "Varis?" 

Static, then the sound of a connection reopening. "Sorry. I got cut off. I think someone was listening in." 

Wufei's muscles tensed and he swung the Cancer back in a wide arc towards the transports coordinates, keying in standby for weapons control as he did so. "Any idea who?" 

"No idea. I'm not taking any chances though. You'd better-" 

"Hold on a second," Wufei said sharply, pushing up on the throttle and throwing the Cancer into an abrupt halt in the water. There had been something there just then, back there. He backtracked through the scanner log, looking for the blip in the sonar that announced the presence of a foreign object in the water. 

There. 

That was it. 

"Varis, what's your situation?" 

"Stable. No sign of other air or sea craft, though I've put the weapons on standby." The Special Forces agent's voice was tight. "Did you find something?" 

"Not sure. I'm going to go check it out." 

The Cancer dove and he made miniscule adjustments to the dive course, steering it on path towards the anomaly on his scanners. He could feel his heart beating wildly and his adrenalin starting to pump through his body and he cursed under his breath, trying to calm himself down. The last thing he needed was to get jumpy and excited in the face of a probable enemy attack. Varis' words back there had put him on alert, and though it was unlikely, he needed to prepare for the worst. 

Which meant preparing to face Sally again. 

He saw the Gundam's eyes before the sonar began its wild beeping. She was there where he had left her, half-covered with mud and seaweed and silt, lying silent and motionless on the ocean floor. His throat tightened for a second and he forced his eyes away from her, taking a deep breath. 

"Varis? I found her." 

There was a long pause, and when Varis' voice came back, it was short and clipped. "Good. Hurry and get her out. We're about to have some company." 

He hissed between his teeth. "Sally?" 

"Let's hope for the best and plan for the worst, shall we?" The comm crackled. "I don't know what the hell she's doing here since the target's supposed to be in Asia, but - dammit, just hurry." 

"I'm moving as fast as I can," Wufei said, already climbing out of the seat and yanking the oxygen hose out of the mobile suit port, fastening it to the oxygen tank he was in the process of strapping onto his back . "I'm going cold mic here. I'll see you in a couple minutes, hopefully with Shenlong." 

He snapped off the comm before Varis could respond, checking one last time to make sure his pressure suit was sealed, then moved the Cancer slowly forward and down, towards the unburied parts of the Gundam. Slowed as he reached the entrance to the hatch, which was half-covered in silt and mud. With the Cancer's claw, he brushed what he could of it away, hopefully leaving enough room for him to work with. 

Time to see what the pressure suit was made of. And if Shenlong's armor and systems had held through two years of saltwater corrosion. 

Water rushed in as he popped the hatch of the Cancer, temporarily blinding him, but the pressure suit adjusted quickly and he propelled himself up and out through the opening, then frog-kicked his way down towards the ocean bottom. Nataku was cold and hard to the touch through the thick gloves of the suit, and he fumbled around, trying to locate the hatch keypad. He finally found it after clearing away several inches of thick sea-goo which had evidently found it a comfortable home. Swallowing, he keyed in the code and prayed. 

Nothing happened. 

Wufei gritted his teeth and tried again. Still nothing. Frustrated, he banged his fist against the side of the control panel. There was no reason the code shouldn't work - the only reason he could think of was that Shenlong's systems were entirely down, and that would prove a problem. He didn't want to use the Cancer to drag a Gundam up to the surface, especially not if Sally's troops were there and waiting for him. 

In the glow of the Cancer's lights, he floated for a minute in front of the useless control pad. There was another way, manual, into the cockpit, but he'd never tried it. Using it would probably damage the hatch mechanism, but right now, that was the least of his worries. In a moment of quick decision, he kicked back to the Cancer, letting himself back into the hatch and grabbing the tool bag from under the pilot's seat. 

Shenlong's bolts and hull were rusted and covered with a slimy growth that made it hard to grasp the side of the craft. He steered the Cancer around to top of the hatch so that the lights shone directly onto the square door and began methodically unscrewing the bolts around it, discarding about half of them, just enough so he could wedge the long driver around the edge of the door. There was a latch there, which he grasped and pulled. It turned with some resistance, and a hidden level popped up on the other side of the door. Placing the screwdriver back into his tool pouch, Wufei took hold of the lever with both hands and, bracing himself against Shenlong, pushed. 

With a shuddering slowness and much grating, the hatch slid open. 

Water rushed into it and he waited till it had filled the entire cockpit before releasing the lever and cautiously putting one foot on the doorframe. He'd gotten the hatch open, but that was no guarantee the systems would work correctly or were even functional. Gritting his teeth, he dropped down into the cockpit, into the familiar pilot's chair. 

Everything was as he remembered. The displays were dark and the chair was cocked at a strange angle, but there was a haunting familiarity to this place that he could not miss. He moved to fasten his harness, and his hand brushed something. 

It was his sword. 

For a moment he stared at it, then lifted it up, settling it next to the left side of his seat, placing his hands on the power-up controls, willing them to work. 

_Please, Nataku…don't let me down._

For a moment the feeling of déjà vu overwhelmed him and he closed his eyes, stiffening as the memories came rushing back again. With effort, he pushed them away. He'd come this far, willingly, and he couldn't give everything up now, not when the Preventers needed him. They needed Shenlong. Heero and Duo and Quatre and Trowa needed Shenlong. 

And he…he needed Nataku. 

He placed his finger on the power-on button. And pushed. 

The console lights blinked. Once. Twice. And Nataku came alive. 

He took two deep breaths, blowing them out slowly, then cleared his mind of everything but the tasks at hand. Get Shenlong back to the surface. Take the Cancer. Get to the transport. 

Varis. 

He plugged in the mic hurriedly, flipping it to hot, hoping that the communication system still worked. "Varis?" he said. "Varis, are you there?" 

"It's Po," came the response. "Did you get it?" 

"I've got her," Wufei said shortly. "I'm coming up." 

"Hurry." 

_How the hell does Sally know I'm here?_

He let muscle memory take over, went through the pre-flight checklist in ten seconds, took another two to secure his belt and slam the hatch shut, then took three seconds to let the life support system start up. There was a whooshing noise as the atmospheric control sucked the water out of the cockpit and he waited for the familiar hum of the oxygen to kick in. It didn't. 

He waited for two more seconds before feeling rather stupid. It had been two years on the ocean floor and he was lucky that the flight system was working properly. He wondered how much longer his oxygen tank would last him, then decided he didn't have time to answer that. Varis was in trouble, and the transport's weapons were no match for any offensive weapon nowadays, much less a mobile suit. 

Shenlong's engines roared to life and he swung her around, trying to ignore her slow response time. Reaching out with one of the Gundam's hands, he gently wrapped it around the Cancer, cradling it with both arms, increasing the thruster power so that Shenlong would not start sinking. He hoped it was enough to make it out of the water when he actually got to the surface. Shenlong was not made for marine combat, or travel, for that matter, and one of her engines seemed to be running on less than one-fourth of its usual power. He remembered that it had gone out completely on that last flight to Earth when he had sunk her. 

Carefully, he eased the Cancer to a comfortable position, securing it as best as he could. It obscured the viewscreen completely and he cursed under his breath, but there was no time to try to reposition it. Varis was waiting. Sally was waiting. He clenched his jaw, prayed, and jammed the engine controls to maximum power. 

Shenlong began to rise. 

He closed his eyes and let the giant craft take him upward, spiraling towards the ocean's surface in a shower of silver bubbles, rising towards the sun. The cockpit spun around him and he felt dizzy again. He saw his colony explode before his eyes. He saw her smile. 

_I was strong, wasn't I? You weren't ashamed of me as your wife? _

You're stronger than anyone. Stronger…than anyone. 

Stronger than anyone. 

Nataku. 

"NATAKU!" he cried, and Shenlong burst from the water in an brilliant explosion of blinding spray and sea-foam, and his eyes flew open, the bright Greek sun streaming in through the windows, around the bulky shape of the Cancer still cradled in her arms, and he realized that he was crying. 

He had missed her so much, and yet it was no longer the same, no longer both of them joined together in the frenzied ecstasy of battle, in the name of justice. She had been an extension of him, a part of him he had built up in his heart and refused to let go after the fighting was over, but in doing so he had lost a part of himself to what he thought had been her legacy when in fact it was not her at all. 

Meilan had believed in the goodness and the purity of people. 

_I understand now, Nataku. I understand._

"Wufei?" 

It was Varis' voice coming from the comm, relief and worry in it at the same time. He felt Shenlong falling, her thrusters unable to support her, and wished, not for the first time, that his Gundam was capable of true atmospheric flight like Wing Zero was. As it was, he doubted that Shenlong could even manage to walk any long distance without system failure. 

"I'm here," he said hoarsely. "I'm pretty much a sitting duck right now - neither Shenlong or the Cancer can fly. Where are you?" 

"I can see you from here. Go towards the shore, point four-six-six. I'll follow you. I've managed to hold Po off for now. She hasn't really tried anything, but she's been trying to open a channel with me. I don't think she knows you're not on the transport." 

"She will soon enough," Wufei said through gritted teeth. "I'm heading in." 

Shenlong was not made for swimming, and the added weight of the Cancer was not helping. It was as much as he could do to keep her from sinking altogether. The engines were on maximum power, and he wasn't sure how much fuel he had left, since half the dials on the leftmost instrument panel were broken, and the fuel gauge was one of them. 

He saw the sandy shores of the beach at the same time he spotted the mobile suits heading towards him. There were six of them, flying in a tight V formation, old Leo suits that looked like they'd seen better days. Then again, he was sure they were in better shape than Shenlong. 

"Long time no see," the pleasant voice greeted him from the open comm channel on the dash. 

"Hello, Sally," he said tightly, accepting the transmission. The screen cleared and showed her sitting in the cockpit of the Leo, still dressed in her Preventers uniform. "Shouldn't you get rid of that uniform? I would think you would find it offensive." 

"I don't have time to waste words with you," she said, ignoring his question. "I must confess that it was a surprise to find you here, as I was planning on my target being Sparta Command Base. I knew you hadn't destroyed Shenlong, though Une seems to think so." 

So she was after the mobile suits at Sparta after all. "I have my own reasons," he said. "And not everything has to do with Une." Shenlong stepped onto the beach and he could feel her structural supports groan. He deposited the Cancer on the sand as carefully as he could, but he was afraid that the extra weight had weakened some of the already unstable support beams to their maximum capacity. 

The Leos veered off to his right, circling him. He wondered where Varis' transport was. "I did give you a choice," Sally said, her voice cold and her eyes narrowed. "You chose to refuse me." 

"Are you going to kill me then?" he said, keeping any emotion from seeping into his voice, not giving any sign of how much her words hurt. 

She laughed. It was not a nice laugh. "I don't know. On the one hand, I need Shenlong. On the other hand, I don't want anything to do with traitors." 

"Traitors? This coming from the traitor herself? Your reasoning has no logic behind it, Sally." 

He saw her Leo come towards him, shooting over Shenlong's head. The others dropped behind her, landing on the beach, stalking towards him menacingly. He dropped the Gundam instinctively into a battle crouch and hit the power-up for weapons, knowing as he did so that it was no use, because Shenlong's power supply was so depleted that there was no energy left to charge them. 

In all essence, Wufei and his Gundam were a sitting target, and he knew that Sally knew that. 

"You told me that Nataku was long gone," she said to him, dropping her Leo into the ring, facing him. "You told me that China loves all her sons and daughters that come back to her. How could I have trusted you, someone who doesn't even believe in his own words?" 

"I didn't ask you to trust in me, Sally," he said quietly. "You did that by your own choice, from the first day you rescued me from those Federation troops in China during the war." 

"I'm not here to mince words, Wufei," she shot back coldly. Any familiarity in her eyes and her voice was gone. He didn't know the harsh, distant woman on the screen. He felt sick. "Give me Shenlong." 

"No." 

She laughed again, humorlessly. "I didn't expect it to be so easy. But you will give me Shenlong, one way or another." 

"What happened to you, Sally?" he said desperately. "I believed in you. We believed…" 

"You're a weakling!" she snapped. "A fool!" The ring of Leos closed in. "You gave up your heritage and your legacy for a cause that would never do the same for you! Your Chinese blood doesn't mean anything to you, does it, Wufei? Nataku doesn't mean a thing!" 

His hands tightened on the controls, but he felt her words trickle off into nothingness, unable to touch him. "You're wrong, Sally. My heritage means the world to me. Nataku…means the world to me. And nothing, no one, could ever take that away." 

"Then why don't you come with me? Isn't Nataku worth that much to you? Doesn't she stand for your heritage!?" 

"That's where you're wrong, Sally," he said. "Nataku doesn't stand for my heritage, though she is a symbol to me for everything that my heritage is. Nataku stands for strength. For perseverance. For giving to something and fighting for something that is larger than myself. I've learned to let her go, but at the same time, I know she'll always be with me. Nataku fought and died so that the world could have peace, and I'm not going to give that up!" 

"I don't understand," she said, and he could hear, for the first time, the uncertainty in her voice. "I thought Nataku…" she trailed off. 

He smiled. "Sally…Nataku was my wife." 

He saw the shock on her face, the clarification there, and then the anger and bitterness of betrayal. "You lied to me," she ground through her teeth. 

"I never lied. She was my wife, and I loved her, but I never told her until it was too late. I will never make that mistake again. I've changed, Sally - you said that yourself. I've come to realize that the value of human life is worth more than anything in this world. I believe in the will of people, Sally. I believe that human beings are capable of doing the right thing!" 

"You're deluding yourself!" she snarled. "The World Nation will destroy us, just like the Federation tried to! You're running from the truth!" 

"No, Sally," he said, and he saw the end of her beam rifle glowing and knew that she was no longer the Sally he had known. Or perhaps she never had been. Perhaps it had all been a lie. "You're the one who's running. I've learned that I'm not as strong as I thought I was, but that those who the world sees as weak can still make a difference. You taught me that! You told me that…the death of the heart is the saddest thing that can happen to you. You've killed your own heart, running away from the future because you don't understand it!" 

"You're the one who doesn't understand anything!" A shot sizzled past his windshield from one of the Leos on his right, and he ducked, swinging out with the dragon's head on Shenlong's right arm. It brushed the Leo's left side, leaving a long scratch in the gleaming armor. 

"I understand that war is not the means to all ends, Sally. Treize taught me that. I know that now. That was why Treize died. Are you going to throw his sacrifice away, Sally? Are you going to let his death mean nothing?" 

"Treize was WRONG!" she cried, launching her Leo at him. "Treize didn't care about the people! Treize cared only about himself!" 

He had no time to prepare for the assault, felt the Leo ram into him and felt Shenlong fall, striking the sand in a harsh, hollow crash of straining metal. His harness straps bit into his shoulders with the impact and he barely kept from crying out. He could feel the blood seeping through his shirt, the sword a cold bar of steel against the warm trickle. 

"Sally-" he ground out through the pain, but there was a blast and he felt her Leo push itself off of Shenlong. Saw the other Leos move quickly out of the ring and form into a fighting formation. 

_Varis!_

"No, Varis!" he cried, but he could already see the transport coming in low and fast, heading straight for the Leos. Sally's picture on his screen fizzled and died as he lost the connection, and then it blinked and he saw Varis at the pilot's controls of the transport, face strained. 

"Get out of here, Wufei!" 

"Don't be stupid!" he shouted desperately. "I told you not to do this!" 

"I'm doing this for you," Varis said, and Wufei saw him smile. "Go now. Hurry!" 

He threw Shenlong to the side, heard her engines sputter as he threw all power to them, hurtling out of the way of the Leos and the transport. He saw the Leos open fire. Saw the transport shudder with the force of the blasts, but never falter. "Don't do this! Varis, you can get out of here…we can-" 

The face on the screen shook his head, still smiling. "Wufei…you taught me what it truly means to be a soldier. I'm glad to have been your friend. Thank you." 

"VARIS!" 

The picture vanished, and with a mighty heave and roar of flame, Shenlong lifted off from the earth, gaining momentum, hurtling towards space with a desperation that he hadn't known was left in her. The Greek sun shone hot and unforgiving, blazing through the windows of the cockpit. He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to look. 

With his eyes closed tightly, he did not see the explosion, but he felt it, as if something had been torn from inside him, and he screamed, ripping the headset from his head, grasping the sword with both hands, ramming it through the control panel, through the viewscreen where he had last seen Machida Varis' face. The screen fizzled and died, then burst with a popping sound. He felt slivers bury themselves in his skin, stinging his face as they cut, and he squeezed his eyes and opened them against the pain. 

The sky was dark blue and still Shenlong was rising. A few minutes longer and he would be out of the atmosphere and into space. He had not been in space since the war. He took a deep breath, dashing the tears from his face, feeling the salt mix with the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. 

Another person had died because of him. 

"Nataku?" he whispered, staring at what was left of the vidscreen, clenching his fists on the hilt of the sword. "I don't understand." 

The stars were visible now, coming out one by one coldly and so far away, father than they ever looked through the comforting blanket of the night sky. He saw her face again, the blood trickling from the corner of her mouth as she asked him again to reaffirm her own sacrifice for him. 

_I was strong, wasn't I? You weren't ashamed of me as your wife?_

And he heard himself responding. 

_You're stronger than anyone. Stronger…than anyone._

Varis had not died in vain, but right now he couldn't think of anything noble or beautiful to say about his death. Couldn't think of any way to justify it or to comfort himself or to make himself see that it had been the right thing to do. Perhaps later, after the shock had faded. Perhaps the next day. Perhaps after he had gone back to Geneva and told the others what had happened. Perhaps then. 

But now as Shenlong still rose, higher and higher through the darkness, he could only think of Sally staring accusingly at him. _You gave up your heritage and your legacy for a cause that would never do the same for you!_ Could only think of Varis' voice, saying, _You taught me what it truly means to be a soldier. I'm glad to have been your friend._ Smiling. 

Smiling, just as Meilan had been, when she had died. 

He would cry if he could, but he had no more tears left. 

  
**END SAINAN NO KEKKA ACT X**

  
Act X Part III | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	40. An Invitation from Hell

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2002 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING **

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT XI, PART I 

**Kokoro ni nokoru  
Kasuka na kioku wa  
Togireta uta no you ni  
Kinou o tsunagitomeru **

Shinjitsu no mirai o oimotome  
Kodoku no tabibito wa samayou  


**The few memories  
That linger in my heart  
Like fragments of a song  
Hang onto yeserday **

Seeking for the true future  
The lonely traveler wanders  


**--Gundam Wing, _Tooi Yoake_  
[_Faraway Dawn_, Zechs Merquise image song]**  


  
  
**Scene I: The Perfumes of Arabia**

  


_"Sweet desert rose  
Whose shadow bears the secret promise  
This desert flower  
No sweet perfume that would torture you more than this  
--Sting, Desert Rose_

  
When Jaffa Winner walked into the courtroom, no eyes turned to mark her passage. 

They were well into the trial and the movements of one of Quatre's innumerable sisters didn't attract attention, with the exception of Yaminah, who was his lawyer. Many people still didn't know her name, unable to keep them straight, even though almost all of them had distinct appearances. If a woman bore the name Winner, people seemed to automatically forget her face. 

It annoyed some of them, but others, like Jaffa herself, used it to their advantage. There was an anonymity that came from being one of many, and she knew how to blend into the crowd. By fading into the background, she was merely one of the middle sisters, unremarkable. 

Taking the seat next to Reeshya, she adjusted one of her veils. Sometimes she didn't wear them, but since the trial began, she hadn't taken them off in public. It was amazing how concealing they were, and not having to school her expressions was a relief. 

"I'm glad you're here," Reeshya whispered to her. "It's going to get bad again." 

"When hasn't it been bad?" Jaffa wanted to know, looking over at her youngest sister. "What's going on?" 

"It's that woman again," Reeshya said with disgust thick in her voice. "She's calling all sorts of soldiers to serve as witnesses to the attacks... as if we don't know what happened." 

Jaffa's eyes were grim as she listened to Fatima bint Narish. The woman, today dressed in a sleek tope suit, was standing behind the prosecution's table, leaning forward slightly as she questioned one of the witnesses. Her eyes were sharp by her voice was deceptively soft as she asked one of the soldiers about the attack on Prince Sultan Base, one of the first bases that had been destroyed by the Gundams at the beginning of the war. 

"We'd received some odd readings from our aerial net, and our commander decided to go check it out - we thought it was an enemy suit. We had no idea that it was a Gundam," said the soldier. "We were about one kilometer from base when all the sudden he appeared from nowhere. The suit was different than anything we'd seen, and there were a ton of other suits following behind him, massing like a swarm of insects. We didn't know it was a Gundam, but we followed our orders." 

"And what happened next?" 

"He wiped us out. I only survived because my suit only partially exploded. I'll never forget seeing those dual-scythes coming at me," the man said. His voice was steady, but his eyes were haunted. 

Carrington waited until it was her turn. "Before he attacked, did Mr. Winner say anything?" 

"Yes. I'll never forget his voice - I remember wondering if it was a girl or boy. 'Drop your weapons and surrender. I have no intention of harming you.'" 

"He gave you a chance?" Carrington pressed. 

"He knew we couldn't take it. It was against our mission," the ex-Federation soldier snapped back, half-rising out of the chair. 

Jaffa listened for a bit more, but decided that the testimony was immaterial. The soldier had been wounded in an attack perpetrated by her brother, and it was wounding Quatre to have to face the human consequences of his decision to fight, but she believed her brother was strong enough to handle it. No, this wasn't the largest hurdle that would have to be crossed. 

Right now, Fatima was merely throwing the lightweights at them. It was meant to soften the Senate, and while most of the politicians were too jaded to be swayed, there would be a few who might. 

And then she would start pulling out the big guns. 

"How much longer is the witness list?" Jaffa asked her sister. 

Reeshya dug out a pad of paper and checked it. "A fourth of the way. There's hundreds of people left to go. I think they've decided if they overwhelm people with information, they'll find him guilty. After all, if that many people hate him, they all can't be wrong, right?" she asked cynically. 

Jaffa was relieved for her veils for the millionth time since the trial began. It meant she didn't have to pretend to smile or not be concerned. 

Quatre was in serious trouble. 

Yaminah sat beside her brother. Quatre's eyes were focused ahead, listening to the condemnation of what he had done as a pilot, with many personal attacks thrown in for good measure. Even though she and Carrington were, by turns, motioning that the testimony be stricken from the record with varying degrees of success, the poison was already spreading. 

She wasn't used to this big a stage; most of her cases rarely went to trial. She didn't consider herself a trial lawyer, and she felt uncomfortable knowing that after this, she would be forever famous. She would either be the lawyer who defended a Gundam Pilot, or the lawyer who lost the most important case of her career. 

It was not a very reassuring thought. 

Meeting Quatre and getting to know him had been a pleasure, much to her surprise. She had never been particularly entwined in the Winner family structure, being one of the sisters who rarely traded on her name. In fact, she had only kept in touch with about three of her sisters, but when Jaffa had called her, she had come. They all had. 

And then... she had learned about the family - and learned that yes, the Quatre Raberba Winner she had known only through gossip and media releases was indeed her younger brother. She and Quatre looked little alike, but he had the same carriage as she did, would gesture and speak the same way. It was in his smile, which was all too rare, that she saw herself the most. And she learned to love him, the sweet young man who was now the family head. 

She regretted that a bit, now that the trial was underway. It was hard to be impartial as the accusations came, as the list of Quatre's horrific actions were described in graphic detail. 

The last few days, something in his eyes had changed. They had become a bit harder, glinting with conviction. Once she had stared at them for too long, and felt herself falling under the their spell, firmly convinced that yes, he knew that he was hated by the world, but he didn't care. Something in them knew a greater truth, and as she watched, she understood what the word 'charisma' really meant. 

Quatre was a leader of men. People would - and had - followed him into hell. 

Another witness was called, and she forced herself to pay attention. She was a lawyer, and she was paid to twist people's words against them. 

"Can you describe the events at Seljuk Base on 29 April, A.C. 195?" Fatima was asking. 

The man she was questioning was the only survivor of the attack. He was a steadier witness than some the prosecution had called, with cool eyes and a soft, yet firm, speaking voice. "We were on our normal duties. Orders had come to increase security, but as a resupply station, we were lower on the priority list than some of the others to receive additional personnel. 

"A group of about forty mobile suits came out of the east, led by a Gundam which I identified as 04, codenamed Sandrock." 

"You knew this at the time?" 

"No, I did comparisons later after, when the information was released. At this time, the Gundams were just a nasty rumor. It wasn't until Lake Victoria was attacked that it became generally accepted they existed. If you saw a Gundam, you died." 

Yaminah would have motioned to have that struck from the record, but it had already been established that was a commonly accepted truth. In the early days, sighting a Gundam had been a death sentence. Quatre merely watched the man, his hands on the table before him, relaxed. 

"What happened?" 

"Sandrock's pilots - Mr. Winner - sent a warning, demanding that we surrender. My superior, Commander Sturges, pretty much laughed and ordered us to attack. We were wiped out in five minutes. The Gundam did all the work." 

"And you survived?" 

"My suit was malfunctioning. The power went out about two minutes in, and I pretty much ground to a halt. I wasn't able to do anything - so I ejected." 

"Were there any other survivors?" 

"None." 

It was her turn now, and she only had to make one point. "You say that he offered a chance for surrender before the fight?" 

"Yes." 

The questioning of all the early-war witnesses was much the same. There were amazingly few, considering all the battles Quatre had fought, but as had been established, Gundams meant death in those first days of the war. 

There were other points she could make, about the laws of war, but she wasn't ready to go into it just yet. The prosecution wasn't playing on that field yet, and she didn't want be the first to enter that arena. It would be too dangerous for Quatre. 

Yaminah sighed as they finally agreed to a recess for lunch. Pushing back her chair, she stretched slowly, turning her eyes to her brother. 

"How are you holding up?" she asked. 

He placed a hand on her knee reassuringly. "I'm fine. It's you I'm worried for. I know what I did, and I have to accept it - but you're being crucified inside for trying to protect someone you're not sure you believe in." 

"What?" she demanded. "Quatre-" 

"You believe in me as your brother, but you don't agree with my actions. I think... father was much the same," he told her. "I appreciate what you're doing, Yaminah, but I don't you to hurt yourself." 

She was always amazed at how perceptive some of her siblings were. She hadn't had time to sort out her feelings on the issue, being thrown head-first into the situation with scarcely a chance to pause. "Quatre..." she said softly. 

"Carrington can defend me, if you need a break," he said. "Take the afternoon off," he told her. "Or even longer." 

She recognized the chance he was offering her. Quatre was letting her desert a sinking ship, if she so desired. 

Inside, her heart warmed, and she smiled outwardly. "How about you have the Maguanacs take you outside for some fresh air?" she said. "Maybe get some food? Bring me back some green tea, and maybe something with a ton of sugar - I'm going to need the energy." 

His smile was wonderful as he recognized her avowal of loyalty. There was something enchanting about him, and she understood why there had been so many who had loved him. 

Rising to his feet, he brushed a kiss across her cheek She had seen him kiss some of her other sisters, but this was the first time he had shown her such affection. "I'm sure Rashid had found the best chocolate shop in town - he's an addict. We've got two hours, so I'll make sure I get you something utterly worthless in the health department." 

"That would be perfect," she replied, watching him go. As he left the room, he was immediately flanked by a bodyguard of ten Maguanacs, who shoved their way passed the reporters who tried to besiege him. 

Carrington, meanwhile, had kicked back in her chair, removing her shoes. Wiggling her toes, she looked thoroughly cranky. "He's too cute for his own good." 

"You should have asked him for chocolate, too," Yaminah said. 

"He'll bring me something. He's thoughtful like that. But this trial is ridiculous," Carrington huffed irritably. "They're totally missing the point." 

Yaminah looked at her, raising an eyebrow cynically. "They're politicians. They usually do." 

Carrington just gave the lawyer a dark look. "So do lawyers." 

"I'm injured, really. But it's our job to divert attention... that's why Fatima has been dragging all the so-called eye witnesses through to get a sympathy vote." 

"It's a waste of time. That's not the issue at hand. Quatre has confessed to being a Gundam pilot - we know it, he's not denying it. We can pretty much trace everything he did during the war. The question is, is what he did during the war a war crime? Were his actions crimes against humanity?" Carrington asked. 

"I... no. He committed no crimes," she answered hesitantly. 

"You hesitated," Carrington said. "Why?" 

Yaminah lowered her eyes, not wanting to admit what she was thinking. 

"You know international law as well as I do. The law of armed conflict... there's rules to war," Carrington said. "You and I need to be completely honest with ourselves, and have no doubts where we stand. Yaminah Winner, what do you believe? Is your brother a war criminal?" 

Yaminah opened her mouth to deny it again, but Carrington was right. She had to be honest, if she was going to defend her brother. It had been weighing on her conscience for weeks now. "It's the civilians," Yaminah said softly. "Civilians were killed through his actions." 

"'And aerial bombardment is prohibited unless directed at combatant forces or belligerent establishments or lines of communication or transportation used for military purposes,'" Carrington quoted. "I've been reading over the protection laws for civilian populations, and..." 

"The Colony Quatre destroyed," Yaminah said softly. "Most of his other actions can be argued as being for military purposes and sound in tactical intent, but while he was under the influence of the Zero..." 

"There is no excuse, Yaminah. Even if he had been sane, and the position was military, destroying the entire colony is undefendable. 'In cases where the objectives above specified are so situated that they cannot be bombarded without the indiscriminate bombardment of the civilian population, the aircraft must abstain from bombardment.'" 

Yaminah hadn't wanted to acknowledge that Quatre, with his golden hair and angelic smile, could be.... "I..." 

"We can't defend unless we admit the truth," Carrington said. "Right now Fatima is merely putting up a smokescreen. But everyone has acknowledged that Quatre is a Gundam pilot. He himself has, and there's a lot of records out there. She's laying the foundation for something bigger." 

"Once she has them used to listening to her, she'll convince them that he's a war criminal. Everything he did, everyone he killed... after hearing all that...." Yaminah whispered, clenching her fists. "Should we try for an insanity plea?" 

"No. We're setting a precedent for the rest of the pilots. There's no way Chang will get off on one, even though Yuy and Barton might - but I doubt it. Maxwell may be manic, but that's all he is. All of them were quite in touch with reality and the consequences of their actions." 

"But Quatre wasn't. He wasn't in control of himself at the time, and the hallucinations brought on by the Zero System..." Yaminah began. She opened her notebook, and began to scribble on the edges, a habit she had acquired while she was excited. "It would work! According to the legal definition, Quatre was not sane at the time of the attack there, and everything else was legal until the laws of armed conflict!" 

"Do you think he'll let us?" Carrington asked. 

Yaminah's pen fell from her hands, leaving a half-finished lattice of roses and ivy. "No," she said softly. "Quatre may regret the consequences, the deaths, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't believe in what his actions stood for. He won't let us deny what the truth is... and that will be his undoing." 

The two women sat thinking on that thought, but were interrupted by the swish-swish of moving cloth. Looking up, the two saw Jaffa. 

"Is Quatre going to take the stand?" Jaffa asked. 

"He wants to," Yaminah said. "I... think it's not a great idea, but there's no way for it to be avoided. No matter what we do, he's going to come of very badly." 

"He'll either seem like an angel from hell, a psychopathic politician, a spoiled child whose games killed thousands or..." Carrington started to list, ticking the points off on her fingers. 

"A fanatic," Jaffa said softly. "Isn't he, though?" 

The lawyers were quiet, trying to assimilate that. Hearing Jaffa say that was another cold blow. 

"I need aspirin," Carrington said. "But we should review for this afternoon." She opened the latest witness list, and a name on the bottom popped out at her. 

"BANKS!" 

"What?" Yaminah asked. 

"Muhammad Ali Banks himself, called in with evidence he uncovered while researching." 

Yaminah flipped to what evidence Banks would be admitting, and felt her skin lose all of its color. "Jaffa, he's bringing a report from Prince Sultan Base," Yaminah said. "An undoctored copy." She held it out to Jaffa, who didn't even bother to take it. 

"How?" Jaffa whispered. "I thought we buried that." 

"I don't know. Banks found it, so he's going to bring it into play himself. If Banks gets onto the stand, this media circus will really light up. 

Carrington looked between the two sisters in confusion. Something big was going on here. "What's going on?" she demanded. "Whatever is done, Banks can't testify. Even if it doesn't make a difference in the trial, it will destroy Quatre," Jaffa said, before turning to fill in Carrington on what the report contained. 

Reeshya sat beside her younger brother, watching him. 

Quatre was in a foul mood, still. He had irritable throughout the last week or so of the trial, though only the few who really knew him would have noticed, but today was especially bad. His smile was tight across his lips, and once or twice, she had seen his eyes flash dangerously, and she had been convinced he had been about to snap. 

He hadn't, though. Quatre had remarkable patience. 

Making their way through the gauntlet of press had been difficult on him. They had shouted rude and humiliating questions, and she had been embarrassed by how personal they had been. They had no respect for his privacy. Some of the questions were cruel, while others were totally irrelevant. 

"Quatre, how do you think the trial is going?" 

"Do you remember killing Lieutenant Signor's squad?" 

"How does it feel to be the first Gundam pilot on trial?" 

"Quatre, the ladies want to know - what's your ideal woman?" 

"Mr. Winner, how was your time in custody?" 

"Quatre!" 

"Mr. Winner!" 

"Winner-sama!" 

Hearing her brother's name yelled over and over made her head hurt, and she wondered how disorienting it was for him. The same questions, day after day, and always he would merely smile as one of the Maguanacs would say "Quatre-sama has no comment," before the others would push him through. Among the sea of large men, his slight frame was barely visible, and it was almost cute. 

Still, today he looked like a pressure cooker about to blow. Something had changed, and she couldn't see what. The trial hadn't hit any major hurdles, and was, in fact, going pretty much according to Carrington and Yaminah's predictions. Something had to give soon, though. 

"Do you think Relena is going to make her move soon?" Reeshya asked hesitantly. 

"I don't know," Quatre replied. "Relena doesn't include me on her plans, and I don't include her on mine." 

"You have plans?" Reeshya asked. She was a bit hurt that he had left her out. 

"To win, Ree. I plan to win and be exonerated," he told her. Something in his eyes flashed, and she felt like she was walking on a minefield. 

Well, she wasn't going to take it. She had once pushed him away, and knew how much pain it caused. "Quatre, I've attended every day of your trial. I've done my best to support you, and now I need you to trust me in return. What do you have planned?" she demanded. 

There was a bit of hesitance on his face. "Ree, there's nothing I can do. I can't make any melodramatic speeches about how I protected the Earth when the Libra fell, or how I stood for the colonies. People know that. When it's our turn, we'll enter what evidence we have as our defense, but really that's all we can do. In the end, people will need to decide what my actions mean." 

"Have they discussed the consequences... of the trial?" Reeshya asked hesitantly. "What happens if we don't win?" 

"It's not we," Quatre said to her quietly. "In the end, this is my fight." He rested a hand on her shoulder gently. "And for what they can do... well, they'll decide. Usually it's imprisonment, but if I'm convicted of being a war criminal... they'll kill me. Capital punishment." 

Reeshya's hand went to her mouth in shock. She had never thought of the possibility. It seemed positively barbaric. "Quatre - they can't..." 

"Reeshya, I've killed thousands of people," he told her bluntly. "If what I did was a crime against humanity, then I should be killed." 

It was silent in the car between them, but the words he had just spoken echoed in her head. 

_I've killed thousands of people... killed thousands of people... thousands of people...._

She felt her gorge rise, and her hand came to her mouth as the enormity of his actions came to her. His words made reality come crashing in, and her body went into shock. The food she had just eaten wouldn't stay down, and before she knew it, she was vomiting, the half-digested meal spilling from her lips in a putrid rush that was her horrified realization of the truth of what her brother was. 

Her brother... was a killer. 

Quatre, though, apparently had been expecting it, and managed to grab one of the take-out bags they had gotten for her to use. She heaved again and again until there was nothing left inside of her, and then she fell back limply against the seat, sweat beading on her brow as tears began to spill out of her eyes. 

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." she whispered. 

He removed the bag from near her, and though the wretched scent still lingered in the air, he said nothing as he dampened a hand-towel at the limo's mini-bar and pressed it against her skin tenderly. "I should apologize, Ree. I was insensitive." 

"No, Quatre..." she said, but was unable to find the words to express exactly what she needed to. Inside of him, there was terrible pain, but also an acceptance of what he had done. She couldn't understand what it meant to be a killer of so many... but she didn't believe he was a mass-murderer. That would be something entirely different. He had fought for a cause. 

But it still didn't make the deaths any easier. 

"Reeshya, I appreciate everything all of you have done for me. I realize how hard it must have been to put aside your personal beliefs to accept what I had become... I'm not the brother you knew." 

No... no, he wasn't, she realized. But this Quatre was stronger, perhaps. There was a depth to him which had been missing before, a strength which others could rely on. 

"Quatre, the Winner family has always stood for peace," she said. "You chose to achieve it in a way which while I don't agree with, I can understand," she said softly. "I think that's why we all came to you. I think... Father would have understood that someday as well. You and he may never have been close again, but I'm sure he would have respected you, as a man." 

Quatre turned his head away, even as his hand continued to press the cloth against her forehead. "I wish I could believe you." 

"Of all of us, I knew Father best. He would have been proud," she assured him. 

Her brother turned back to her, and she was concerned by the mixed emotions reflected on his face. "Thank you," he whispered. "It means a lot." 

"Take that as strength, going into the next days of your trial," she said. Her hands pressed against his free one, trying to offer strength, even though she had little. 

"I will," he assured her. "Though in a few days, I'm not sure any of this will matter anymore." 

Alarm surged through her. "What do you mean?" 

Quatre shook his head. "I... How can they worry about putting me on trial when there's a war going on around them?" he asked. "If they don't dig their heads out of the sand, Sally Po is going to eat us all alive." 

  


* * *

  
**Scene II: Deeper into the Mystery**

  


_"I just found out there's no such thing as the real world  
Just a lie you've got to rise above."  
-- John Mayer, No Such Thing_

  
The jungle was quiet except for the occasional caw of some tropical bird up in the canopy, and Heero could feel the humidity of the air pressing in against him. The water droplets in the air were almost visible, even in the air conditioned space of the Gundam's cockpit, and he could feel his skin sticking to his seat. The rainforests of Africa were definitely not one of the greatest places to be stationed, that was for sure. He was glad he'd never been a cadet at Lake Victoria. 

After leaving Geneva, he and Duo had flown high altitude, keeping to rural airspace as much as they could and hoping the World Nation satellites had better things to do. No civilian satellites seemed to have spotted them, though, and when they'd touched down at the Kashmir base that afternoon to refuel and take on supplies, the chief of security there had told them that Etille had notified him that they might "stop by," as he termed it. 

The base itself was still a cloud of smoke and dust when they came in on landing, and there were fire trucks standing by on the landing pads. Heero had been afraid that something like this would happen - he knew that the missile system here was definitely a catch for someone like Sally. The Liberation Forces, as her faction was now being called, hadn't managed to take down the base defenses, which was a relief, but the security chief had informed them that Milliard Peacecraft had been there and had been badly wounded in the attack. 

Peacecraft? Wounded? 

"We think it was the Zero system," the man said, with a twitch at the corner of his eye that most people had when speaking of the Zero system - the broaching of a forbidden topic. He hadn't heard much mention of the Zero system since he had come back, but then again, it wasn't something that people liked to talk about. It was like talking about the Devil, as if even mentioning the system was some kind of curse. "Whatever it was, he was shooting like a madman…wouldn't listen to us, didn't seem to even see the fighters coming his way. He'd just keep firing at nothing. The general had to bail him out." 

Heero couldn't quite believe that the Zero system had gotten the best of the man who had once been his rival, but then again, Milliard had gone through quite an ordeal on A007, and maybe he hadn't been in the best of shape. If only he and Duo had gotten there earlier… 

He'd brushed that thought aside as soon as he thought it. Etille had been there, and that had been enough for the attackers. Duo had muttered something darkly about that not being a real attack, about Sally being smart enough to realize that the number of forces she'd sent in wasn't nearly enough to capture a base, and Heero had silently agreed. Sally had just been testing their defenses. The next attack would be for real. 

The information that Etille had given them was sketchy and rumors at best. The most confirmation he'd gotten was that Sally had been in China and that Heavyarms had been hidden there until she'd been revealed as a traitor to the Preventers. But Sally was too smart to stay in one place, and China was too obvious a location for her headquarters. Sally Po, Etille had said, was definitely no longer in China. 

Which left them just the rest of the world in which to search for her. 

The chief of security had given them a short briefing of information he'd received since that morning, which wasn't much. She'd attacked the Greek base in search of mobile suits, but hadn't made off with many of the ones that were left there. That meant she had forces in more than one place, especially considering she hadn't been present in person at the attack on Kashmir. That also meant nothing, because she'd had a whole day in which to move her forces. For all they knew, she could be on the other side of the world right now. Duo had wondered if she might not even be on a colony, but the security chief had assured him that their defenses were too tight for her to get off planet without the military knowing. Whatever the case, it was obvious that she had left no trail, and it would take a skilled tracker to find her. 

That was, after all, why they had volunteered for this. 

_We're to find Po, and take her out if we can't bring her in._

Could he kill Sally, if it came to it? Could he kill the woman he'd come to trust, the woman who had been mentor to Wufei since they'd known each other? If this had been two years ago, or even a month ago, he would have said yes without hesitation, because that had been his job. To fulfill the mission. He had been that kind of Gundam pilot, that kind of assassin. Darkflight knew that better than anyone else. When Wing set out to kill, he killed, no matter who the target. 

But he wasn't Wing anymore. 

Relena's face hung in his memory still, and he could still smell the scent of her if he closed his eyes and remembered. She wasn't like Atsuki. Atsuki was fire and smoke at the same time, hot and cold, a blend of siren and despair. Relena was… 

The best word he could come up with was "alive." Relena was alive in a way Atsuki had never been, and he clung to that desperately now, hearing her words over and over again in his mind, wanting to believe that she was right. 

_Two years ago you left the battlefield believing in peace and a world that would one day believe in peace. I don't know what's happened to you, but I can't believe that you've thrown away everything that you cared about. I'm a stronger person because of you, Heero. We all are! _

Relena… 

"Oi! Heero!" 

He blinked. The jungle foliage parted and Deathscythe Hell appeared as a visual of Duo popped on the screen. The braided pilot looked as tired and hot as Heero felt. 

"Nothing?" he said. They'd detoured here on a small piece of information they'd received from one of the Kashmir spy nets, about a formation of what looked like mobile suits passing through this area some time in the midday yesterday and touching down. So far, it looked like a dead end. 

Duo shook his head wearily. "Not a thing. If Sally was here, she did a perfect job of camouflaging her camp, because as far as I can tell, this part of the jungle hasn't been touched by any human anything." 

"There goes that." He weighed their options silently. "What are the odds of them having moved East to the old Lake Victoria academy?" 

Duo shrugged. "You'd know better than I. Would Sally leave a force in such an obvious spot?" 

"It's not as obvious as it'd seem like to us," Heero said. "I wouldn't put it past her. No one's been there in years, not since it was evacuated during the Eve Wars." 

"I don't-" Duo began, but Heero tuned him out. If he were Sally's forces, where would he hide? They would need a base of operations that was comfortable enough in which to operate, but remote enough to not attract attention. The old academy had many of its buildings still standing, and he knew the Preventers had gone in and gotten some systems up and running again. It would be, at least, a sure bet for a supply depot of some kind. Sally wasn't someone to let valuable resources go to waste. 

Then again, if there were troops there, it might be a decoy. But better to take out a decoy than to sit and do nothing. 

"Heero, I think we should go back up north. There might-" 

"We're going to Lake Victoria," he said shortly. "If you don't want to come with me, you can go home." 

Duo groaned over the comm. "And here I was thinking you'd turned into a nice guy!" 

"There's a time and place for jokes," Heero said calmly. "And this isn't one of them. We're on a mission." 

Duo glowered at him and the picture on his screen vanished. Heero sighed. The jungle surrounding them suddenly seemed threatening, and he started engines, firing thrusters to maximum power and tearing the leaves off the trees as Wing Zero took off in a whirlwind of topsoil. Deathscythe Hell hesitated, and then did the same. Evidently Duo was taking him seriously, which was always a good sign. Perhaps other people would have called him crazy for angering the other Gundam pilot, but Heero had known Duo for too long. Annoyed or not, Duo trusted his judgment. 

Strange how it was like his memories had never been missing in the first place. The Breaks was what seemed far away now, like a misty dream from which he'd awakened and wasn't sure if it had been real or not. Darkflight was real. Atsuki was still very real to him. But the actual Breaks itself - the life, the people, the dank streets and dirty sewers and the long nights of crouching and waiting - seemed no more than a half-forgotten memory. 

The drugs. 

He shuddered. 

"Heero? Are you mad?" 

His lips quirked in an almost-smile as he keyed the comm. Below, Africa drifted by in a sea of white clouds. "No, I'm not mad." He paused, then ingested the double meaning of Duo's question. "I am not angry, nor am I insane. Which do you mean?" 

"…you just made a joke. Good God." 

He almost smiled again. There was a silence. They were passing out of the rainforest region now, and the clouds thickened a bit. Lake Victoria's evaporation rate was high, and he remembered hearing Noin mention once in passing how it almost always rained at least once a day there at the academy. A flock of some unknown birds passed below, headed the other direction. Heero found his eyes tracking them on the scope, watching as they soared out of range. They would never even know what they were escaping, this war that seemed endless. 

Doctor J had told him once that he had been born to fight, and for the longest time, he had believed that was true. That there was no other course for him but to kill or be killed, and everything he'd experienced - his childhood as a drug runner in the Breaks, his training, and his involvement in the war - had pointed it to be true. 

Relena had taught him at last that perhaps Doctor J was wrong. 

It was a strange concept, Doctor J being wrong. He couldn't grasp it at first, had to let it simmer and sink in slowly, bit by bit. He hadn't wanted to admit that Doctor J had been wrong, first because that was the only life he'd ever known. And then it was because that if he was wrong, then everything he was fighting for had no meaning. And then finally, he realized it wasn't only that, but if that were true, his entire life was a lie. 

He might have been the perfect soldier, but he had realized in the end, he was also human. And like all humans, he had needed to live for something. Something greater. 

"Heero?" 

"What?" 

"So I've been thinking," Duo said, and Heero recognized this as the beginning of one of Duo's long rambling monologues. But this time he didn't mind. It was better than listening to the thoughts swirl inside his head, around and around, memories of Atsuki that he couldn't get rid of. "So I've been thinking, about Sally. I trusted her, you know. We all did. When Cliffside was hit…she was there to take care of it. I trusted her a lot." 

"I know," Heero said. "She was one of the constants in our lives. Especially Wufei's." 

"I feel bad for the poor guy. It must be hell on him. They were pretty close, weren't they?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Sally is one of those people that…I don't know. Even though she's technically the enemy now, I guess…I still trust her. You know what I mean? It's weird. I know she's been double-dealing since the beginning…she killed Noin, didn't she? But at the same time, it's like…if she asked, I'd entrust my life to her in a heartbeat." 

"I know," Heero said again. He couldn't think of anything else to say. 

"Which brings me to…I was wondering, Heero. You were talking pretty big back there to the other guys, about if we couldn't bring her in, we'd take her down. Could you…really bring yourself to kill Sally? If it came down to it, could you sit there and stare her in the face and pull the trigger?" 

He found himself gripping the control stick so tightly his fingers hurt, and he stared at his white knuckles, as if they'd give him the answer. He had hoped Duo wouldn't ask that until - if - the time came. The only time he had ever had to face a friend on the same battlefield was when he'd battled Quatre in Mercurius, and Trowa had come to his aid before it had been too late. 

If Trowa hadn't interfered, would he have killed Quatre? 

"I guess you're mad again. I just…well, I just wanted to know. Because you know, I'm not sure I can." 

"She's a traitor," Heero said tightly, the words burning on his tongue as he spoke them, wishing he could take them back. "If it comes to that point, I'll have to. No matter what." 

"I've never killed one of my friends before," Duo said. "You…you should have taken Trowa instead of me on this mission. He'd have the guts." His voice was shaky, and Heero frowned. 

"This isn't just about Sally, is it? Something happened." 

When Duo spoke next, his voice was low and quiet, devoid of any emotion. "On the way back to the Geneva base from Japan, Sally strapped me into a VR simulator. To get me back into Gundam piloting mode, she said. At the time I wasn't quite sure what that was all about….but the sim started out with regular suits and got progressively harder." 

Heero nodded, though Duo couldn't see him. "And then what?" 

"I…towards the end, there were a couple mobile doll programs, but those weren't anything too difficult. I thought it was over then. But then after the dolls…" 

"What was after the dolls, Duo?" Heero demanded, a sinking feeling chilling his gut. He had a faint idea of what Sally had been up to, and it was not good. 

"It was Wing Zero," Duo said, his voice shaking. "It was you. I fought you. I _killed_ you. I saw…I rammed you…saw Wing Zero explode on screen…I was screaming your name, but you weren't listening…" His voice was wobbling uncontrollably now, and Heero looked worriedly outside just in case, but Deathscythe seemed to be keeping steady course. 

"Duo. Duo, listen to me. That wasn't me you were fighting. It was just a sim." 

"That wasn't the end," the ragged voice breathed over the comm. "I had to fight myself. The next plane was Deathscythe. I was…." He trailed off, but Heero could hear the faint, choked sound of a sob. And he knew that he'd been right about what Sally had wanted from the VR program. 

"Duo?" 

"I didn't tell anyone what I saw on that sim…not even Hilde," Duo said. "She had to unhook me manually. I was scratching myself trying to get out…drawing blood, but I couldn't get the set off. I thought at the time it might have just been a mistake, Sally programming in random programs and getting random results…but…" 

"You should go with your instincts," Heero said. "You know that." 

"I didn't want to believe she could do that to me," Duo whispered. "Not Sally." 

"You know what she was after, don't you? Your fighting technique. That wasn't just a VR set, Duo. She'd set it to record your movements, how you fought, so she would have a better chance against you when the time came for her to use Heavyarms." 

"I know that now," Duo said. "I feel like such a moron." 

"You haven't told Une?" 

"No. Just you." He drew a breath, as if he were going to say something else, then, "Oh look. I can see Lake Victoria." 

They were just a few miles out from the lake and the abandoned academy that still lay sprawled beside it, and Heero keyed in the coordinates for descent. "Look, Duo…" 

"Thanks for listening, by the way. I didn't know how you'd take it. Wasn't sure…" 

"…how much I'd changed?" Heero finished. "Don't worry. I haven't changed as much as you think I have. I like to think I'm a little wiser than I was two years ago, though." 

"You're still a better soldier than I'll ever be." 

Heero closed his eyes briefly. "Duo. We wouldn't be soldiers if we didn't value human life. And we wouldn't be human if we didn't have emotions for the ones we care for, whether they are the enemy or not. But…there comes a time and place when those emotions get in the way of duty, and we can't let that happen. The way I look at it, I see Sally on one hand and the lives of millions of people on Earth and colonies on the other. No matter how I feel about Sally, she's betrayed the trust of those people she swore an oath to defend - knowingly betrayed them, and having no regrets about it. And as a soldier, it's our duty to protect those people, though the choice is hard." 

"I know," Duo said. "I just…I can't believe things turned out this way." 

"Our hands are stained with enough blood as it is," Heero said softly. "And if killing Sally is the only way to stop the cycle, so be it. I don't want to. And neither do you. But if we must, then we must. And if that sim had been real, and it was me in Wing Zero and I was the enemy, I would hope that you would have done the same thing." 

"Don't say that," Duo bit out. "Forget it. I don't want to talk about it anymore." 

"Fine," Heero said. "We're nearly there anyway. Take her down slow and be careful to-" 

There was an explosion. Something struck him hard on the right side out of nowhere, rocking the Gundam. His console flickered red. 

"Too late!" Duo hissed, and he saw Deathscythe break formation out of the corner of his eye, falling sharply, weaving in and out of the laser fire directed their way. 

His eyes skimmed the scope. It wasn't too bad, but the shot had damaged some of the wiring on the right arm of the Gundam and he wouldn't be able to use the shield to full capacity. He barely missed being hit again as he jerked the stick sharply to starboard, overcompensating and sending the Gundam careening wildly out of control. The g-forces struck him a single sharp wave, pushing him down into his seat. He couldn't breathe for a second, struggling to sit upright and keep his hand on the stick. His vision swam. 

"Heero! Heero, can you hear me?" 

"I'm…all right," he gasped, barely missing another shot fired his way. "Maybe this was a mistake." 

"Damn right," Duo said grimly, but he seemed to have lost the last vestiges of the indecisiveness that had gripped him earlier. "Nine o' clock, Heero, coming up fast. Three of them." 

"I see them," he said. "You've got one closing in on your starboard. Watch your six." 

"Got it." 

The vertigo had passed and Wing Zero shuddered, under his control again. There were three of them on his scope, like Duo said, all of them Virgos. The first two swept past him in formation, the third one under him, all firing. He easily dodged their shots, doubled under the first one, feinted to the left, and fired one single, precise hit that hit the second craft neatly in the engines. It fell, billowing smoke, and it was easy enough to catch the first one after that. 

No mobile dolls, that was for sure. Sally wouldn't use mobile dolls, anyway. She respected pilots too much to do that. 

He felt the Zero system activate, and he gritted his teeth in concentration, wrapping his mind around the thing and bringing it under his control. He couldn't afford to have what had happened to Peacecraft happen to him. It had been two years. Would he still be able to…? 

The third Virgo saw what had happened to its two companions, fired a few nervous parting shots, and tried to make a run for it. The Zero system whispered to him, and he swung around, raising the beam rifle, and caught it in the head, sending it tumbling to earth as a brilliant fiery ball of scrap metal. 

The disorienting yellow light swirled around him for a second, blending with the explosion of the mobile suit, and he thought he would lose it, but then the cockpit came into focus again, and he simply saw everything in razor-sharp detail. For now, at least, the Zero system was still his. He resisted the urge to breathe a sigh of relief. One slip, and it would be all over for him. 

"Heero, you all right?" 

"Yeah. Zero system. I've got it under control." 

The buildings of the academy were clearly visible now, and he could see a few mobile suits scuttling out of hangars, launching. If he were Sally, where would he hide his supplies? The golden glow of the Zero system pulsed at the edges of his vision, directing his eyes downward. "Duo!" he ordered, switching fire control. "Missiles. Those silos over there. Take them out." 

"Gotcha." 

The missile lock blinked red and he released them in a trail of smoke, jerking the stick to the side just in time to avoid a Taurus that had been planting a missile lock on him. Two quick shots dispatched it, and he watched the silos go up in flames on the screen. 

"That's odd," Duo said. "There aren't nearly enough mobile suits here for a depot." 

"That's what I was thinking," Heero said. There was a squadron of Virgos approaching, their vector erratic. They must be greenhorns, and he felt almost bad shooting them down, but it was war. "Go check out those silos over there. I'll take care of these guys." 

Three more Virgos, and a squadron of Aries. He took out two of the Aries easily. The third one was a bit of a problem, and the Virgos seemed quite a bit more experienced than any of the Aries pilots. Keeping a delicate balance between engines and guns, he sent a flurry of missiles the Virgos' way, drawing the Aries closer to him, then dove to the side and pinned it neatly with a series of precise shots in the engines. Bits of shrapnel pinged off the side of the Gundam as the Aries exploded. 

"Fuck. Heero, this isn't good. Get over here." 

The note of alarm in Duo's voice was enough to make him break off the dogfight, and he sent Wing Zero into a diving spin down towards the silos, paralleling Deathscythe's trajectory. "What did you find?" 

"See for yourself. The roof's nearly blown off, but nothing inside's damaged." 

"Where are you look-" he broke off as the first silo came into clear view, its roof blown off by their missiles like Duo had said, allowing a birds-eye view of the inside. "Shit." 

It was an army. 

He dipped Wing Zero away from Deathscythe for a better look, switching on the flight camera and hoping he'd make it back to headquarters in one piece so that Une could see this. There were at least two hundred mobile suits, maybe more, packed tightly side by side inside the silo, which he could now see was a modified hangar. From what he could see, the suits were new. 

There was an explosion behind him as Duo dispatched another team of Virgos. "Yeah," Duo said. "'Shit' kind of pretty much sums up my thoughts on it. I'm assuming we want to get rid of these?" 

"You assume right." He sent another stream of missiles towards the fake silo, and saw Duo do the same just as his communications light blinked on. "I've got a message." 

"Missile lock three o' clock," Duo snapped, and he looked up just in time to see a string of missiles coming at him. He wove through them, switching back to his gun emplacements and catching all of them with his lasers before they had the chance to lock onto his engines again, mentally berating himself. He was being careless. He should have seen those coming. 

"Damn, Heero, you're out of practice. Even _with_ the Zero system." 

"Shut up," he snapped, flicking on the comm switch. "This is Gundam 01." 

"Gundam 01, abort mission. Return to Kashmir base immediately!" The voice was edgy, the voice of someone on the edge of panic and trying not to show it. "Repeat, abort mission and return to Kashmir base immediately!" 

The cold feeling of dread returned, and the Zero system pulsed, and he already knew what had happened before he asked the question. "What's going on?" 

"We're under attack by Liberation Forces. Return to base immediately. Return to-" the transmission cut off into a fuzz of static. 

"Kashmir base?" he called frantically, not wanting to believe that it was happening. "Kashmir base, come in!" 

"No way," Duo said, and Heero heard a muffled thump, Duo pounding his fist on his console. "Damn Sally. She tricked us!" 

"We knew she was planning to hit Kashmir again. And she must have left spies there…they saw us land last night…" His hand trembled and he squeezed it into a fist. "She knew. Lake Victoria was a decoy. She was planning to hit Kashmir all along!" 

"Damn it, Heero!" 

"Let's go," he ordered, raining down a final wave of missiles at the doomed silo, and pulled Wing Zero away, flipped the lever to his right and felt the craft shift around him, transforming into its fighter configuration, feeling it leap forward and cut through the thick, humid air like a knife. 

"I'm with you," Duo said, and the blip that was Deathscythe pulled into formation beside him. "Let's go take those bastards down." 

It was very likely, Heero knew, as the two of them raced over the valleys of Eastern Africa towards Asia Minor, that Sally was there at Kashmir. And it was also very likely that she would be facing them in Heavyarms, waiting for them, because the timing of the attack hadn't been a fluke. 

And he'd get to find out then if his brave words to Duo had been merely a cover for something he knew he couldn't do. 

  


* * *

  
**Scene III: Nothing But the Truth**

  


"Fukuzatsu ni karamatteru mainichi no naka  
Hontou wa makitai no ni tsuyogatteta ne  
Muri shite sei no bishinaide"  
[Everyday our difficulties grow  
Truth is scattered, but that's its nature  
You're overworking and overanalyzing.]  
_--Ever Dream, Sincerely_  


  
When Mohammad Ali Banks landed himself in jail for an extended stay, he didn't despair or rant against the unfairness of it all. He did, according to law, deserve it, so he decided to make good use of his time. 

When he had been in high school, Banks had been fond of the net. He never had truly become a hacker, but he had friends who were good enough to work their way into some of the mid-level Holes. He had only entered into some of the very light "gateway" Holes, and had found the world a bit too intense for him. 

Hackers weren't what their predecessors were like. Once upon a time, hackers had supposedly existed to defy authority and seek out unlimited knowledge... Banks would have liked to meet them. But now... 

Well, he wasn't a hacker. But he had skills, and knew the way to get the information he wanted. And what he wanted was more of the truth. 

He knew that by now, the media establishment had damned him. But as a prisoner, he had plenty of time on his hands, and it had long been established that downloading information was an acceptable way for prisoners to spend their time. Using portable download displays was the most popular thing to do while in a cell, since porn was easily accessible - not that that was what Banks was after. 

There was the issue of if he was a military or civilian prisoner for his crimes, but no one had really given his existence much thought, so he was accorded the same rights as a civilian. Which was a good thing. Military prisons were much less lenient. But as a civilian, there was no way for him to get information out, but there was nothing preventing him from getting information in... 

And he used it. 

He spent every waking hour tracking the Gundam pilots, their actions, their lives. He was horrified and shocked at the realization at exactly how much damage five teenagers had done. He was horrified... and fascinated. 

The more he dug, the more he felt like he knew them. 

Now that he had names, they became easier to track. Even without complete records, he was able to piece together a good idea about what had happened, and as he did, he began to know the pilots. 

Checking online diaries of students who went to schools they had used as covers, he began to shape personalities in his head for them. Winner, Yuy and Maxwell were the easiest to track during the war, and he actually began to see them as human... 

Until he became curious about Winner's background. 

Winner had, by far, the most information available on him. As the heir to one of the richest men in existence, he had been carefully followed by the press. There had been tons of pictures of him from birth till around age twelve, and then he had abruptly fallen out of sight. There had been some kind of incident, obviously, that had set the son of one of the foremost believers of pacifism onto the road of being a Gundam pilot. 

Banks wanted to know what. 

He dug deeper, and was horrified by what he found. 

It had began by deciding that he needed to shape Winner's background, and that began with a family background. For most people, that wouldn't have been nearly as daunting as task as it was for Winner, but Quatre was the youngest of thirty children. Reconstructing his family tree was a monstrous job. 

The sisters were dizzying, but Banks set about finding a picture to go with each name. A rough profile, and then more in-depth work on the ones who might have influenced Quatre in the wrong way. 

It was when he encountered Zarifa that he hit the stone wall. 

Zarifa Winner was the seventh daughter. Nothing about her lit up as being exceptional - except that she had entered the Federation Army. His instincts flared, telling him that there was a story behind Zarifa. He pulled up her service record, which wasn't easy. Zarifa had changed her last name, and made numerous moves during her fifteen-year military career. But eventually, he managed to trace her. 

She was listed as killed in action during the wars... at Prince Sultan Base. 

The same base that had been the first 04 had attacked. 

They moved him, after he presented his information to the prosecution. 

He wasn't trying to take sides, but merely show what the truth was. His routes of letting the world know, though, had led him to Fatima bint Narish, who looked at him like a starving dog looking at a roast. 

"Why didn't we find this?" she wondered. 

"Because I've been sitting in my cell for six months, digging," he replied. "And I knew who the pilots were before anyone else, so I had a jumpstart." 

They were meeting in her office late in the evening, a swank affair that displayed power and ostentatious luxury. He wasn't fond of the type, but as she tapped the desk with her long fingernails, he saw the cold cunning in her face. 

"You're going to be my witness tomorrow," she told him. 

"What?" 

He hadn't been expecting that. Banks had merely wanted her to have all the facts at hand, so someone would know. 

"I'm going to call you, and you'll present this for me. Once I have you on the stand, I'll be able to ask you about the other information as well," she said. She leaned forward, and began to ask questions. 

The session lasted well into the night, and after he felt drained. She had pulled things from him he didn't realize he had discovered, but in the end, she had seemed very, very satisfied. 

He wasn't. 

Banks had learned a lot from over the past few days. He had seen the news reports, kept an avid eye on the world developments, and for the first time in his life, he was unsure what the proper course was. 

He remembered Sally Po coming to visit him, enraged that he had been the one to break the story. She had been an intimidating presence, but he hadn't backed down from her rage. But her last words haunted him, as they were meant to. 

_The next time you hear an explosion, think that you may be the one responsible. The next time you hear people cry after a bomb rips their lives apart, know that your actions may have led to it. The next time someone dies, consider that you may be the one to blame. _

After hearing her, he had a hard time believing that she had turned traitor. All the reports, though, showed clearly that she had been orchestrating a revolt against the Preventers since almost the day of their inception. If someone like her had been secretly working against what she had supposedly stood for, what did it mean for everyone else? 

No one was innocent; it was all varying degree of guilt. But... what was the truth, then? It was the one constant he clung to, the belief that the truth had to be heard. 

Even if he had to deal with devils like Fatima. 

That night had proven to be long and fruitless, but he had no choice. He would be a witness, and have a chance to speak. He knew his career as a journalist was a total wash-out, but he clung to the principal which had guided him into the field. 

_The public has a right to know._

His escort came for him late that afternoon, toward the end of the session for the day. He was dressed neatly, but not elaborately as many of the witnesses were. He had changed out of his prison jumpsuit for the first time in weeks, though, and he was told that the restraints would be undone when he was inside the Senate Building- which struck him as stupid. If he was truly a desperate man, that would have been the perfect time to strike. 

The car ride felt strange. The movement of the car was unfamiliar, and he clenched the papers he was to submit as evidence. There were electronic copies, of course, but many people would only believe what they could touch. 

As the car pulled in front of the building, though, he forced his fingers to relax. Calm was imperative... he wouldn't be taken seriously if he came off as a hot-head. 

They sat for fifteen minutes. Banks couldn't hear a thing, in the secured back seat, but his instincts told him something was wrong. Finally the door opened, and he prepared to get out - but someone else got in, sliding into the seat across from him and locking the door before he could move. 

It was an Arabic woman, and he didn't know enough to recognize her. Under her veil, she could be anyone. 

He didn't think it was Fatima. He didn't even think she was Muslim. 

The woman's dark eyes looked him up and down. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but your testimony won't be heard today," she told him. 

He wasn't surprised, though he was curious why. "Oh?" 

"The prosecution has to give the defense time to research what you're bringing. It will be a few weeks or so, I expect, before your testimony is admissible." 

The car began to move, and he sank back into the seat. The handcuffs chaffed against his wrists. "Who are you?" 

"Jaffa Winner. I thought I'd catch a ride back to the Preventers Compound with you," she said calmly. 

His breathing quickened. He had never actually met one of the Winner family before. "You're his sister." 

"He has a name, you know," Jaffa replied. "His name is Quatre." 

"It's hard to call him that. It's hard to think of him, since he killed so many people, so young." 

Jaffa was quiet for a moment before pulling the veil away from her face. Banks was surprised that the picture he had of her didn't do her justice - there was a maternal wisdom there, and while she wasn't as pretty as some of the others, there was an odd attractiveness to her. "You and I aren't fit to judge his actions. He was one of those who freed the colonies, and as such, above us." 

Banks stared at her, amazed at her blind faith. "Do you know what he did?" he demanded. "Do you know the nature of the information I'm bringing?" 

"The attack on Prince Sultan Base. Yes, I know." Her eyes were steady. "That is immaterial." 

"Your beloved brother killed your sister! Doesn't that matter to you?" 

Banks was horrified at how very cold Jaffa Winner's voice was. "Quatre is our family head - our loyalty is to him. Zarifa turned her back on the family by joining the Federation, our oppressors." 

"Didn't your brother do the same?" Banks demanded. 

Jaffa stilled, and he could see he had struck a nerve. "Quatre stood for the colonies. All I can say, Mr. Banks, is that Quatre is the family head now. And it's to him our loyalty lies... have you ever met a pilot, Mr. Banks?" 

"If I had, I'd probably be dead." 

Jaffa sighed. "You obviously don't understand them. Gundam pilots are very special people." 

"He killed his sister!" 

"He isn't aware of that. He didn't know Zarifa was stationed there - Zarifa hadn't contacted the family since leaving. They never met." 

"So ties of blood don't matter?" 

Jaffa's eyes grew hard. "They are the most important thing. Zarifa denied hers, disowning us. Quatre may have fought with Father, but they never denied the other. When it comes down to it, the Winner family will do anything to protect one of its own. There's a reason he never found out about Zarifa." 

In the pit of his stomach, something twisted, coming to life... a horrible suspicion.... 

"What did you do?" 

Jaffa gave him a smile that turned his blood to ice water. "It's nothing I haven't done before. And I'll tell you this - I will do anything to keep him from being hurt, if it's in my power." 

"That sounds like a threat," Banks returned. 

"It's not a threat. They say never threaten a mother with her cubs, and I am the family matriarch." She leaned over so her face was less than eight inches from his. "Quatre is my brother, and we both have the same protective instincts - he fought to protect the colonies, and I fight to protect my family. Take that as you will." She moved back, and her hands deftly replaced her veils. 

The rest of the ride back was silent. 

Walking through the base he had once protected, Banks was aware of the guards. Many of them had come onto duty since his tenure, due to the recent attack, but all of them hated him. The whispers that followed him were too low for him to make out, but he knew that he was persona non grata. 

He could accept that. He had, for a time, been one of them, if in name only. 

His mind was wandering down the paths, seeing Jaffa Winner's hostile face, and wondering exactly what she meant by 'anything.' It was... 

"I'm sorry, sir!" one of his two escorts said. "We didn't know you'd be here." 

Banks jerked himself out of his wanderings to see the shadowy figure the rating was addressing. The reverent tone indicated it was someone with a lot of brass, and Banks was ever curious. 

"It's fine," the voice said. "I'm on my way out." 

The voice was familiar to Banks. He was good with voices, almost as good as he was with names and faces, and it only took a minute for him to place it from the sound-clippings he had heard. 

"Barton," he said, rocked back again. He had known that the pilots were on base, but he hadn't expected to meet them. 

Trowa Barton was taller than he'd been expecting, and as the young man stepped out of the shadows, the first thing that caught Bank's attention were a pair of startling green eyes. They were serious, but inside of them, there was a quality that Banks had never seen before. He didn't know what it was, but it was something that elevated Barton above being a mere soldier. 

Bank's escort seemed to suddenly remember his presence. "I'm sorry, sir," he said to Trowa. "We'll get him out of your way." 

"It's fine," Trowa said, and again his voice had a power to it that seemed to reassure the soldiers. "I don't think Mr. Banks means any harm." 

Banks, though, wasn't about to let the chance pass him by. He had never met a Gundam pilot before, and knew that he would probably be kept from them for the rest of his life. 

"Where are you going?" he demanded. "Are you going to go fight in this war?" 

Barton didn't say anything, but watched instead. 

It fueled Banks' rage at them. The anger he had been feeling since discovering the pilot's age, and learning how young and inexperienced the five most pivotal players in the last war had been exploded in a torrent. "You're not gods! The Gundam pilots don't have the right to make all our decisions for us! You're merely human, and humans make mistakes!" 

Beside him, the two guards grabbed his arms, prepared to drag him away. Their horrified expressions told that his verbal attack was most unwelcome, and the this incident was probably going to be spread throughout the base. 

He didn't care... he just wanted the truth. 

"If I knew all the answers, I would be a god," said Trowa, and his voice stopped everyone. The entire tableau froze as the former Heavyarms pilot walked closer to Banks. "I've learned that sometimes there is no absolute right and wrong. It's up to us to try to sort it out, and each of us comes to our own conclusions." 

Banks felt his breath catch. "How... who has the right to decide?" 

Trowa lowered his head. "When no one else decides, it falls on you. At least, that's what happened in the past." 

All of the sudden, words from an interview Banks had seen flashed through his mind. 

_The best word to describe Trowa, I think, would be loyal. Trowa's always true to everything he believes in. You won't find anyone who's more trustworthy, more honest and kind._

"So what happens if no one decides?" 

"In the end, someone always has to make a decision, don't they? It may not be the right one, but... it's a decision." Trowa glanced at his watch. "Excuse me. My flight leaves in ten minutes." 

Banks watched as the pilot left, wondering why he felt like he had just been in the presence of someone who was truly great. 

But... if the pilots weren't war criminals... did that mean they were heroes? Or just ordinary men, making decisions because no one else would? 

  


* * *

  
**Scene IV: Ballade por Adeline, Part III**

  


_"This bloody road remains a mystery  
This sudden darkness fills the air…  
We can't afford to be innocent."  
-- Pat Benatar, Invincible_

  
The first attack at Kashmir Command Base had caught them all unawares. 

They should have been prepared, and as far as the rest of the world knew, they were. Security had been massively stepped up since the news of Sally's betrayal, and though the Liberation Forces, as Sally's faction was now being called, had gone on several more raids against various bases, they had taken little that would be useful to them. The Cancers at Forteleza Sea Station were particular targets of interest to the Liberation Forces, so Une had buckled down security and sent a few squadrons of mobile suits there to sit it out. 

Trowa had arrived at Kashmir in the evening after the attack. The Liberation Forces attack on the Kashmir base itself had fortunately left the missile silos intact, though by Etille's grim expression as he met Trowa's shuttle on the landing platform and the rubble and damage that surrounded the ground that the silos were buried beneath, the missiles clearly had been Sally's prime target. The ground was still smoking in some places and attack sirens still glowed red, though warning whistles were no longer going off. 

"How bad was it?" Trowa wanted to know. The general shook his head. 

"Not as bad as we thought," he admitted, "though definitely worse than we'd hoped it would be. I'm actually very glad you're here. The missile defense center was hit, and half of the missile control personnel were killed, and I've evacuated the remaining personnel. We can't man the missiles from up here, so I'm sending you to the emergency control room belowground. It's just you and the big red button now." 

Trowa raised an eyebrow. "I think I can manage." 

"I don't doubt it," Etille said. "Still, I am praying for at least a few days respite, though knowing Sally, she'll have forces ready and waiting. I wouldn't be surprised if she attacked again tonight." He gestured to the rubble. "She hit those missile silos pretty hard, but if she'd wanted to get rid of the missiles, she wouldn't have had any problem doing it. She wants to capture those things, not destroy them." 

Trowa nodded. "I thought so. This first attack was a decoy, wasn't it?" 

"Partly. Sally was after both the missiles and the mobile suits at Sparta Command Base. I think she would have been happy to get either, though obviously the missiles are top priority. Unluckily for her, she ran into Milliard Peacecraft here and Chang Wufei down at Sparta, so she didn't manage to get either one, and if I were her, I would be stewing in my own shoes right now, just waiting for the chance to get at us again." 

That was right. Wufei had been on the way to retrieve Shenlong…"Was Wufei hurt? Did she get Shenlong?" 

"No and no. Your friend and his Gundam are both safe back at Geneva. So is Peacecraft, actually. The poor man shouldn't have been flying that thing, not in his condition…the Zero system ate him alive." 

Epyon. Trowa had mulled over this after Etille had left him at the entrance of the missile defense system passageway with a clearance code and instructions on how to get to the main control room. He had known that Epyon would surface sooner or later, but he had never imagined that it would be in the defense of a Preventers base, no matter how loyal Zechs Merquise - Peacecraft - professed himself to be to the Preventers now. Didn't Heero and Zechs still have a long-standing grudge to fight over? 

The missile defense system passageway had been long and dark and very cold. The entire complex was underground, completely secure defense in case of attack. It hadn't taken him very long to find the main control room, which seemed to be composed entirely of giant wall-to-wall vidscreens. He guessed they connected directly to the base war room, to give the missilier sitting down here some inkling of how things were going on the surface. 

He'd given himself a quick crash-course on the system and how it worked. It wasn't very complex. There were a string of codes one had to key into the system to unlock it, and then once that was done, all that was left to do was to input the coordinates and push the button to send the missiles out of the silos. Like any high-budget defense system, it seemed almost too easy. 

But that was the price, he knew. Once that button was pressed, there was no going back. 

The encounter with Banks at the Geneva base lingered in his mind still, and he wondered how many other people in the world had the same image of the pilots as gods, trying to control the world. He had never wanted to control the world. All he had ever wanted to do was control his own path in life. 

_I've learned that sometimes there is no absolute right and wrong. It's up to us to try to sort it out, and each of us comes to our own conclusions. _

So what happens if no one decides? 

That was the question, right there. Why did there always have to be a decision made? Why did the world work that way? 

The image of Ilene, her wide, glassy eyes, her bloodstained dress, had lessened somewhat, but she was still there in the back of his mind. He was glad that Duo had forgiven him, but it hadn't helped. He had thought that the guilt was because he had betrayed Duo's trust, but thinking back on it, Duo or no Duo, he would still feel the same. 

He wanted to believe that he would still have killed Ilene, because when it came down to it, she was a terrorist. She had ceased to become a civilian and subjected herself to the Geneva Conventions when she'd joined the terrorist cell and willingly carried a weapon into the fight. As the rules stood, Trowa's actions had been correct. 

But Duo had believed that she could be saved. 

He'd wanted to believe that Catherine could find the answer to that for him. Catherine had been there by his side all through the war, to stop him from self-destruction, to encourage him on when he had been about to give up, to love him when he had thought there was no one else. Even when she had tried to stop him from fighting, to keep him by her side, he knew that she was doing so not out of a belief that war was black and white. She had done so out of a belief that war should not be fought on a level of machines and missiles and mobile suits destroyed, but on a more personal level, because war only meant something when you could see your enemy's face. 

_Does duty even exist? Or is it something that we make up simply to justify our actions because there is no justification for war?_

He had seen Ilene's face. And Catherine, in the end, hadn't been able to justify that for him. That twisted his gut. Catherine had always been there, always been able to work out the answers for him when he couldn't. She was so much stronger than he. 

The boy in Milan, the boy who had captured him, the boy who most likely had been killed along with Ilene in the attack on Geneva, had let him go. Even though he was the enemy - a Gundam pilot, a direct target. He'd been set free. Treize had done the same thing to Wufei during that attack on his fleet, early in the war. He'd let Wufei go. 

Why? 

Trowa Barton had been raised as an assassin, trained as a soldier, and sent to Earth as a pilot, and that one simple act - of letting one's enemy go - went against every creed he'd ever believed in. 

_There's no one I trust more. The pilots have never lied; they've always stayed true. I'm offering you a soldier's battlefield, where your decision matters._

Une believed that he was strong enough to handle a mission like this. He had tried to tell her that she was wrong, but he had given up in the end. It hurt to see her like this, begging him to take it because there had been too many people around her who had betrayed her in the end. He hoped that she would never need to know that he had had his beliefs about war and duty and the enemy twisted around until they were almost unrecognizable, hoped that he would never be in a situation where he had to push down on that button and release those missiles. Because he wasn't sure if he could anymore. 

Not when Sally Po was the enemy. 

_Would you do it if you had to?_

He'd gone to sleep that night with the question on his mind, Banks' accusations ringing through his head, and he'd dreamed of Ilene again, dreamed of killing her over and over again, with Duo's anguished voice in the background. 

_She wasn't a fanatic. She was my friend._

The gun would drop from his hands and then he would fall to his knees and cry, but Catherine wasn't there to comfort him. There was only the dead girl and Duo's voice. And then he would look up and Duo would be pointing Ilene's gun at him, straight between his eyes, and he would relax, knowing that Duo was right. That he deserved to die for what he did. 

And then Duo would shoot him, but he didn't die, would only hear the shot echo, and then Ilene would turn into Sally, the honey-blond braids soaked in blood, those staring eyes looking at his own, saying _You killed me, Trowa Barton._

And then the dream would begin all over again. 

He awoke in a cold sweat, and the pale light of morning streaming in through the window of his quarters didn't calm him either. Etille had left him a message, warning him to stay on guard, which meant that he would have to basically live inside the missile control room till the alert was lifted from the base. They were expecting Sally to come back, and when she came back, it would be the real thing. 

Sally wanted that missile system. And he knew that if she managed to capture it, she would not hesitate to use it. 

That meant that he couldn't let her have it. And that meant that he might have to kill her. 

Catherine had spent the morning at home, which meant that she had locked herself away in Dorothy's study for the entire morning until lunchtime, just her and the computer system and Dorothy's library. To her right was a half-eaten omelette, to her left was a thick stack of biographies of certain high-ups on the World Nation council that Dorothy needed some more information on, and at the moment she was busy cursing the computer system which had frozen for the umpteenth time and wouldn't respond to the manual bootup. 

She kicked it vehemently with her foot, then yelped as she stubbed her toe, decided it wasn't worth the effort, and crawled under the desk and turned the thing off. The screen flickered and died. She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at it. 

"Man versus machine…" she proclaimed to the study. "Man wins!" 

The books didn't talk back. She didn't really expect them to this morning, though she couldn't say the same for her state of mind on some of the long nights she'd been in here alone. Sighing, she leaned back in her chair and stretched, staring at the omelette. Dorothy's chefs were some of the best in the city, and Catherine felt bad that she had wasted their time. Maybe she would heat it up again for dinner. 

She rose from the computer chair and walked slowly to the window. The neighborhood was quiet, as usual, and the sun was out, but she felt a tingle down her back that usually signaled a storm nearing. Probably in about three hours or so the sky would cloud over and there would be rain by the evening. She'd always had sort of a sixth weather sense, which had proven quite handy sometimes in telling her when she needed to bring an umbrella, even though it would be perfectly sunny, and the ringmaster had learned to trust what she said in regards to the weather. 

She straightened her skirts and let the draperies fall over the window, shutting out the sunlight. Closing the study door softly behind her, she padded softly down the hall to her own room. It was a smaller room just again down the hall from Relena's suite, but Catherine had told Dorothy she didn't want a grand set of rooms. Relena had opened her mouth to insist, and Catherine had stopped her. She wouldn't know what to do with a three-room suite like the Queen of Cinq had. She was a circus performer, and she preferred to live simply. 

Flopping down on the bed, she thought of her brother. 

He had said goodbye this time, but it was a hurried goodbye, and he hadn't told her where he was going. Classified, he said. She had kissed him and let him go, because what else could she do? She was doing her part in this as best as she could, and he was too. 

Except her part didn't really involve putting herself face to face with the enemy. 

There was a slight knock at the door. "Miss Catherine?" 

The maid, Clarisse. It was time for the mid-afternoon linen exchange, but Catherine didn't feel like letting someone rummage around in her room for ten minutes today. "I'm fine today, thank you Clarriese," she called, and there was a murmured assent from the door and then the sound of departing footsteps. She stared up at the ceiling again. 

Perhaps if she had been born into this, like Dorothy or Relena, she would have an easier time of this. Relena's brother was Zechs, and she didn't seem to have a problem with him going to war. And Dorothy's family had a long military lineage. Her father had been one of the heroes of the pre-war era, after all. 

Turning her head, she regarded the tiny music box on the side of her dresser. The tune was Ballade por Adeline, an old song, Trowa had said, but he'd never said anything more about the melody or the box - who had given it to him, and why he had given it to her. When she had left the circus, the it had come with her, buried in the bottom of her luggage. For some reason she hadn't wanted to take it out, as if seeing it glittering there, winding it and hearing the music tinkle out of its depths was too painful. She hadn't taken it out of her luggage till she got to Geneva, when she had learned that Trowa was safe. 

Catherine reached over and cupped the box in her hands. It was so cool and small, and her slim fingers looked large and bulky on its ornate surface. Gently, she let her fingers come to rest on the small golden shaft protruding outside the box, twisted and heard the satisfying click. Released. 

The music box played a slow F and G and then stopped. 

She lowered the box between her breasts, feeling it rise and lower with every heartbeat, and sighed. It was still sunny. There was something wrong about that. The clouds should be rolling in by now. 

_Does duty even exist? Or is it something that we make up simply to justify our actions because there is no justification for war?_

Trowa knew what he was doing. He had to. He was her steadfast little brother, and he was fighting for something he believed in, and he would do his duty. 

That was what she tried to tell herself, tried to tell him, but she was just a girl from the circus, with really no concept of what duty entailed. 

_I'm not a soldier, Trowa. If I could answer all this for you, I would._

And that was all it came down to. He was a soldier, and she wasn't. 

The remote control for the vidscreen was on the nightstand and she reached over for it, flicking on the screen. The channel hadn't changed from the World Nation news since she'd been here, and as far as she could tell, every other vidscreen in the house was set on the news as well. Dorothy's house was probably as close as you could get to a working war room without actually being in the military. Catherine found that funny. 

_But I am a soldier. Maybe not in Trowa's battle, but I have my own battle. Like Relena, like Dorothy, like Sylvia…we'll fight as best as we can._

The news anchor was droning on about the details of Quatre's trial, but Catherine had gotten the details from Dorothy early that morning, and her attention wandered back to the music box. Picking it up again, she turned it around in her hands, but did not wind it. 

When she looked out the window again, she could see the clouds moving in, just as she knew they would. 

The only warning Trowa got was a muffled explosion somewhere overhead, but he had been sitting, alert and waiting for the sound. He had made no false reassurances to himself that Sally might not come or she might have decided to wait a while longer. No, Sally wanted those missiles and this base, and she wanted them now. 

He checked the chronometer built into the wall. 1824 hours. The ground shook a little bit, but the silo was so far buried beneath the earth that for all he knew, the base could be falling to ruins and he would have no way of knowing. 

"Barton? You there?" 

He reached over and pushed the blinking comm light calmly. "Right here. It's her, isn't it?" 

"Damn right it is," Etille said grimly. "She's pulling out all the stops today. Apparently she's gotten quite bold since her first strike here…Yuy tells me that she even had some troops at Lake Victoria. Took over our own base without us knowing." 

"Is Heero coming back then?" 

"He'll be here," Etille said, "but the way things look, he and Maxwell will barely make it in time to catch the tail end of this and help us." He paused. "If we're still alive." 

"It's that bad." 

"Oh, it's pretty bad. I'm sending you the battle data that we've got on our screens here at the command post. You've got your computers all on and running?" 

Trowa nodded, even though the general couldn't see him. "All up and green." 

"You shouldn't be in any danger yourself," Etille said. "The silo's buried deep enough that even if the entire base blew up, there wouldn't be a scratch on you." 

Trowa grimaced. "I'm sure Sally's thought of that. She'll have to capture the silo to get control of those missiles." 

"We'll see." There was a ping and suddenly, the computer screens around him lit up. He was impressed despite himself. Etille hadn't been lying - these were real time, complete statistics from the war room. He saw formations of what he assumed were mobile suits - the green dots as friendlies and red as Sally's forces. There were an awful lot of red dots. 

Trowa had always had the philosophy that when outnumbered, the victory would just be that much sweeter, but looking at the way Sally's forces had managed to converge and surround the base, he could see the outcome was going to be uncertain. 

"Looks like you were right," he said to the comm, knowing that his voice was emotionless as always, and being glad of it. His palms were sweating just a tiny bit. "I had no idea she would be this coordinated at this stage of the fight." 

"She's been planning this for a while," Etille responded. "Trust me, this is no last-minute plan. I'd be willing to bet she's been building up her forces ever since she heard Une was going to form the Preventers and build this missile system." 

"I won't let you down, sir." 

Etille laughed grimly. "Let's hope so, shall we? There are no promises in war, Barton. Call if you need anything." 

The comm light went dark and he sat back in his chair, watching the computer screens, which seemed much too busy for how quiet it was down here. The silence hovered around him, chattering at his ears. He could die down here and no one would ever know. Unless they blasted their way down here with the intention of retrieving his body, it would be very easy to forget that the control room ever existed, and if Sally got control of the missiles, he doubted that she would care enough to come find him. 

The ground shook slightly, and he gripped the control desk with sweaty fingers. Ridiculous. His hands had never sweated during battle. He was a soldier. 

_Does duty even exist?_

Etille thought it did. Une thought it did. Did Heero? Did Duo? Did Wufei, still haunted by Treize's death? Did Quatre, now on trial for what he had done during the war, what he had thought was the right thing to do? 

But that wasn't even the question. The question now was much more brutal, colder, black and white. 

Could he kill Sally Po? 

Could he, Trowa Barton, press the button and launch ballistic missiles at the woman who had helped him find his place during the war? He didn't even have to launch all of them. Even one would be enough to wipe out Sally and her force. It would most likely destroy the base. It would most likely also destroy any civilian towns in the vicinity of the base. But if it came to that, that would mean that most of the people on base were already dead and that Sally would be coming after those same missiles, seeking to use them on him and the rest of the world and the colonies. 

But that still didn't make it right. 

A formation of red dots disappeared, but for every red one that blinked out on the screen, it seemed to take with it three more green ones, and the screen on his right showing battle statistics confirmed the grim reality. It was the bitter truth that the Preventers were woefully unprepared for combat, and Etille and Brown and Une knew that. With the World Nation's drawbacks and cuts to the Preventer's combat capabilities, they had not had nearly enough personnel or mobile suits to perform their wartime mission. Of course, Sally had known that as well. 

Sally's troops were trained, ready for combat, and fought to kill. 

The ground shook again, and this time there was an audible explosion. He heard alarms wailing from somewhere from inside the silo, but he ignored them. He had his orders to stay. 

He could just take out her troops and leave her alive. He didn't know them. They were following their own misguided cause… 

But no, there was no way he could be that accurate with these missiles. Not against a formation of aircraft. If it was a colony, maybe. Or a ship. If the missiles were regular aircraft missiles. But not these. 

Another explosion. More alarms. This time the rumbling sound lasted several more seconds before dying down, and one of the computer screens began blinking red. 

MOBILE SUIT HANGAR HIT. MISSION CRITICAL. MOC INOPERATIVE 

Trowa took a deep breath, wiping his hands on the sides of his shirt, and keyed the comm button for the war room. 

"What is it, Barton? Are you hurt? I saw the silo was hit but it doesn't look too bad." 

"No, I'm fine. If it's not too much of a problem, I'd like to be put on open comm so I can hear what's going on on the base channel." 

Etille was silent for a moment and he could hear muffled explosions through the speakers, heard someone shouting something. "All right," the general said finally. "Whatever happens, Barton…don't leave. You got that?" 

"You have my word," he said tightly, and the chatter of the battle communications surrounded him as he flicked the comm off. 

"We've lost the MOC!" 

"I'm hit, starboard engine, gonna try and turn her around." 

"Alpha two-five, what is your status?" 

"I've got a code three. Request permission to land and relaunch in spare." 

"Negative. MOC is down, flightline is down, we have no spares." 

"Bravo six, two on your tail." 

He watched more green dots wink out. The silo shook briefly with another explosion, and he heard screaming from the comm. 

"We've lost Bravo seven!" 

"Tighten up that formation! They're still coming!" 

The comm system pinged and he answered it. "Yes?" 

"Barton, it doesn't look pretty for us. We're going to have to evacuate the survivors soon, because the base isn't going to stand much longer." 

"What about Heero and Duo?" 

"They've been notified. I've rerouted them back to Geneva. I don't want them mixed up in this - they've got prices on their heads as it is." 

"I'm not leaving," Trowa said. 

"I'm not asking you to," Etille returned. "I'm not leaving either. You and I are going to be the only ones." 

"You should leave," Trowa said. "There's nothing for you here. Une needs you." 

There was a strange note in Etille's voice when he answered, something that Trowa couldn't identify. "If the leader is not willing to sacrifice himself, the people die in vain." He sounded like he was quoting something out of a book. 

"Sir?" he wondered. 

"I've a mission for you, Barton. It might be your last. But at least we don't have died in vain. I want you, when you see Sally Po on that screen, to aim the entire missile embankment at her and fire." 

Trowa blinked. "All of them…?" 

"All of them," Etille said harshly. "You heard me. It'll take out half of Asia Minor, but that's nothing in comparison to what she'll do if she gets them. You need to destroy those things. They should never have been built in the first place." 

"I-" Trowa began, but Etille cut him off. 

"I need you to kill Sally Po. One soldier to another. Don't let me down." 

Before Trowa could respond, he was gone. 

There was a screen at the lower bottom right corner of the large display that showed what seemed to be a view from a camera a short distance from the missile silo. He leaned towards it, adjusting the buttons to see if he could zoom in. It didn't zoom, but he discovered that he could change views to different parts of the base. Apparently this was an entire camera network. 

The views were not pretty. Most of the north end of the base, where the flightline was, had been entirely flattened. The hangars were a fiery inferno, and bits and pieces of mobile suits lay scattered amid twisted steel beams and other wreckage. The command building was still intact, but the logistics center a block from it was completely gone. He could see bodies and parts of bodies in some of the larger craters. Several of what he assumed were Sally's mobile suits streaked overhead with two Preventers suits in pursuit, and they had barely come into view before one of the Preventers' suits began billowing smoke and broke formation, making a wobbling semi-recovery before plunging to the earth, exploding in a shower of flame that lit up the night sky like a brilliant bonfire. 

The fire billowed outward, catching the east end of the command post, and it began to burn. 

Trowa swallowed, turning away from the screen. He had seen plenty of battles and he had seen many people die, but it had never been this inevitable before, nor so sad. 

Kashmir Command Base would fall. 

Sally would win and the World Nation would be lost. 

Unless he, Trowa Barton, could stop her. 

The ground trembled. 

What was it Duo had said when he'd killed Ilene? In the heat of the moment, in the tangle of emotions in his mind, he could barely remember, though it had haunted him every day and night since her death. 

_She wasn't a fanatic. She was my friend._

"This is the war room," the comm said. Etille. He sounded as calm as usual, but for some reason that did not reassure Trowa. He wondered what it took to get to that point, where even knowing for certain that you would die and that you would be responsible for the deaths of hundreds of others did not matter. 

Was that what duty was? Cleansing oneself of all emotions, not fear, not hatred, not joy, not even sadness? He had just begun to know what it was like to feel, to accept what it meant to be human. Was he to erase that once again? Was he to live the rest of his life as a robot? 

If that was it, he didn't want it. 

This was Sally Po. He knew Sally Po. He wanted to believe he still did. 

_She isn't a fanatic. She is my friend._

"This is the war room," Etille said again. "Enemy forces have entered the base. All personnel evacuate. Repeat, all personnel, evacuate!" 

She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing Catherine knew was that she was waking up and it had grown dark and there was the sound of rain coming from the open window. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. The clock read 5:40 PM, and the music box had fallen from her hands while she had slept, tumbling a bit and ending upside down beside her pillow. She picked it up and put it back on the dresser. The vidscreen was still on, the volume down. 

Getting up, Catherine went over to the window and looked out. It would have been dusk if the clouds hadn't been blocking the sun, and she couldn't decide if that was a shame or if she was glad. She liked the sun, but she liked the rain too, and it hadn't rained in a while in Geneva. 

Her door was open, and she had remembered she closed it when she first came into the room, so someone must have come in. A note caught her eye at the end of the dresser by the open door, and she crossed the room, picking it up. 

_Cat,  
Kashmir is under attack. Watch the news. I didn't want to wake you up because you needed the sleep. I will be with Relena on base if you need me.  
Dorothy._

Kashmir. 

An icy claw squeezed her heart, erasing the last traces of sleep. Trowa was at Kashmir. 

_No!_

Trembling, she fumbled on her bed for the remote, turned the volume up, noticing for the first time that the news studio wall showed KASHMIR ATTACK in large letters. The anchor looked up from his papers at the screen. 

"We still have no new updates on the attack on Kashmir Command Base, which began a few hours earlier today. Apparently, Po's Liberation Forces took the base somewhat by surprise. She had attacked the base before and seems to have returned, hoping to take them while they were still weakened. Our news correspondent in India, Sawyer Nolte, has more." 

She could hardly see Sawyer Nolte on the screen against the dark background and inadequate lighting, but his voice came strong and clear. "Thank you, Hakim. We unfortunately do not have an active news correspondent on site at Kashmir, but from the reports we've been receiving, the news does not look good. Command Base ceased responding to our inquiries for information an hour ago, and we must assume that either they are too busy to respond or that they have been destroyed." 

No. Trowa couldn't be dead. 

She would have felt it if he was. 

Tears stung her eyes, and she reached out blindly to the side, fingers grasping for the music box there on the dresser. She brushed it, but the heavy box slid off the edge and tumbled off the dresser to the floor. She watched it fall, seeming to see it turn over and over in slow motion, glittering in the dusky rainy evening, in the false glow of the vidscreen. 

It hit the floor and began to play. 

Funny, she hadn't remembered winding it, but it was all right. She sat numbly on the bed, hearing the sweet notes of the melody, her thoughts a blank. 

Trowa. 

She knew it was selfish of her. Trowa wasn't hers. She had realized that some time between the time he had left the circus and when he had left for Kashmir. Trowa and the others didn't belong to anyone - they saw the world in a bigger picture than that. But that didn't mean she couldn't grieve. 

_Trowa, don't…don't leave me. Don't die. Please don't die._

"Catherine?" he said, sitting up suddenly, wondering if he had just heard her voice out of the air. 

But no, it was just his imagination. The sirens were now going off at a steady pace all over the base, and he wondered if the evacuation order had come too late. There were very few green dots left, and four of the cameras on his system had been destroyed, leaving just the one above the silo, the one over the now-burning command post, and two over the ruined flightline. The darkness of the night provided a perfect backdrop for the glow of the fires that were threatening to consume the base, but unlike the first attack, there was no one left to put them out. 

"This is the command post." It was a female voice, not Etille, tension running beneath the hard tone. "All personnel, evacuate now! All person-" 

A crash, a fuzz of static, then nothing. 

It was now or never. 

He stared at the red button, seeing it as if through a dim fog in his vision. Bringing up one hand slowly, he laid two fingers on it, feeling the smooth polished metal beneath them, and reached up his other hand to power up the missile system. Maybe the system had been damaged in the attack. Maybe he still wouldn't have to fire them. 

The system came off standby flawlessly, and the whir of electronics and the row of lights that lit up the control panel told him that there was no such luck. Of course there wasn't. The system had been designed with last-ditch efforts in mind, and there was no stepping out of it now. 

Looking up at the screen, at the fires burning, he thought he saw Ilene's eyes. 

The control panel blinked again, and the screen showed all missile systems online, ready for activation. 

"Catherine," he whispered. 

Bring up one finger, he prepared the missiles to fire. 

The vidscreen shifted back to the news anchor, who shuffled his papers, looking grim. "We have just received some news from the front," he said quietly. "Kashmir base has been evacuated, with remaining personnel bound for locations unknown. We have reason to believe that Sally Po is after the Preventers' high-tech ballistic missile system which is located at Kashmir, and with the base abandoned, there is no telling what she would be able to do with it." 

_I'm sorry I'm not the perfect brother_, Trowa had said. _I'm sorry I couldn't be the person you wanted me to be._

She wondered if he had evacuated. Or if he was still at the base, clinging on to his duty, sitting it out till the very end. She wondered which part of him would win. 

_There's a conflict in you that hasn't been resolved yet. I thought I could fix it, thought that I could heal you. But I've discovered that I can't do that. You're the only one who can do that, Trowa - you're the only one._

He wasn't expecting to hear anything, but the walls began vibrating, and the screen showed a schematic of the missiles rising from their underground tomb, locking into place. 

MUNITIONS LOCKED. ENTER COORDINATES. 

There were several concentrations of red dots around the base, and he wasn't sure which one would be Sally. He could just aim at a random formation, but something inside of him shied away from that. The system was not built for hit-or-miss. If he was going to do this job, he had to do it right, and they were counting on him to make sure Sally was dead. 

He flipped the camera switch, hunting through the remaining live camera feeds for a mobile suit that might hint that Sally was inside. He hadn't seen any that remotely resembled command craft, and he had guessed that Sally had stayed out of the battle, commanding from the sidelines. 

There was nothing on the flightline. Several Aries. He switched again. Three squadrons of Tauruses. Switch. The command post, burning. As he watched, the roof collapsed. Switch. Another four squadrons of Tauruses and one Aries squadron. Another.... 

Wait. 

He hit the zoom function, beating the control button, willing the thing to move in closer. The mobile suit in the background, just a little too tall and a little too wide, bulkier than the rest. That was no Taurus or Aries. The acid in his stomach churned. There was something from one of its arms that didn't look like a hand, almost like a… 

A cannon. 

Sally was piloting Heavyarms. 

"We've managed to get close to the base," came the voice of yet another news correspondent on the air. The fuzzy picture on the screen showed a few bright dots, some of which Catherine recognized as fire. The Kashmir base was burning. 

She remembered how the Preventers Headquarters had looked after the attack. She remembered the acrid smell of smoke and spent ammunition. Hugging her knees, she stared at the screen. 

"There seems to be very little combat going on. We saw a few transports leaving the base earlier, but they did not seem to be pursued. For some reason, Po doesn't care if there are survivors." 

"She wants those missiles," the anchor responded, and the news correspondent made a noise of agreement. 

"She'll be-" A muffled gasp. "Hold on. Hold on!" 

The news anchor leaned forward in his seat, and the fuzzy picture attempted to zoom, got fuzzier, and wavered in and out. At the corner there was something moving…something rising out of the ground. 

"The missile system! That's the missile system!" 

"There's someone still there then…" the anchor said thoughtfully, and then broke off as realization hit him. "They're going to fire them!" 

_Trowa._

The correspondant's voice shook. "They're going to fire the missiles. Turn around…turn around, we've got to get out of here!" 

MUNITIONS LOCKED. ENTER COORDINATES. 

He stared at Heavyarms, his breath coming in short gasps. She hadn't…she couldn't. It couldn't be. 

But it was Heavyarms. There was no mistaking it…it was his Gundam. 

Sally hadn't sat out the battle. The knowledge came in a rush - she had been piloting Heavyarms. The Gundam was ideal for her, with its heavy cannon and double rounds of ammunition. One didn't have to necessarily be a good pilot to pilot Heavyarms. One just needed to have good aim, and Sally was a crack shot. That had obviously been a huge force against the Preventers, who had already been outnumbered as it was. 

Trowa had never thought about it like that when he had been Heavyarms' pilot. He had always been the one in the Gundam's seat, the one with the powerful cannon and the ammunition. It was quite different to be on the losing side. 

It frightened him just how much he had taken that for granted. 

The screen blinked at him. ENTER COORDINATES. 

He struggled to focus on the radar screen, searching for the concentration of red dots on the east side of the base, pressing the keys as slowly as he could, delaying the inevitable. 2A-56-510T 

Sally Po. 

"We'll never make it in time," the correspondent said raggedly over the radio, his voice cracking. "Those missiles have the capability to destroy about half of Asia Minor. We'll be blown to bits." 

"If those missiles fire…" 

"It's likely that most of the area around here will be completely obliterated. The towns surrounding the base, most of old India and Pakistan…it'll be horrific." 

"Isn't there anything we can do?" 

The correspondent laughed, his breath coming in gasps. "You try facing off with the military. I'm not going to try it. Not in a crisis of this magnitude." 

If the missiles fired, Trowa would die. If they didn't…he would probably be captured. 

_Do your duty, Trowa_, she prayed silently, reaching one hand to her cheek and feeling the tears there trickle slowly down. 

Beside her, _Ballade por Adeline_ played mournfully on the music box. 

COORDINATES ENTERED. BEGIN FINAL COUNTDOWN. 

The comm light was blinking. 

Etille was gone. The base had been evacuated. Hesitantly, he reached out, touched the button. There was only one person it could be. 

"Attention, Kashmir Command Base. This is Sally Po. We have taken over your command post and all of your communications. I have troops at the door of the missile silo now. Cease your missile fire countdown and we will let you live." 

The troops would have a very hard time getting through the reinforced steel door. It wasn't Gundanium, but it was close, and it would take them a while. Surely she knew her threat was useless. 

"I don't know who you are sitting in that silo firing those missiles," Sally continued, "but let me tell you this: what you are doing is about to cause much more death and destruction to innocent civilians than if you would surrender. Are you going to wipe out an entire corner of the world just to make sure I won't win this battle?" 

Trowa squeezed his hands together. Empty threats. That was all they were. 

Sally paused. "It's not worth it, is it? What about the people outside right now, going about their daily business, depending on you to protect them? Will you betray their trust?" 

He stared blankly at the screen, shivering even though sweat had begun trickling down his face because the temperature control system had finally failed. 

_What is duty?_ he had asked Catherine. _What is duty? _

I need you to kill Sally Po. 

The pilots have never lied; they've always stayed true. I'm offering you a soldier's battlefield, where your decision matters. 

His heart pounded and he hovered, his hand over the button that would initiate firing sequence, a sequence from which there was no return. He would be destroying thousands of lives, destroying himself, destroying the woman who he still could not think of as the enemy. 

Because she wasn't. 

It didn't justify anything. 

_I need you to kill Sally Po._

The screen blinked incessantly, taunting him. 

COORDINATES ENTERED. BEGIN FINAL COUNTDOWN. 

They screamed at him from inside his memory and he clamped his hands to his ears. 

_I want you, when you see Sally Po on that screen, to aim the entire missile embankment at her and fire. _

They should never have been built in the first place. 

Should never have been built in the first place. 

"Is it your duty?" Sally barked from the comm, and the sound of her voice broke something in him and he fell forward onto the control panel, his head hitting the metal with a crack, the pain just a dull throbbing through the accusing voices. "Is this your duty to kill innocents?" 

"No," Trowa breathed, seeing black spots before his eyes, dizzy and wanting to throw up. He groped for the edge of the table to stop himself from sliding off onto the floor. "No. I can't…I can't. I can't!" 

_I need you to kill Sally Po. _

She wasn't a fanatic. She was my friend. 

Kill Sally Po. 

"NO!" he screamed, and reached out, fingers flying, keying off the system, feeling the mechanical grinding as it prepared to lower the missiles back underground. 

POWER OFF 

"Wait!" 

Catherine stared at the vidscreen, as the news correspondent drew a shaking breath. 

"Look! The missile system….are they not going to fire after all?" 

"What's happening?" the anchor demanded. 

"The structure's drawing back…going underground." He sounded bewildered. "Something must have happened…I wonder what?" 

There was no one. No voices. Nothing. 

He felt the cool metal under his cheek, opened his eyes, saw the view of the command post, still burning, on the screen. He was still alive. So was Sally. 

In the end, he couldn't kill her. 

He didn't have what it took. He had lied to Une, lied to Etille, and lied to Catherine. They had thought he was a soldier, and he had proved that all he was was a coward. 

_She wasn't a fanatic_, Duo's faint voice said gently. _She was my friend._

"And does that make it right, Duo?" Trowa whispered, staring at the fire on the screen, fists clenched. "What justifies killing one person and not someone else? How can I…?" 

"You made a good choice," Sally said from the comm. "You did the right thing." 

He pushed himself up on one elbow, slapping the comm button. "I don't need to hear that from you, Sally." 

Silence. 

A gasp. "Trowa Barton?!" 

He laughed sarcastically. "You've won. Does that make you happy now? You haven't changed, you know. You're still as persuasive as ever, even if you are the enemy." 

"Trowa-" 

"Don't lecture me on good and evil," Trowa said. "I don't need to hear it. Not from you." 

He could almost hear the thoughts running through her head. Nothing she could say would affect him now. She'd already done what damage she could. 

"I'm sorry, Trowa," she said at last. "I'm sorry. I wish I didn't have to do this." 

"Do what?" he demanded, a horrible sense of dread coming over him. "Do what, Sally? What are you going to do!?" 

"We're getting a transmission!" 

The screen shifted back to the news anchor with a flash, and he stared into the camera, speaking excitedly. Catherine leaned forward. Was it Trowa? He was still alive…wasn't he? 

"We are receiving a transmission from Kashmir Command Base. The missile system has apparently been deactivated, and the standoff has come to an end. The transmission is directed at all public communication networks through the world and the colonies, and we're trying to patch it through right now." 

"-am Sally Po, commander of the World Liberation Forces," said the voice through a shower of static. "I have captured Kashmir Command Base and am now in possession of the Preventers' Missile Defense System." 

She paused, but Catherine turned away from the screen, not bothering to stop the stream of tears. Sally had captured the base. Even if Trowa wasn't dead…she might never see him again. 

The music box tinkled its last few notes next to her and fell silent. 

"Trowa," she whispered. "_Mon frere_…I love you." 

"I have made certain demands to the World Nation," Sally said. "If these demands are not met, I will have no choice but to change circumstances so that the World Nation will meet them. With these missiles in my possession, I give you, the leaders of the World Nation, seventy-two hours to acquiesce to the conditions I have put forth." 

The chill running down Catherine's spine and into the pit of her stomach dashed away the tears, replacing them with an icy spike of fear. 

_No, Sally…no!_

"I have aimed the missile embankment at the colony L1. Within seventy-two hours, if the World Nation has not complied, I will activate the system and destroy the colony." 

  
Act X Part IV | Act XI Part II | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	41. An Invitation from Hell

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2002 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

  
**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING **

SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT XI, PART II 

**Kamen no shita no  
Sugao wa wasureta  
Subete wo tsutsumikomu  
Mugen no yami no you ni **

Yasuragi ni kakareru asayake wa  
Senshi-tachi no nagasu chi no iro  


**Forgotten is the true face  
Beneath this mask  
It engulfs everything  
Like endless darkness **

The morning embraced by peace  
Is the color of soldiers' blood  


**--Gundam Wing, _Tooi Yoake_  
[_Faraway Dawn_, Zechs Merquise image song]**  


  
  
**Scene V: Tales of the Jade Emperor**

  


_"Warfare is a great matter to a nation;  
it is the ground of death and of life;  
it is the way of survival and of destruction."  
-- Sun Tzu, The Art of War_

  
The Kashmir base command center was in ruins. 

Sally Po would have preferred to take the base completely intact, but destruction was part of war, and she'd known the Preventers wouldn't give up this base without a fight. At first, she had been surprised that Une hadn't sent more troops down here. But then thinking about it, she had realized that since the World Nation was established, the scaling back of combat troops had left the Preventers stretched thin – too thin. It was something that she, as second-in-command, had had to deal with in the past, but she never had really thought that it would someday work to her advantage. 

Most of the northern part of the base was still burning when the Liberation Forces moved in, and Sally's first orders were to put out the fire, salvage as much data they could from the collapsed command center, and to find Trowa Barton. 

How the hell had Trowa Barton come to end up in a missile silo, controlling the most dangerous weapons in the world? 

Gils-Reve had asked her that, incredulously, as she keyed off the system after she'd realized who he was. "That can't be Barton," he'd said. "They wouldn't send him out here, in harm's way! Not with everything else that's going on!" 

"No," she had said softly in return, staring at the image of the burning command center in her crosshairs on the scope. "That's precisely what the world thought." She placed a hand on the warm metal of Heavyarms, her newest prize. "We took Barton's weapons, but we didn't take his purpose." 

"What?" Gils-Reve said. 

She smiled at the naiveté in his voice. "That's what the world doesn't understand about the Gundam pilots, Gils-Reve. They could have lost their Gundams, lost their hiding places, lost their colonies. But that's not what drove them. They're not like common soldiers, who fight until they no longer have the means to fight. The Gundam pilots had a purpose. Something deeper than them, something deeper than war, something that defined them." 

"I don't quite follow you," her aide confessed. 

Sally had shaken her head and smiled bitterly. "Neither does most of the world. That is why Quatre Raberba Winner is going to lose this trial. And that is why, in 72 hours, the World Nation will have one less colony." 

_I'm sorry, Trowa._

She wasn't really sorry. Not in the way that people usually meant sorry, not in the I'm-sorry-I-broke-your-window kind of sorry or the I'm-sorry-your-father-died kind of sorry. But there was a knot inside her heart as she said the words, a strange ache that she knew would be there and wasn't sure how to get rid of. 

If Trowa hadn't been in that silo, maybe she wouldn't have been sorry. If it had been anyone but one of the Gundam pilots. But his presence had startled her. 

Because if he was here, what if she was wrong? 

And what if the World Nation and the Preventers were right? 

It was that moment of indecision, where she could have turned back and said that what she had done was wrong, could have perhaps gotten away with it and the world could have moved on with its life. With the crucifixion of the Gundam pilots and the trial of Quatre Raberba Winner and never known what the pilots had fought for, because the giant gluttonous maw of the World Nation would have destroyed it. 

The pilots had fought against the Federation for the liberation of people, and the World Nation was just another Federation. 

She had thought Wufei would understand that, but perhaps two years had been a little too long. In the end, he wasn't strong enough. And Trowa too. She didn't blame Quatre, because he was being held up as the shining martyr for all the pilots, but she would have thought the rest of the former pilots would have flocked to her cause. They'd fought for independent colonies, independent nations, and now all they were doing was hiding. 

That was all right – she would be strong for all of them. One day, after all this was over, they would understand. 

_I understand that war is not the means to all ends, Sally. Treize taught me that. I know that now. That was why Treize died. Are you going to throw his sacrifice away, Sally? Are you going to let his death mean nothing? _

Treize was WRONG! Treize didn't care about the people! Treize cared only about himself! 

Only two years after his death, Treize Khushrenada, the ruthless man who had murdered thousands and committed some of the most atrocious acts of war in the history of war, was being marked as a hero. And this was by the very people who had been his worst enemies. 

The world was crazy, Sally Po decided, watching the mobile suits clear away the worst of the rubble outside as others salvaged as much as they could out of the center's networks and defense systems. The wing headquarters building, where she had set up base, was surprisingly almost untouched except for a few broken windows. 

While her troops had moved in, she'd found the old base commander's office and proceeded to convert into her own personal war room. The room was wide, with large windows that reminded her somewhat of Une's office in Geneva. But while Une's office was small, efficient, and functional, this base commander had obviously been fond of luxury items. Sally had gotten rid of most of those quickly – where there had once been an expensive painting on the far wall, there was now a comm screen, and where expensive glass statuettes had stood in the bookcase were now mounds of battle reports. 

The sun was rising in the east, obscured through a haze of ash and lingering battle haze. In the center of the base, where the hospital was still standing, ambulances and armored vehicles commandeered for ambulance duty were making runs, shuttling wounded and dead back and forth from the battlefield to the operation table or to the makeshift morgue. They hadn't meant to hit the hospital, one of Sally's squadron commanders had guiltily reported to her, but one of the mobile suits had fired a heavy missile right as a Preventers suit had gotten it from behind, and both the suit and the missile had crashed headlong into the Kashmir medical center. 

But it was war, and one couldn't afford to shed too many tears in war. 

The door opened and she looked around, but it was just Gils-Reve, making a paper run. She'd designated him errand boy, since they were still trying to get the computer network up and running, and he had been tearing up and down the stairs all night with information, reports, statistics, and orders from her to various operational commanders around the base. 

The scent of coffee caught her nose, and she turned around fully as he deposited a Styrofoam cup of the poison on her desk. He smiled at her a little self-consciously, obviously conscious of the exhaustion on his features, but she knew she looked equally as tired. 

"Thank you," she said. 

"They've secured the silo," he said in return. She appreciated that. Mincing no words, getting right to the task at hand. Gils-Reve wasn't the brightest bulb in the bunch, but he'd made it this far and would go a lot farther if he kept his wits about him. "The missiles weren't touched in the attack. They're all online." 

"That's good." Taking a sip of the coffee. It scalded her tongue and she made a face at the bitterness of it, but she forced herself to keep drinking. "And the…prisoner?" 

Gils-Reve's expression did not falter. "Barton's being held in a maximum security cell. We've got guards on him at all times." A slight hesitation, one that someone else besides Sally might not have noticed. "They were going to…drug him, but I stopped them." 

She sighed. "Let him go." 

He froze in mid-motion. "What?" 

"Let him go," she said again. "Put him in one of the VOQ rooms. Under house arrest." 

"But-" 

"He won't try to escape," she cut him off curtly. "Don't argue with me." 

A plethora of emotions flitted across Gils-Reve's face, then vanished, leaving him simply looking tired. "Yes, ma'am," he said. 

She smiled at him, and he mustered a faint smile back before making a gloomy exit, trying valiantly to look confident, smart, refreshed. The effect was spoiled by the slump in his back, but she didn't say anything. If she could, she'd tell him to get some rest, but there wasn't anyone else she trusted as much as him, and these 72 hours were critical. 

She wished Li were here – Li was ten times as smart and reliable as Gils-Reve – but Li was needed elsewhere. After the colony was destroyed, when the real work would begin, she'd move Li to her headquarters here. 

The clock read 0450, and the squadron commanders would be here any minute. She put the coffee cup down and proceeded to mechanically clear her desk of all the reports that Gils-Reve had left her, putting them a pile in the corner to be read later. There were a lot of things to be done later – the former base commander hadn't been too vigilant about security, and she had broken most of the high security locks on his desk with ease. The missile defense manual was one of the first documents she'd found, lying almost carelessly in one of the top drawers atop a mound of memorandums. 

No matter how good Une was, there was always a weak link. That was one of the first rules of war, after all. _To achieve an advance that cannot be hampered, rush to the enemy's weak points_. She'd always had a fondness for Sun Tzu. 

Ironic that she was quoting his words back at herself now, the words of a Chinese general long dead. She wondered if he would have been proud of her, fighting for China like this. 

_Because China is like that. Because she loves all the sons and daughters who come back to her. Even people like you and me, who have no home._

She tried to shake Wufei's voice out of her mind, trying instead to remember her mother's voice quoting proverbs to her. Squinting at the sunlight through the window, she wondered if her parents would be proud of her. 

"The death of the heart," she whispered softly to the empty room, "is the saddest thing that can happen to you…" 

A knock on the door. Hurriedly, she finished pushing the papers to the edges of the desk, making sure her laptop was booted up, then turned towards the door, calling for them to enter. 

They didn't look like commanders, but rather like common soldiers. Most of them still had the dust and grime of the battlefield on their faces, having been out there digging and clearing away rubble alongside their men. They were dressed in civilian clothes – torn jeans, ragged jackets and scuffed boots, and a few had handguns in holsters at their belts, but most were unarmed. She had had nine squadron commanders in total when the attack had begun, but two had been injured, and one was now lying outside the Kashmir base hospital with a sheet over him. She would have written to his family, but he hadn't divulged that information to anyone when he had joined her ranks a year ago. 

She flicked on the comm screen as they trudged on in and took their seats on the uncomfortable metal chairs she'd arranged around the desk. A fuzzy map of the globe appeared on the screen, blinking a few times before settling into position, and she grabbed her light pointer from the edge of the desk with one hand, the remote control with the other. With a push of a button, the map lit up with lights. 

"Good morning," she said. "I apologize for the impromptu setting, but this will have to do. We haven't got much time." 

Weary smiles on tired faces. "We'll make do," said the long-haired main on her far left, his dark skin and back still damp with sweat. "The air conditioning itself is a real treat, anyway." 

Sally allowed herself a brief smile. "I'd like to congratulate all of you, first, on a job well done. We hit them hard, we hit them fast, and we did what we came to do. I'll stress again to you the element of surprise. Our numbers are growing, but we can't forget that the Preventers still have the upper hand in most everything. We've won a battle, but we have yet to win the war." 

Agreement on every face. Kashmir was the first step in a long plan that had involved many long hours and sleepless nights over the past year. She hadn't been able to sit in on most of the planning, having still been at Geneva as second-in-command to Une, but Li had given her reports, and she'd promoted accordingly. The men and women sitting here were tough, hardworking, and loyal, and they'd fought and sacrificed much for this moment. 

"Before we begin the briefing, I'll go around the circle and ask on status. I've got papers over here-" she waved at Gils-Reve's teetering pile on the desk corner, "but I'd prefer to hear it in person myself. Commander Trenchard?" 

The dark-skinned man nodded. "I've got twenty injured, but the rest are out working the ruins of the AOC. We should have the center back up and running by midday." 

Sally nodded. "Muñez?" 

Muñez's troops had been one of the squadrons that had captured a few prisoners. They were in the detention cells on the other side of the base, and Sally had decided they were going to keep any prisoners under maximum security, with the exception of Trowa Barton, and deal with them later. There would be plenty of time for bargaining after the 72 hour World Nation standoff. The rest of the commanders had much of the same issues – rubble clearing or prisoner of war transport. The base seemed to be well on its way to being repaired, and Jacques Albairat, her last squadron commander out of the six, remarked that if they kept this pace up, they'd have a fully functioning base in three days. 

"We'll see," Sally said. "There's a difference between being realistic and being overzealous." 

He grinned. "Sun Tzu again?" 

"No," she said, and the other commanders laughed. "Just my own personal mantra. Not everything I do is based on Sun Tzu, you know." 

He arched an eyebrow. "That's what you say now." 

"Sun Tzu believed in winning battles," she said, and the laughter subsided. She let her gaze linger on all of them, over their sweaty faces and dirty clothing. "He believed in quick, decisive, and dirty, and so do I. You all joined us for a reason. The Liberation Forces. That's what we call ourselves, because that's what we believe in. We don't want a World Nation or a Federation or any conglomerate of fattened politicians telling us how to govern our own countries. We are all brought together by one cause – the preservation of national identity and the freedom of our individual people, and that's what we're fighting for. In 72 hours, we're going to have hell on our hands, and I want us to be ready to deal with that." Searching their faces for confirmation. "Are we ready?" 

Albairat met her gaze squarely. "We are ready. I'm not sitting by here and letting my colony die a slow death while the World Nation squabbles over oil. I'm willing to fight, and fight to the death. You know that." 

Sally looked at him thoughtfully, at his tanned skin and the hard, distinctively French, line of his jaw, at the salt-and-pepper hair. Like most of the others, he'd seen his share of combat during the war with White Fang, and then had been shipped off to A007 by the World Nation. But he hadn't been bitter about it. Instead, he'd striven to make A007 a colony that people could be proud of, and Sally had seen that potential in him the first time she'd contacted him and his second-in-command about a deal. 

Colonel Davi Morgan was dead now, killed by Lucrezia Noin on A007, but Albairat wasn't beaten yet. 

"I'm not asking you to fight to the death for me," she said softly. "That would do you no good. I'm asking you to fight for your countries, because our people all deserve the chance to be free." 

Trenchard shook his head. "I think any of us would be proud to die, not necessarily for you, but for our cause – whether it's in the name of the Liberation Forces or just the name of whatever country we fight to defend from the World Nation." He gestured around the six seats, and Sally felt the distinct echo of the three missing men – one who would never return. "There are already some of us who have paid that price." 

The sun slanted over the bars of the window, and she shook herself, clicking on the light pen. "Let's not be too somber. I've got some good news from Gils-Reve. He's brought me the reports from the battles at Chavez Command Base and Los Angeles Air Station. Looks like the Americas are ours." 

"Not much of a fight, was it?" Muñez said. 

She shrugged. "Doesn't look like it, just as we suspected. Une's been moving troops to Fortaleza to defend the Cancers, but by the time we took Chavez yesterday, they hadn't even gotten the warning yet. The report says a squadron of Preventers mobile suits got up to Chavez just in time to run into a few of ours." 

Albairat blew out a breath. "That's good. Another notch on the wall." 

"With the missile defenses under our control," Sally said, "we'll soon have a few more notches on our wall. It's just as we thought – the Preventers are pretty much useless right now, so we strike fast and hard and take out as many of them as we can before they can regroup." She pointed the light pen at the map, circling Kashmir, Chavez, and Los Angeles, the three Preventers bases now under Liberation control. "We're going to hit Chi Lai in China and McDonnell down in Australia as planned this afternoon. We could easily take Fortaleza in the next few hours if we needed to, but I just received a message from Commander Garrett, and he says that's not necessary." 

Trenchard raised one eyebrow. "Why is that?" 

"According to Garrett," Sally said, with some smugness in her voice, "Fortaleza's commander has been deciding it's not worth it to stand up against us and is drafting a surrender notice. We'll take the base intact, and the Cancers along with it. The World Nation is apparently digging its head out of its ass and finally realizing that we're an actual threat, but they won't be organized enough to get their act together in the next two days. By the time they realize that Winner's trial was just a smokescreen, L1 will be gone." 

Commander Chao, the Chinese woman sitting next to Albairat, clasped her hands together in satisfaction. "That's excellent. That's less cost to us." 

"Along with Lake Victoria," Sally said, "that makes five bases already taken, plus two bases in the next 24 hours and one colony in the next 72. The troops at Lake Victoria should be regrouping after that last Gundam attack. Chao, weren't they your forces?" 

Chao grimaced. "I should have been more alert. I never realized Gundams could travel that fast – I never actually saw one during the war. It's more my fault than anything." 

"Just make sure the construction and repairs there get underway, and I'll let you off the hook this time. I didn't realize that Une had sent Yuy and Maxwell out either, so don't be too hard on yourself. A Gundam can do a lot of damage, especially an undetected Gundam." 

"You said we had several edges against them, ma'am," Trenchard said. "I'd like to know what your plans are, now that we know that Chang is no longer on our side, and Yuy and Maxwell are on the loose. That's three out of five, but three Gundam pilots are enough to make my skin crawl." 

With a click of the remote, a new screen came up. "These are the pilot stats," Sally said. "I suppose most of you know that about a week before this, I had Duo Maxwell in my custody. I put him through some simulator exercises, saying that I wanted him to hone his reflexes. I'd installed recorder tapes in the sim so I could go back later and analyze his movements." Another click, and the sim footage was playing on the screen in a square above the stats. "Maybe we can't beat Duo Maxwell or Heero Yuy at their game. But that doesn't mean we can't play a different one." 

"Hell," Chao breathed, watching the stats scroll down the page. "He's amazing. I've never seen a pilot that good. _Wo bu xin dao_." 

_"If you know your enemy and know yourself_," Sally quoted, "_you need not fear the results of a hundred battles."_

"_That's_ Sun Tzu," Albairat said. 

A knock on the door. 

"Come in," she said, knowing it had to be Gils-Reve, because she had given specific orders not to be disturbed during the staff meeting. Her aide poked his head in the door, a little shyly. 

"Uh…ma'am?" 

"What is it, Gils-Reve?" 

His gaze darted around at the circle of squadron commanders seated there, then returned to Sally. "Ma'am, I think you should come down to the hospital. Apparently one of our prisoners is more important than we thought." 

"Who?" Sally demanded, alarm and curiosity in her voice. "I thought the base commander was killed in the attack on the first day." 

"He was," Gils-Reve said. "But you'll never guess who Une sent over to take charge." He shot a meaningful gaze at Albairat. "Commander Albairat might know." 

The pieces clicked. "Dermand Etille is still alive?" She felt Albairat stiffen behind her. 

Gils-Reve nodded. "He's alive, just out of surgery, and he wants to see you." 

  
_Wo bu xin dao: Chinese, "I can't believe it."_

  


* * *

  
**Scene VI: Stairway to Heaven**

  


_"There's a feeling I get when I look to the west,  
And my spirit is crying for leaving.  
In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees,  
And the voices of those who standing looking."  
--Led Zeppelin, Stairway to Heaven_

  
In 70 hours, the sky might fall. 

Shinobu waited in his room, staring up at the ceiling, as his mind replaying the cool sound of Sally Po's voice as she issued her threat. 

_"I have aimed the missile embankment at the colony L1. Within seventy-two hours, if the World Nation has not complied, I will activate the system and destroy the colony."_

He didn't doubt she would. Shinobu had met the lady briefly, and knew that she had a certain ruthlessness. He was a good character judge, and Sally's competence was what really stood out in his mind. Unless the Preventers managed to get their act together, the world he had been born on would be destroyed. 

The ceiling had three large cracks which spider webbed across it, and his eyes tracked their paths, imagining strange shapes and paths. He imagined they were a path through the snow, created by the rabbits he had first seen while going to Cliffside. 

And he here he was, safe, on earth - or as safe as anyone could be in the midst of a world war. Ilene had died in a hallway of this very building. A Gundam pilot - a friend of Duo's - had killed her. Safety anywhere was a joke. 

He had seen so many strange and wondrous creatures for the first time on earth, but he wondered if it would ever be where he belonged. Often times he would find himself reverting to mannerisms he had learned on the colonies, mannerisms which were so ingrained as to be part of the very fiber of his being and would always mark him as different. 

If there was no Breaks to return to, what would he do? Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had known that they were there, the dark world of death and destruction, where you could sell your soul for ten credits and they would ask you for change. There was something enticing about the place his grandfather had called home, and part of him had always known he would lose the battle against Seki and be pulled into their depths, never to surface again. 

Except he hadn't. If Sally won, in less than three days, they would be wiped away as though they had never been... 

A knock sounded on the door, a staccato rhythm he ignored as dwelled on the reality that was facing him. 

"Shin?" 

The sound of the door opening, and the click of a latch - the rustle of cloth as someone made their way across the floor assaulting his hearing from what seemed to be a mile away. Nothing was real, nothing except the cracks that seemed to be changing in shape and meaning... 

"Shin?" 

He still didn't answer her, even though he could feel her beside him. The bed protested her weight as she settled beside him, and he smelled the fragrance she was wearing, some sweet and floral that mixed with the herbal shampoo she had used on her long golden hair. 

He loved her hair, the way she twined it into irregular patterns and styles, with clips and decorations that made him long to undo it so it would fall free around her face. He turned his head slightly to meet her concerned blue eyes, and let himself drown in the concern they held. 

They were blue, like the sky outside. When he was younger, he would see pictures of Earth, and its sunsets, and wonder how those special effects were being produced. Even though he lived in one of the nicest houses in the Breaks, with tight security and tighter rules, the weather outside never worked the way it was supposed to. 

He had asked his nanny about those skies, once. 

"What color is the sky?" he had asked as a five year old, still young enough to ask questions. In another two years, he would know better than to do that. 

"Take a look outside the window," the young woman had replied grumpily. She didn't like dealing with children, but Seki had bought her from slave dealer, and her choice was to look after his grandchild, or go into the prostitution circle. 

"I mean the real sky, not the one they make for us," he had clarified. 

"Blue. The sky is blue," she had replied. 

That hadn't seemed right to him, not with all the pictures that had been painted for him. "Then what are sunrises and sunsets about?" 

"Those are exceptions. The sky is usually blue. Now shut up and leave me alone," she had ordered him. 

She hadn't been a nurturing woman, but she was a good nanny. She managed to teach him what he needed to know, how to read and write, and how to think. 

_Trust no one_, she had whispered the day when she was to leave him. _Especially not your grandfather..._

It was the most important lesson he had ever learn. It had kept him alive, and sometimes he wondered if she had felt some small amount of affection for him, to dare tell him such a thing. He never learned her name, and he wondered, now and then, what had happened to her. Was she still alive, up on the colony, waiting for an inevitable death? 

"I'm okay," he finally whispered, realizing that Helena wanted some kind of response from him. 

Soft hands brushed against his cheeks as she cradled his face between his hands, making it impossible for him to look away. "No, you're not," she told him. "You're in shock." 

He wanted to deny it, but she always knew him better than he knew himself. That was her gift, the keen understanding of human nature, the ability to pierce through the shadows and darkness which so many people cloaked themselves in like the sunshine that her hair resembled. "Helena..." he whispered, and then his arms were around her, pulling her close. 

It was like embracing a ray of sunshine, and he suddenly became aware of how very cold he had been. Her body was soft and feminine, and she tasted like summer and everything that was sweet and good in the world. 

He expected her to gasp, but again she surprised him, moving so her body settled evenly on top of him, and her face completely replaced the cracks in the ceiling in his line of sight. Her mouth was welcoming, and kiss trailed into another kiss. 

Shinobu fell out of his fantasy, suddenly aware that they were two teenagers, alone in a room, on a bed... 

The inevitable happened. 

He wasn't sure who started it, but it was he who definitely took control. His fingers raced over her body, fumbling through her clothes, and hearing her gasp as he explored. Her hands followed after his, mirroring his, trying to keep pace as he freed her of her clothes. 

It wasn't glorious, like in love stories or movies. It was rough and clumsy, and halfway through he realized that she had never had sex before. The idea almost shocked him enough to stop, but by then he was too far gone to care. 

After he had to find the energy to roll them over so his weight wasn't on top of her. She was so much smaller than he was, he realized, a difference that he hadn't completely appreciated until now. It took a while until their breathing returned to a pace which resembled normal. At some point he had thrown an arm over his eyes, as though to keep himself from admitted the truth. But then she shifted, and he felt the brush of her skin against his. 

"Why?" he asked. "How?" 

An uncomfortable silence lasted far too long. The recriminations had begun. "Chris and I... we thought... we talked about it, and we decided to wait until we were married," she said finally. Her head was on his chest, and he felt, more than heard her voice, as it vibrated against him. 

She was too sweet, he knew. His arm fell down, to cover her back, and he clung to her as though she was the life preserver in an stormy ocean. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "Are you okay?" 

She glared at him. "Don't get all macho on me, Shinobu. I can make my own decisions, and I choose to make love to you," she said. 

He hadn't considered that, but they had made love. It wasn't like the times he had spent with the whores on L1. He hadn't had to look at the fear or lifelessness, or worry about contracting something. She had been passionate, exploring and demanding satisfaction even as she gave him what he asked for. It was an exchange, a sharing. 

She had lacked the professional's experience, but it had been 100 times better. 

He didn't know what to say, but instead leaned over and kissed her again, to which she replied gladly. 

He hated it, waiting. 

Patience was an assassin's friend, but he had always known that eventually he would be given leave to act. Now, though, he was trapped on Earth, in their fancy base, in the guest quarters, only able to hear what was going on, and it was driving him crazy. 

The room was too small to contain him and his rage. 

He stalked back and forth like a caged panther, counting the three and a half steps it took to cross it sullenly, watching the vid screen like it was a bad dream. Every news network was flooded with images of the news, constantly replaying the clip of Po's voice, coolly informing all who would hear that she intended on destroying the colony. 

He thought of them, of Steel and Twitch and Matsuko, of those he still knew in the Breaks. There was no way they'd be able to get off in time, if the missile was fired. If not for a twist of fate, he would still be up there, probably unaware of the cataclysmic threat pointed at him. 

He had hated the Breaks, hated the hopelessness, but he had understood them. He had known that he was going to die there, and die young. He had had that certainty in his life, but he had accepted that. The rules of the game had been clear there, black and white, and he had always won. He and Wing had fought them, and they had been the best. They might be killed, but they'd take their enemy out with them. 

Now he was mixed up in a world colored in shades of gray, where no one was what they seemed, where the white hats killed each other and no one kept their name, and partners left you alone when something better came along. Now the world told you you weren't who you thought you were, but some great scientific legacy of a forgotten cartel, and the grandson of the yakuza leader was trying to be his friend of all things, and the girl he finally admitted he loved turned out to be the sister of the richest man in the world. Now he was in a world where he didn't know who the enemy was, and he couldn't solve his problem by killing it. 

_I want to go home_, he thought for the thousandth time, and then stopped abruptly, realizing the stupidity of the thought. His home was about to be destroyed by a freedom fighter fighting for some "greater ideal" he didn't even give a shit about, and he still thought about wanting to go home? 

Did he? Did he really still want to go? 

Yes, the Breaks were his home, with the scum and the murderers, with the assassins and whores. The weather system that never quite worked right, and the taste of bad food, and the high of illegal drugs. He needed to be back there, where he knew the rules, and while things weren't black and white, and least he knew how to tell the shades of grey apart. 

But he was helpless. He was just the refuse of a boy who ended up being the ideal of perfection, someone who Wing had needed only when fallen in shadows, but when he had finally returned to the light, Darkflight had been left behind. There was no place for him, no place for them. 

"It's the end of us, isn't it?" he whispered. "Is it time to find a new partner?" he wondered. 

Wing had chopped his hair, removing part of the past. 

Their codename had been Shaddowwing... 

He was Wing's shadow. And no one could exist without their shadow. 

His partner had accepted a mission and was out there already. 

It was time the other half of Shadowwing to begin his part of the mission, even if Wing wasn't there to plan it with it. 

On L1, he had done most of the business end of their work. Wing forgot to collect payment sometimes, or would accept too little if he was distracted. Darkflight was more practical, the strategist, looking at things step by step. Wing was able to graps a larger picture than Darkflight ever had seen - and it was time to step back and think like Wing. 

"Fucking world peace. Wing never did accept the easy missions," Darkflight muttered to himself. "But he always accepted things he could do." 

Step back, evaluate, he told himself. What are your tools, what is your obstacles, and what is your goal? Be practical, he told himself. 

Goal: To go home, and do something about the mess there. Skills: I have myself, my wits, and my skills as an assassin. Obstacles: The Preventers, Sally, and the whole damn Breaks which won't take anything I do kindly. 

He growled, running a hand through his short hair. The obstacles seemed impossible. There was no way the Preventers would let him off the base, and even if he could get off the base, he would have to figure out how the hell to get to a world everyone was abandoning. The screen blazed another announcement, saying that the politician's families were being evacuated for their own safety, and he felt his jaw twitch in irritation. 

No, he wasn't a Gundam pilot. No one was going to supply him with what he needed. No one even knew he existed - 

Except the Seki brat. 

Possibilities began to race through his head. 

It was ridiculous, but sometimes instinct was the best thing he had. He had now way to tell where the hell the bastard was, but if he tried to find him. But it was better than staying put, and helpless. 

Staring at the screen, he saw some bright wit had put a timer countdown in the lower corner of the screen. Less than 69 hours, and things would be decided, one way or another. 

Muttering to himself, he opened the door, shutting it behind him softly. Once out in the hallway, he approached one of the Preventers who was patrolling, and asked for directions. It was a bit of a problem because he couldn't remember what name the Seki kid was using, but when she finally understood who he was inquiring after, she politely escorted him right to the doorway before returning to the station. 

He lingered outside, unable to take the final step. The oak door seemed to be an unsurmountable barrier, brown and taunting. 

He did not want to do this. Perhaps he should return to his room- 

_No! Aren't you running away? Have you ever backed out of a contract or challenge before? _

He had had enough of being pushed and pulled. 

_They're been manipulating you since you've arrived. You've been discarded and useless, and now that you have the chance to make your own decisions, you're running from it. Why?_

He was afraid. 

_Afraid?_

Yes. He was afraid. 

_Of what?_

Failure. If he failed, he would die. 

_But didn't you face that every day?_

Yes, but before no one else was counting on him. If he failed this time, so much could go wrong, and thousands of people would suffer, thousands of people he didn't know. 

_Why do you care?_

Why did he? He didn't know - but he did. And he couldn't back away. He had accepted the mission. 

Knocking on the door, he waited fifteen seconds before barging in. 

Seki was sitting on a bed with the blonde girl he had since him with before, and there was a flush to their faces that made Darkflight smirk. 

They smelled like sex, he recognized. He knew the scent too well, having spent money on the whores himself, and seeing Atsuki and Heero moments after as the pleasure lingered in their eyes. The girl was blushing as he stared at her, but her blonde hair made him think of Atsuki. She had blue eyes, too, but they didn't really look that much alike. Her skin was a healthy tan and graced with full curves that was at odds with his memory Atsuki's too-thin, waifish figure. 

He didn't feel awkward. This was close to his world, and he knew the rules. Be direct, be confrontational, battle the opponent. 

The Seki heir stared at him suspiciously, his eyes narrowing as his slender body maneuvered between him and the girl. "What do you want?" he demanded in Japanese. 

"You wanted to be my friend," he replied harshly. "But I don't need friends." 

"So? Get the hell out of here!" 

"I need a partner," he said, rocking back on his heels. He hadn't thought of taking another partner since Wing, and it hurt. This was admitting that he would never be with Wing again, but he knew the truth. 

Wing was Heero Yuy. Darkflight was the shadow of someone who had never existed. 

He couldn't have shocked the other more if he had slapped him. "What the fuck do you want from me? I'm the Seki heir - I thought you hated me!" 

The girl said something he didn't understand, but he guessed well enough. He smiled, baring white teeth. 

"I don't like you, but you're not worth hating. You and I have a common goal, I think. We both care too much about that cesspit we call home." Raising a hand, he pointed his index finger towards the ceiling. "You, Seki Takeru, are going to go back with me and help me finish what Heero Yuy started." 

"Heero Yuy was trained to avenge the colonies against the Earth!" Shinobu said, horrified. 

"Not that one. The first one - the one who tried to bring peace." 

  


* * *

  
**Scene VII: Falling Further In**

  


_"They've got me on some medication  
My point of balance was askew  
It keeps my temperature from rising."  
--Garbage, Medication_

  
The hospital was white, like all other hospitals he'd been in before, and even the waking up was familiar to him. It was always the same after every operation, and he had the scars on his body to prove that he had been in more engagements than he cared to count and had been injured in far more than he should have. That was before, when he was younger, more reckless. 

There was no beeping of life support equipment, no morbid reminder that he might not make it this time. There was barely any pain. 

The door opened. 

"General Etille?" 

He turned his head towards the door, to the doctor in the coat with the Preventers symbol on both shoulders. "I'm awake," he said. "I think." 

"You sustained heavy damage to both shoulders and received some shrapnel wounds after the command center collapsed," the doctor said, reading from his clipboard, "and broke both legs. But other than that, everything checks out." 

One corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. "You make me sound like I'm a mobile suit," he said. 

"You're well enough to leave the hospital, sir. They told me to notify them when you woke up again." 

"'They' being Sally Po and her gang?" 

The doctor looked wildly around, and Etille resisted the urge to laugh. "Sorry," he said, not sounding sympathetic at all. "I forgot now and then that the Liberation Forces are the masters of the universe now." 

"That's not funny, sir," the doctor said, and Etille saw the pain in his eyes, the weariness, and realized that he'd probably been up all night operating on patients, both Preventer and Liberation, and was probably exhausted. 

"You're right," he said softly. "I'm sorry." 

"We lost the battle," the doctor said curtly. "Half the base personnel are prisoners of war and the other half are dead. Being sorry won't help anymore." 

_Trowa Barton_, Etille thought to himself, but didn't say anything, didn't want to make the other man angrier than he probably already was. Trowa hadn't fired those missiles. That had to be the only reason that the base had fallen, because if he had fired them, Sally's forces would be a smoking hole in the ground, as would she. 

He would ask himself why Trowa hadn't fired them after all, but he thought he already knew. 

For a brief moment, he felt a pang of sorrow for the young soldier who was only a boy after all, then pushed it away. 

"I'd like to see Sally Po," he said, and the doctor jumped, as if the very name would summon her presence to the room. "Could you tell 'them' that I need to talk to her, please?" 

"But sir-" 

"I think," Etille interjected gently, "that she would be very interested in hearing what I have to say." 

Trowa must have fallen asleep after they had closed the heavy cell door on him, because the next thing he knew was that they were rolling the door back and two guards with machine guns strapped to their backs were hauling him off his resting place on the floor. 

"You're going to the hospital," one of them grunted, and he opened his mouth to ask why, but then decided it was not wise to anger two of Sally's troops, both who had guns, and from the looks of things, knew how to use them. They wouldn't send green troops to guard one of the most valuable prisoners in the world. 

He felt no guilt for what he had done – or rather, for what he had not done, disobeying an order, betraying the trust that Une and Etille had had in him. He didn't feel much of anything. It didn't matter now, anyway. Perhaps the Preventers would lose the war, perhaps the World Nation would fall, perhaps Sally's forces would construct a new government. That had nothing to do with him. All he knew was that he would likely never see Catherine again. 

For that, he was guilty. 

What were orders in the end, anyway? Pieces of paper, words from someone's mouth. People were real. He still didn't know if he could have killed Sally. Heero might have been able to, but he was not Heero Yuy. Trowa Barton was just a common soldier, and the one time he had questioned an order, the world would suffer for it. 

They wouldn't kill the pilots, not if Sally was in charge. Sally would try to save them all, but he knew that the rest of them would have rather died. 

"Into the van," the guard grunted, jabbing him in the back with the butt of the gun, not hard enough to cause pain, but enough so that he ducked his head and climbed obediently into the back of the military van, the leg irons chafing his ankles. The engine started and he rubbed his hands together against the handcuffs, wondering if it was worth it to try to escape, then decided that it wasn't. Where would he go? 

Catherine probably hated him now. 

The hospital was only a short distance away and the guards watched him warily as he clambered down awkwardly from the back of the van. He felt eyes on him, knew that bystanders, no matter if they were patients or medical personnel or soldiers, recognized him. Part of the hospital was in ruins and he gazed around curiously at the large cranes and mobile suits clearing away debris, before one of the guards shoved him in the back with his rifle again. 

"Eyes straight ahead. You don't need to be looking around." 

The doctors on duty were mostly Preventers doctors, and he ignored their stares, knowing that they would be tired, haunted, looking to him as either some kind of hero or some kind of devil, and he didn't want to see that. It would be nice to be a physician, having just one duty no matter what side the patient was on, and Sally, having been a doctor once herself, had obviously respected that code and sent the Preventers doctors to work on her troops. 

The hallway smelled like smoke and a bitter, sterile scent that stung his nose. The guards steered him into a large, white area that had obviously once been a waiting area but was now a makeshift field hospital. The sign above the door read "Intensive Care," and there were three more guards at the door, all with weapons. 

"I'm not injured," he said, and the guard shrugged. 

"Orders were to bring you here. You're getting a checkup." 

"I don't need a checkup," he began, and the guard growled. 

"Watch it, kid. You may have been the world's biggest hotshot, but you're a prisoner of war now, and I'm in charge of you." 

Trowa did not answer. The nurse behind the desk cast him one frightened glance, her uniform marking her as one of the Preventers also, but if she was looking for comfort, she would get none from him. Trowa Barton was no more than a common criminal after all. Sometimes you couldn't deny your origins, no matter how hard you tried to rise above them. His oyabun had been wrong. 

There were patients lining the walls of the room, all of them with the familiar Preventers patch. Most of them lay on cots that had been erected hastily around the room, and the less seriously wounded lay on blankets on the ground. The Kashmir hospital was not a small building, and he could only imagine the total number of wounded soldiers if they had resorted to using waiting rooms as infirmaries. 

It was his fault that these people had been injured. That they were now prisoners of war on their own turf. Trowa Barton, coward. 

"Trowa Barton," said someone, and he looked up to see a doctor gesturing as there was a rustle and a murmur from the wounded around the room. The guard motioned to him, and he slowly moved forward with an uncomfortable sensation building inside him. With a start, he realized that it was shame. That he was ashamed to be seen in front of all these soldiers as the coward he was, sitting safely inside a missile silo while all of them had been out risking their lives, and then at the end unable to do his duty. 

"I'm not injured," he said curtly to the doctor, and the man gave him a helpless look. 

"I do what I'm told to do, sir," he said. "And I was informed that you needed a checkup, just in case." 

He found the blood stains in the front of the doctor's coat and fixed his eyes on them, as if he could account for his sins by drinking in the sight of the sacrifices of those other soldiers out in the room, of those who had died for him. "Don't call me sir," he said softly. "I'm not a soldier anymore." 

"You're looking well, General," the female voice remarked, and Etille didn't turn to look at Sally as she entered the room. He had heard her footsteps coming down the hall, knew she had arrived, and didn't think he could look at her just yet. 

He might be tempted to rip her eyes out, which would be a very bad thing because both of his hands were immobilized and he would just fall to the floor and have to be put back together again. 

"I'm really sorry for this," Sally continued. He wondered if she enjoyed gloating over her victims. "But this is war, and war is an ugly business." 

"I've been a soldier all my life," Etille said to the wall. "And I've learned that nothing is as ugly as treachery." 

"You can't complain you haven't been treated well," Sally said. "What other enemy have you known who conquers enemy territory and then entitles prisoners of war to full medical care and lodging?" 

Etille gave a short bark of a laugh. "Don't bandy words with me, woman. You're required to do that now under military law." 

"Your military law is not my military law," Sally said, her voice cold. "The World Nation is nothing more than an incompetent group of fools who cannot comprehend the world as it truly is. And that is why they will ultimately fail." 

He turned in the bed to look at her. It was surprising how knowing someone's true colors could change perception, and the woman standing before him seemed to him now to be frigid, unfeeling, cruel. There were few things as repugnant to him as treachery, and though he wasn't a soldier because he enjoyed it, there was still an element of chivalry to the business, a line that should not be crossed. 

Sally Po had crossed it. 

"You might see the World Nation as a bunch of fools," he said, with the same chill in his voice that she'd had in hers. "But like it or not, the World Nation is the vision of the future. I helped make that future. The Gundam pilots helped make it. General Une helped make it." 

"I'm not going to argue with you," she said tightly. "You're a prisoner of war, and after this missile standoff is over and L1 has been destroyed, I'll make sure that you get the sentence you deserve." 

"And what is that? Death? Disgrace?" He laughed again. "I've been a soldier all my life, Sally. Don't try and scare me with those." 

"I don't think you see the point, General," she said softly. "No, I don't plan to put you on trial at all. I'm going to let you go, because you don't really believe in the World Nation, do you? You might have been on Une's side for a while, but in the end, you've always fought for whoever you happen to encounter at the moment. You've been a soldier all your life, as you said, but you don't know what soldiering is." 

Despite himself, he felt a wave of rage wash over him "You-!" he bellowed, trying to lunge out of the bed, but luckily, the heavy casts on his legs prevented him from toppling off the structure to the floor. Sally watched impassively. 

"Commander Albairat is here with me," she said, obviously enjoying his reaction to that name. "He had some matters to take care of, but I'm sure he'll accompany me on another one of my visits." 

"You're low, woman," he snarled, unable to think of any worse insult, and she merely shrugged. 

"He is a good commander. As he managed to defeat you on A007, I'd have to say he's better than you." 

His brain was still fuzzy from the vestiges of the drugs they'd given him before surgery and not quite functioning, but Albairat's face floated in front of his eyes, and behind that, the face of Davi Morgan, the arrogant bastard who had captured Etille, slaughtered his troops, and imprisoned him on A007. 

Luckily, Noin had been there, and together, they'd found hope. 

Noin was dead now. Sally had killed her. 

"That's all you are, you know," he said. "A killer. A murderer. A liar. You're not a soldier – you're just a common criminal." 

"If standing up for freedom and the belief that every person on this planet deserves a chance to have that freedom," Sally said, "I'll be proud to be called a criminal." 

The horror of what she had said was finally sinking in. "Sally, listen to yourself. You don't stand for freedom! You talk about freedom for the people, but have you personally asked every person in this world what they want? Haven't you realized that there's a reason for the World Nation? It's because none of us ever wanted a war like the last war to happen again!" He pushed himself up against the bed's headboard, struggling against the bandages that bound him, willing her to understand. "Sally, what you're doing is just betraying the trust of all of those who have begun to rebuild their lives. They don't want another war. All they want is peace!" 

"Not this peace," Sally said softly, sadly, but he realized the look in her eyes was akin to pity. Pity for him, pity for the world which, in her eyes, was so misguided. 

"How can you be so blind?" he whispered. "This isn't what Treize wanted." 

"I don't believe in Treize," she said coldly. "And the last time I checked…neither did you." 

He could come up with no reply to that, because she was right. That was the thing about Sally Po, he finally realized. That was why she'd risen to become one of the instrumental pillars of the war against the Federation, and it was why Une had chosen her to become her second in command. Because Sally Po was always right. 

"If you'll excuse me," she continued, "I have things to do. Good day….General. I will make sure you are treated well." 

I don't want to be treated well, he wanted to say. I'm a soldier. But all he could do was slump back against the pillow as her footsteps echoed back down the hallway, and he was alone. 

_If the leader is not willing to sacrifice himself, the people die in vain._

Chang Wufei had said that to him. 

Was that what it meant to be a soldier? There had been something in Sally's voice, in the way she carried herself, in the way she had stated her beliefs with conviction, that was the same quality he'd seen in Wufei. Even if Sally was a traitor, even though she had abandoned all who had trusted her, there was something in her young eyes that Dermand Etille, in all his years of military service, still lacked. 

He didn't want it to end this way. 

The checkup was short and quick, and the doctor's hands had been shaking as he hung his stethoscope back on the wall. 

"Your body functions all check out normal," he said. "I don't see anything wrong with you, except maybe fatigue." 

"I was in a missile silo for the entire battle." Trowa was unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "It's rather hard to be injured inside one of those." 

"I was ordered to do the checkup, sir," the doctor said uneasily. "I'm sorry if I've wasted your time…" 

This time, Trowa did laugh. "I'm a prisoner of war, just like you are. No time of mine was wasted, trust me." 

The doctor glanced at him warily. "I need to make some last minute checks before I run some tests on your brain," he said. "Orders from the enemy commander. You can wait out in the hallway here in front of this room and I'll be back shortly." 

He rose obediently from the chair and shuffled into the hallway, sitting down gingerly on one of the hard plastic chairs next to the closed door of the X-ray room. The rest of the hall was almost deserted except for another machine gun-carrying guard at the far end, who had turned his head to keep an eye on him but wasn't moving any closer. 

Sighing, he leaned back slowly in his chair and stared at the ceiling. 

"Barton." 

That wasn't the guard's voice. He turned around as best as he could, and saw the familiar face, the familiar eyes regarding him blankly, the rest of the body swathed in a mass of casts and bandages. He was in a wheelchair. 

"Hello, General," he said. 

Etille snorted. "Don't call me that. You sound like Sally Po. You're looking well." 

He had expected the other's voice to hold more resentment, maybe hatred, but there was none. 

_You're not_, he could have responded, but there was no point in stating the obvious. "Do you hate me?" Trowa asked instead. Laying it flat on the table, just like that. There was no need for polite banter. 

Etille blinked, but Trowa knew he'd been expecting the question, if not so soon. 

"No," he said at last. "No, I don't hate you." 

"But…?" Trowa let the question hang. 

Etille's frame slumped wearily. "There's no but. Not for this. I can't even say I wish you'd killed Sally, because I don't know if I could have lived with myself if you had. It's one of those problems that maybe could never have been solved." 

"But I disobeyed your orders," Trowa said. "I disgraced myself as a soldier and as a man. You don't think that's shameful?" 

Etille regarded him for a brief moment, and then a shadow of a smile appeared on his haggard, unshaven face. "Let me tell you a story, Trowa Barton. There was once a girl named Alicia Catalonia." Trowa started at the last name, and Etille nodded. "Let me finish. This girl was the daughter of a European aristocrat, and she could have had anything she wanted. She chose instead to enter the military. She went to the Lake Victoria Academy and served until she was killed during the unification wars in the Middle East." 

Trowa waited, but Etille was obviously finished. "I don't understand what she has to do with me," he said finally. 

"That girl was Dorothy Catalonia's aunt. If you'd have known her, you would see the similarities in both of them. I loved her. She once told me that causes don't stop mattering. That people did." 

Trowa frowned. "That makes no sense. Why would people stop mattering?" 

"I asked her the same thing. She told me it wasn't because she stopped loving people. It was because sometimes, the things we fight for – the ideals and the causes for which soldiers fight –become more than just a matter of life and death. Sometimes it's necessary to put the cause ahead of your love for that person." 

"But that's exactly what I didn't do," Trowa said. "I didn't kill Sally. I couldn't kill her. In the end, I failed." 

"That's hard to do, isn't it?" 

"Sir?" 

"When people stop mattering," Etille said, "Alicia said that was the time to move on with the cause. But I don't think Sally has stopped mattering. To any of us." 

Trowa didn't answer. 

"I'm right, aren't I?" Etille questioned. "You still care about Sally, as well we all should. Which was why you couldn't kill her. I never knew her, but I know that Une, even now, still believes she can be saved. So in the end, I don't think what you did was shameful at all." 

_She wasn't a fanatic…she was my friend._

"She betrayed us," Trowa whispered. "Me, Quatre, the others…she betrayed us all." 

"Remember I told you that if the leader does not willing to sacrifice himself, the people die in vain?" Trowa nodded, and Etille smiled. "That was Chang Wufei who told me that. I don't think you are beaten. Not by a long shot." 

"I just…I just need to think," Trowa said. Etille nodded. 

"I think we all do. Just one more question for you, however." 

"Sir?" 

"Did you believe in Treize Khushrenada?" 

"Did I?" Trowa repeated, and Etille nodded. "Treize? Treize was…" 

He trailed off. Treize had been many things – first the enemy, then an enigma, then a prophet, then someone who had sacrificed himself for peace, and then finally a hero. He thought of the many times Treize could have destroyed them but didn't, thought of the way he had orchestrated his own death to bring the war to an end. 

"I didn't understand him at first," Trowa said thoughtfully. "But in the end….I think, now, that I do. I want to think that I do. Treize fought for the end of war, and I want to believe that he was right." Looking across at the general. "Why?" 

Etille tilted his head a bit, wincing as he apparently pulled a muscle in an injured shoulder. "Sally Po raised some interesting questions for me when I saw her a few minutes ago…I suppose I needed someone to tell me that I'm doing the right thing." A sigh. "Sometimes we old folks need the strength and the beliefs of the younger generation to remind us why we're still here." 

"General Etille?" A questioning voice down the hallway, and the general backed up his wheelchair. Trowa half-rose from his chair, would have reached out a hand if they hadn't been cuffed behind his back. 

"Wait-" 

He wanted to ask Etille if he had a plan. If there was something they could do, but Etille pulled back, shaking his head, his bright eyes searching Trowa's face. 

"What do you want me to do?" Trowa said, desperately, and Etille smiled. 

"Keep the faith, Trowa Barton. The world still has faith in you." 

  


* * *

  
**Scene VIII: Dawn of the Preventer's Paradigm**

  


_"Heaven bent to take my hand  
And lead me through the fire,  
Be the long awaited answer  
To a long and painful fight."  
--Sarah McLachlan, Fallen_

  
If Fatima bint Narish could have gotten Sally Po in front of her, she would have strangled the rebel with her own hands. It wasn't because of the threats, or the rebellion itself. Fatima had every confidence that eventually she would be caught or killed. No, Fatima was upset because of how it upset her plans. 

Winner's trial was going beautifully. Soon he would be convicted, and most likely sentenced to death. Media coverage of it had been absolute perfect, and she had been pleased. The conviction would have spring boarded her into the perfect position to make a run for the Presidency when Alderman's term expired next year. 

Now, though, when she won, the trial results would be buried beneath the war headlines, and the victory would taste like ashes. The world wasn't really paying attention anymore. 

Fatima flipped through her witness list as the Senate returned from a recess, preparing to call her next witness. The man was a survivor of a minor attack in the middle of the war, and had contacted her about testifying. He had been quite eager about it. 

"Don't you think this is getting ridiculous?" a voice asked from her side. 

Fatima knew that voice too well. "What is, Yaminah?" she asked. Yaminah Winner was one of the banes of her existence. When Fatima had heard that a Winner sister would defend her brother, Fatima had been overjoyed, thinking that nepotism would undo Quatre, but she had quickly been disabused of the notion. Yaminah was a brilliant trial lawyer, and was doing better than anyone had believed possible. 

"Your witness list. Have you called the colonel who was killed on L4's grandson's best friend's neighbor yet?" Yaminah asked in a tired voice. 

Fatima gave her a sweet smile. "How nice of you to suggest them. I must have missed them," she said. She polished her long red nails against her suit jacket, offering a saccharine smile. 

Yaminah's eyes flashed, and she leaned against the prosecution's table. "Can it. You're dragging this out to unreasonable lengths, and it's gone beyond the point of reasonable to absurd." 

"I don't think the defense lawyer is in any position to question my methods," Fatima retorted. 

"There's a war out there. The Senate needs to focus on that, not on this dog and pony show." 

Fatima set aside her list, carefully shutting it so Yaminah wouldn't be able to steal a glance. "Are you in such a hurry to see your brother convicted? How about just having him plead guilty?" Fatima suggested. The last word tasted like honey on her tongue. 

Yaminah's hands clenched. "Over my dead body." 

"Come now. I think your brother killed enough people, don't you? We don't need any more casualties, even indirect ones, as a result of his actions," Fatima laughed. 

"You are one of the most vile creatures I have ever met," Yaminah informed her, before stalking back to her place, her movements jerking with suppressed rage. 

Fatima watched her, cupping her chin in her fingers thoughtfully. The exchange had been interesting, and entertaining. It was rare that Yaminah Winner lost her temper. Yaminah had obviously been wanting to use the global situation to get her brother off, but Fatima wasn't having any of that. 

A few moments later, President Alderman called the Senate to order. Fatima could see a twitchiness in the senators, a lack of focus. They weren't going to be paying attention to any of the evidence, and she knew that she would have to do something to bring them in, or make a move to wrap up the trial. 

Most of them were a bit more concerned about the Sword of Damocles that was hanging over their heads than bringing Winner to justice. The damage the debris a colony could do was all they had talked about during the recess in the coatroom from what her assistants had told her, and a few compared it to the Libra and worried about another impending ice age. 

The Senate Room had become stifling with heat and rumors, and Fatima wished she had thought to wear a more light-weight outfit. About thirty of the 150 Senate seats were vacated as members went home to help govern their panicked populace, and there were remained barely enough members for a quorum, she was prepared to finish this trial. 

Rising to her feet, she looked at Alderman, who motioned for her to begin. "I would like to call-" 

"Excuse me!" a voice said from the side, interrupting her. 

Fatima scowled. No one interrupted her and got away with it, but it was too late. She had lost her audience's attention. The eyes of the Senate turned to look at the Sergeant at Arms, whose face was pale. "I know this is highly irregular, but a ranking member of the Preventers has asked to address the Senate on an emergency matter related to global security." 

"Let them in," Alderman ordered. "Everyone, please remain seated." 

Fatima felt uneasiness well inside the pit of her stomach. The tower of cards she had so carefully constructed was collapsing. The Sergeant at Arms bowed to Alderman, and hastened to the door. Almost immediately, they slid open, and in walked General Une. 

_What the hell is she doing here?_ Fatima wondered, for she had been expecting a diplomatic liaison, not Une herself. _Doesn't she have a war to be fighting?_

Une smiled directly at her, as though reading her thoughts, and Fatima noticed what she was wearing. Une was dressed in an unusual fashion, wearing the standard Preventer's black and green uniform, but it was cut into the colonel's style she had worn during the Federation. The dark green top was worn over tight black pants, and her hair was once again tied into the braids she had made so famous. At her hip she wore a sword, and it made Fatima wonder how the hell she had gotten it by security before she realized that as a Preventer, Une had all sorts of special privileges. 

"Forgive me for interrupting, President Alderman, but I need to address the Senate. I'm currently under a crisis situation, so I hope you'll forgive me the lack of correct protocol." 

Une had been falling from grace for months, but it seemed like something had finally snapped inside of the general, and she was going to push back. In the end, it would probably destroy her, but it would be a while before that happened. 

Lady Une was back in action, and from the look in her eyes, she was going to take no prisoners. 

Fatima didn't care about "in the end." She was worried about what was going to happen with the trial. If she couldn't hang Winner, then her political career was shot. The room became even more stifling to Fatima, and the Arabic woman gnawed on her lip, running possibilities through her head as she tried to stop the imminent destruction of months of work. 

Une strode forward without waiting for accepting, moving to stand before Winner. "I am here to demand the Senate recognize the crisis situation we're under..." 

_If I kick Une out, I'll be accused of being a Po collaborator..._

"....and also relinquish custody of one of the world's top strategists. This trial is a farce, and needs to be stopped." 

_If I try to continue the trial, I'll be building on a foundation of sand, since I have no support anymore..._

"It's time we stop putting our personal political goals ahead of the world's needs... 

_If I support Une, I lose the trial..._

"...and recognize what's really happening." 

_Damn the bitch, I'm trapped!_

Her eyes met Fatima's squarely, and Fatima could only fume. She could get Une thrown out of the senate on a technicality, on contempt, but right now Une held all the cards. To remove the world's top general while the world was facing attacks from rebels would be political suicide. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, the world is at war once again, and it's time for us to act, not react." 

Une felt a bit ridiculous wearing the specially tailored outfit, but Treize had taught her the importance of image, and she knew better than most the subtle psychology of dealing with others. Her image, throughout the war, had been displayed as a Federation officer, and she had trained people to respect and fear her as such. People knew Lady Une, and feared her. 

The reactions she was getting were interesting. People were staring at her a bit in concern, as though she had lost her mind, but they were also looking at her with more respect, sitting straighter in their chairs. The Preventers had always been seen as a second-rate organization, a glorified police force, but right now she was a military personality, one who people knew and respected. 

_Half the battle, my lady, is making the enemy too afraid to fight you_, Treize had told her. 

She rested her hand on her the hilt of her sword, feeling its reassuring presence. Treize had given it to her on her promotion to Colonel, telling her that sword was an elegant weapon, one which required skill and wits to use. She knew it wasn't a coincidence that the sword he had chosen for her had two edges and could cut both ways. 

Today she intended on walking along its razor-fine edge. She would get them to dance to her tune. People would think back on this moment and recognize they had been manipulated, but she would sacrifice her career if that would stop Sally. 

"The other pilots have already seen battle - I'm not saying where because of security reasons, but they came to help us, even though no one believed in them. Right now Barton is listed as MIA, presumed killed, but I won't believe he's dead until I see the body," Une said. 

Quatre gasped softly at the pronouncement of Trowa's fate, a shaking hand coming to cover his mouth. 

"I need Winner out on the battlefield, now. We can't afford to keep one of our best assets tied up here. We can't afford to divert our attention from the real enemy, and fight among ourselves." 

"He doesn't even have a Gundam!" an anonymous voice called from the Senate. "Sandrock was destroyed, unless he was lying about that!" 

Une's eyes scanned the lawmakers briefly before coming to rest on Quatre's face. "Winner is one of the best strategists there is, and an excellent tactician as well. He doesn't need a Gundam. He's one of the three people to ever master the Zero System. The other two are Heero Yuy and Lady Catalonia," Une said, nodding to Dorothy. 

Dorothy nodded back, acknowledging the implied compliment. 

"If you're so determined to kill Winner, let me know and I'll execute his sentence on the spot. If you're going to order that he be killed, it's the least you can do to watch it," she said. Without warning, she drew her sword, bringing it to bear at Quatre's throat, pressing it just hard enough to draw blood. 

Sylvia Noventa sat to Dorothy's left, watching the scene play out before her. She recognized the masterful staging, and knew that Une was fully prepared to kill Quatre if ordered to. Une wasn't the kind of woman who made idle threats. 

The trial had become ridiculous. There were more important matters to be worrying about, and they needed to start getting their priorities in better order, but right now the Senate was determined to bury its head in the sand, and proceed with business as usual. It would take something like Lady Une holding a hostage at sword point to get their attention focused where it really needed to be. 

The Senate was murmuring angrily at the rude treatment of Winner, but Quatre's eyes were on Une's face, and Sylvia was close enough to see that his breathing remained even by the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders. Sylvia wished he was facing her, so she could see his expression. 

_I'm sure he's got determined eyes, and he's confident that no matter what happens, things will work out for the best_, she thought. She remembered the look in Heero's eyes as he offered her the gun, and knew that was their strength. 

Une was quiet for a moment longer before raising her face to look at the crowd. Her blade remained steady on Quatre's throat and she smiled at them all. 

"This is power. You have the power over Winner's life, and I want you to know what it means. Quatre Winner knew exactly what he was doing every time he got into the cockpit of Sandrock, but he did it to fight for peace. Sally Po has the power right now over the lives of millions of colonists, and she knows exactly what she is doing when she says she'll press the button." 

Sylvia shivered inside. She didn't want the power she had, and Une had pressed it home exactly what the weight her birth had bequeathed upon her. Around her, she heard a few senators shift uncomfortably as they, too, had their own moments of clarity. 

"Playtime's over, ladies and gentlemen. It's time to act," Une said simply. 

The room was silent, and she knew that the next person to speak would chart their course. In front of them, Fatima's mouth was moving wordlessly as she tried to find something to say, but no one else seemed to be able to do anything. She looked at Alderman, waiting for the president to think of something, but he seemed as lost as all of them. Turning to ask Dorothy her opinion, she noticed the most disconcerting thing. 

Dorothy Catalonia was smiling. 

She had seen Dorothy happy before, the nights they had slipped downstairs and eaten sundaes, but this was a different kind of smile, a smile of a wildcat about to spring. Sylvia suddenly felt very bad for anyone who got in Dorothy's way. 

"It's time, Relena," Dorothy whispered, just loud enough for Sylvia to overhear. "Sylvia, be ready." 

"I know," Relena replied. The Queen of Cinq gave her two cohorts a nod. "Une's set the stage for me, and I'm through messing around." 

"Lady Une's made some good points," Relena said as she rose to her feet, facing President Alderman as though they were the only two in the room. "Mr. President, I'd like to suggest that we declare a mistrial." 

Everyone stared at her. She had once been the Queen of the World, and people remembered. She had been quiet the whole trial, and now that she had chosen to speak up, her words carried that much more weight. Once power had been given, it could never be taken away entirely. 

Relena spoke without hurrying, her voice clear and carrying. "There have been many flaws in this trial, but most of all is the miscarriage of justice. The jury here is biased - and how can it not be? How many of us lost a friend, a family member, a neighbor during the war?" 

"Most importantly, this is a military matter. We are not a jury of Winner's peers. We do not understand the means of warfare. We are not able to judge this matter. Quatre Raberba Winner should have been brought before a military tribunal, if he was to be tried at all. I'm not saying a trial is unnecessary, just that there is an obvious flaw in the proceedings. We cannot allow this to continue, and set a precedent for the future. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, I can speak on who Quatre is, and how he is a good and kind man, a true and worthy soldier. I can tell you that Une is correct in her desperate need for his skills, but the most important thing to remember is that we stand for law, and if we convict him, we're not standing for ours," Relena said. 

The silence in the court was profound as Relena resumed her seat. 

"Does anyone second this?" Alderman asked. 

Sylvia started to rise to her feet, but Dorothy caught her shoulder, hissing, "Wait." 

The room was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. 

"I will." 

Ryan Keets had spoken. 

The man rose shakily to his feet. He was in his middle fifties, with salt-and-pepper black hair, and a face lined with the concerns of too many years. He wore a suit that cost enough to feed a family of four for a month; everything about him bespoke money, privilege and influence. Still, there was a sorrow in his face that most blue bloods didn't know, and Sylvia felt her heart reach out to him. 

"Quatre's off," Dorothy said in satisfaction. Still, her soft eyes as she regarded the middle-aged man didn't match her triumphant words. 

Everyone knew his story. Keets had lost a son early in the war, and his daughter had died less than a month ago on the Preventers base. If Keets spoke for Quatre, then no one would be able to go against him without looking terribly petty. 

"We've had enough of war. I've lost both of my children to it, and Une is right. We don't need to be fighting here, among ourselves. The fight's outside, and if we convict Winner, we'd be shooting ourselves in the foot." 

He looked at Quatre, who was staring at him with wide blue eyes. "I don't like him. I never will, but I'm not a soldier. I'm not qualified to judge his actions... none of us are. 

"My son told me once that we had to stand up for what we believed in. I believe in peace. I believe that soldiers fight for us, because many of us are too scared to...and I want to be someone my children would have been proud to able to believe in. So...I'm standing up now. I'm asking everyone to stand up who believes that we need people like Winner, even if we don't like or don't understand them." 

Dorothy stood, and Relena. Then came Sylvia, and a man from South America. A European rep... Asia... Africa... within moments, the entire Senate was on its feet, standing silently, as Une finally let her sword fall from Quatre's neck. Fatima shook in silent rage, but was powerless to change the flow of the tide which had suddenly turned against her. 

"It's your turn, Sylvia," Dorothy whispered into her ear. "Let's make it official." 

Sylvia brought the game into checkmate. "Please, President Alderman, let's vote. We need to get down to our real business." She looked at her watch. "We have 67 hours and 38 minutes to stop a world from being destroyed. 

The results were a foregone conclusion. Almost unanimously, the Senate declared a mistrial. 

Une smirked as she stepped back from Quatre. Her hand was sore from holding the sword steady for so long, and she resolved, if she survived the next three days, to find more time in the gym. She turned to congratulate him, but stopped abruptly. A small pearl of blood swelled at his Adam's apple, but it was his face that frightened her. It was waxy and pale. 

"Are you okay?" she asked after a moment. Maybe the shook had finally gotten to him, though it seemed unlikely. She couldn't afford to have him break down now, not when she needed him. 

"A mistrial... means that... I'm not innocent," Quatre said slowly, his mind piecing together what had happened. He dug his fingers into his legs, the fine blue fabric on his pants wrinkling. 

"You're not guilty, Quatre," she said. "Fatima had to prove you were guilty, and she didn't do that." 

"Une... be realistic. In the eyes of the world, I'm guilty, and I got off on a lucky break. I didn't get a chance to prove my innocence." 

"Quatre... are you innocent? Really?" Une asked pointedly. "According to the strict legal definition of war criminal, you are one... and so am I." 

Around them the courtroom seemed to disappear, and Quatre stared at Une, who was standing in her strange amalgamation of Preventer's and Federation uniform. "I..." 

"I would say the rules didn't apply to us, but they did. We shouldn't have done what we did. You shouldn't have destroyed the colonies, and no matter how many excuses you make, the simple fact is that there were unnecessary civilian casualties that didn't advance the military objective. I...there's a lot of things I shouldn't have done. But...I try to repent as best I can. Throwing me in jail would accomplish nothing." 

"So as long as we atone for our sins, everything is all right?" Quatre asked. He snorted, and started to laugh. "Une, if we don't respect the law, who will?" 

"Quatre, I'm not going to argue this with you right now. They need us," she said. "I don't have time for you to wallow. I have 67 hours before a colony filled with millions of people gets destroyed by a woman who thinks she's doing the right thing." 

The gloves, which she hadn't worn in almost two years, were making her hands hot and sweaty, but she endured the discomfort. They had spoken too quietly for anyone to hear, but she was aware of the eyes of the gathered Senate and media on them, aware of the image they were projecting. 

She sheathed her sword before extending her hand to him. Raising her voice so that the microphones would be able to pick it up, Une said, "I need you to come with me. Sally's been a busy girl, and I need your skills." 

Quatre gave her a smile, and she knew what his answer would be even before he said it. "No one ever needs to ask for a Gundam pilot's help. That's what we do." 

  
Act XI Part I | Back to Sainan no Kekka 


	42. An Invitation from Hell

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2002 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

**SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT XI, PART III**

** Kokoro ga sakenderu  
Hitomi ga mitsumeteru...omae wa dare?  
Yume o tojikomete tatakau dake**

**Mukuwarenu negai o dakishimete  
Kodoku na sora takaku tabidatsu  
**

** Who are you whose heart is crying out  
And whose eyes are gazing at me?  
I only can fight with my dream concealed**

** Embracing a prayer that will never be granted  
I start on a journey to the lonely sky  
**

**--Gundam Wing, _Tooi Yoake_  
_Faraway Dawn_, Zechs Merquise image song**

**Scene IX: The Confessions of all Creation**

_"I see the wanting in your eyes,  
And I wonder, will I always think of you?"  
-- Gundam X, Human Touch_

Standing on the balcony of his room watching the white clouds that swathed the distant mountain peaks in shades of gray, Wufei wondered why he had never appreciated the beauty of the world around him before now. It wasn't that he hadn't had the time or didn't care about the Earth, because that was all he had dreamed about when he was a child. To stoop down and touch the rich brown soil, real soil, or just to take a hike along a mountain trail and taste the ice-cold water of a natural lake. To wade barefoot in the ocean's surf.

He'd seen the ocean all right, but not how he had imagined it. He hadn't ever imagined he would be submerged in Earth's oceans not only once, but twice, once to get rid of something he thought had become only a memory, and the second time to bring it back.

And once again, someone had died because of him.

The self-loathing and penance were things that were so ingrained into him that it was almost impossible to stop them, and Wufei had to concentrate, to dig his fingers into the flesh of his arm or his head and consciously wrestle with himself. He'd been standing there on the balcony since the doctors had deemed it safe for him to get out of bed earlier that morning and just watched the clouds.

It wasn't his fault that Varis had died.

It wasn't his fault that Treize had died.

It wasn't…

There it was again. He shook his head, a good hard shake, as if that could chase away the demons. He hadn't heard Sally's announcement last night, having been drugged and just out of surgery for injuries sustained during his flight in Shenlong and symptoms of near hypoxia that had set in because he hadn't had the proper life support gear for a flight that high into the atmosphere in a craft with a crippled life support system. But they'd given him Sally's news as soon as he woke up, and he couldn't say he was surprised.

He could say that was his fault too, but that would be stretching it. Still, he felt some responsibility for Sally. If he'd have said something different – if he hadn't threatened her with Treize's memory, perhaps, maybe…

No. Clamping down on that thought too. Sally had been planning this almost as long as she'd been in the Preventers, probably, and a few words from some ex-Gundam pilot wasn't going to deter her. The only reason she'd talked to him was because she thought he would join her.

Wufei didn't kid himself. If it had been two years earlier, he couldn't say for certain that he wouldn't have.

He let go of the railing and paced back and forth restlessly, fingering the soft bandage wrapped around his upper arm, feeling the wind in his hair. He wished it was sunny. It was almost time for lunch, but he wasn't hungry. There was too much to think about and too much to do, but at the same time he had no idea what Une would let him do. He'd gotten Shenlong back, true, but that was for the sole purpose of not letting Sally have it. With this threat hanging over L1, would Une even let the Gundam pilots off base?

"Hey dude, what's up?"

He hadn't heard the balcony door creak open, but he would recognize Duo Maxwell's voice anywhere. Turning, he saw both Duo and Heero standing there, Duo lounging against the doorframe and Heero looking a bit awkward. He let his eyes linger on the Wing Zero pilot, on the raised scar that was still strange to him after all this time, but Heero didn't meet his gaze.

"Hello Duo, Heero. What are you two up to?" Wufei asked, with a lightness in his voice he didn't feel at all.

Duo snorted. "Well, our recon mission didn't go so good."

"Oh?" Wufei said, reading beneath Duo's words and knowing the other boy wasn't really here to talk about the recon mission, but it was the only excuse he'd had to come visit and to drag Heero along with him. Duo was not the world's best master of tact, and it was obvious that he was of the opinion that Wufei and Heero were long overdue for some peacemaking.

Well, he wasn't opposed to that. The only opposition was Heero's feelings on the matter.

"We got recalled," Heero said, still not looking at Wufei. "Sally had some forces at Lake Victoria…we engaged, then got the call halfway through."

"About Kashmir," Wufei stated. Heero nodded, and Duo's fist clenched.

"Damn Sally. Good men died there."

Heero finally looked up, but his eyes were dark. "Trowa may have died there."

No one spoke, and Wufei turned back to the railing. There were sheets of rain coming down from the distant clouds over the mountains, and that meant there would be rain here in Geneva by noon.

"Wufei?"

"I never thought it would be this hard," he said.

"War is always hard," Heero answered from behind him.

He almost said something he would most likely regret in the next five minutes, changed his mind "When the war ended," he said instead, talking to the trees two floors below, planted in neat rows around the hospital building and swaying in the pre-storm wind, "all I wanted to do was forget. I wanted to get away from it all, because I really wasn't sure what I had accomplished."

"I know." Heero said. There was no emotion in the Wing Zero pilot's voice.

"I ran and I hid because I was scared. I came to the conclusion that I hadn't been a soldier, but only a murderer, murdering people weaker than myself or those who wanted to be killed. I beat myself up about Treize's death, because I didn't see what I had accomplished by killing him. I didn't understand what he wanted."

"I know," Heero said again.

"I don't think any of us did," Duo said slowly. "That's why we're in trouble with Sally now. We can say all we like that Treize died to bring us a better world, but there are people, people like Sally, who believe he was totally wrong."

Sally.

_Isn't Nataku worth that much to you? Doesn't she stand for your heritage?_

"Sally doesn't understand a lot of things," Wufei said thoughtfully. "About loyalty, about love, about patriotism." Absently, he noticed that Heero had migrated to the far end of the balcony, leaning against the rail, watching him with those bright eyes. "Heero? I don't know how much this applies to you, but tell me about your heritage."

"My heritage?" the pilot repeated, looking blank.

"You know, being Japanese. Or even…being from L1. Doesn't it mean anything to you at all?"

The Japanese boy was very still for a moment. "I can't say…that it does," he replied slowly, a look on his face that made it clear it was a less than comfortable topic for him. "Or rather…it does, but I'm not like you, Wufei. Most colonists aren't. I'm Japanese, that's true, but that's really the only thing I know about myself, and that doesn't matter much in the Breaks. You were raised Chinese, but I was just raised to steal and kill and fend for myself. I did go home, at the end of the war, but just because L1 was the only place I'd ever known."

Duo nodded. "Same here, really. That isn't to say there aren't people who I love on L2, but I don't think fighting for the colonies meant the same thing to us as it did to you."

"I did the same thing we all did after the war," Wufei said. "I went home. But my home wasn't L5…it was China. I asked you about your heritage, Heero, because I've come to realize there are three kinds of people in the world. There are those who were born in one country, have lived there all their lives, and have never thought of doing anything different. Then there are those, like you, colonists, born on the colonies and have never thought of doing anything different."

Heero looked thoughtful. "And the third? I think I can guess."

"The third are people like me and Sally. Feeling…pulled…I suppose…to a country that says we don't really belong, one perhaps that our parents called home but we never did. That's what the World Nation doesn't understand about Sally, because they have never known that feeling. Sally is fighting to get that back. She thought I would do the same."

Duo nodded. "I was never really patriotic, and that's where I don't understand Sally, I suppose. When she says she's fighting for China."

Wufei gave a short laugh. "She's not fighting for China. That's why I'm still here. She's fighting for her idea of what she thinks the world should be like. She feels cheated by the war."

"But she helped us! She helped Une!" Duo looked frustrated. "I don't get it."

"No," Heero said. "I do. Sally feels that we all betrayed her in the end. She helped us to get what she wanted, and when we all decided to support the World Nation, she thought that we'd lied to her.

"I personally, like Duo said, didn't fight because of patriotism. If Sally thought that I did, she's dead wrong. At the end, I fought to save the Earth because I believed it needed saving and I couldn't bear to see it destroyed, but it wasn't for any high ideal of equality or liberty or justice or anything like that." Looking at Wufei as he said the word _justice_. "Sorry."

"What are you apologizing for?" Wufei returned. The curtain of rain and mass of clouds were moving nearer. Below, a dump truck carrying a load of broken concrete from the north end of base rumbled through the three-way intersection.

"I always sort of envied you, you know," Heero said. Wufei looked at him in surprise, and was even more shocked to see the trace of a grin around the Wing Zero pilot's lips. "You had something to fight for. You were always talking about justice and honor and things like that. I wished I could be like that sometimes, instead of just some homeless boy who happened to get picked up wandering around the Breaks and trained into a killing machine to follow orders."

"No," Wufei said.

Heero looked confused, and the scar across his forehead puckered into a deep canyon shape as he frowned. "No what?"

He didn't answer back for a moment, instead resumed his pacing, feeling something closing in, knowing he'd backed himself into a corner that he couldn't slip out of without the two of them knowing. Heero and Duo watched him curiously, and he wondered if they could feel the tension building inside him like the approaching thunderstorm.

"No," he said at last, still pacing. Back and forth along the railing. "You don't wish you could be like that."

"Wufei-"

He cut Duo off with a curt hand gesture, realizing that he should have told all of them a long time ago, and realizing that if he'd done so, it would probably have helped. "I wasn't always like that." Wondering how to say it. "There was…there was a girl."

A soft gasp from Duo, and he didn't have to be a genius to figure out Duo was thinking about his dead friend, Ilene Keets.

"Her name was Chang Meilan. She was my wife."

"Your wife?" Duo sounded incredulous. Heero said nothing.

"We married young in my clan. Tradition. She was always muttering about justice and truth and honor and all that. I didn't understand it."

Duo made a noise. "Arranged."

"You have no idea," Wufei said darkly. "We hated each other. She was pretty good with a sword, a great martial artist…all that. I learned about combat because we were required to know self-defense, but I never saw the point. We weren't ever going to be attacked, right?"

He saw her eyes again, saw her gently smiling at him. _Take me to that field of flowers_. "She called herself Nataku."

Duo made a noise of realization.

"She said…I was weak."

"You're not weak," Duo said. "You're one of the strongest people I know."

"She was stronger. She…our colony was attacked by OZ. I didn't know it at the time, but Master O would have sent her to earth in Operation Meteor as the fifth Gundam pilot. You'd have had my wife Meilan instead of me. But…she died."

There. He had said it. He realized that it was the first time he'd said it out loud, had acknowledged her death to anyone but himself, had shared his private grief. He knew his voice was choked and trembling, but he didn't care. It felt good.

"I'm sorry, Wufei. Shit, I…I know it sounds trite, but…I really am."

"You'd think I wouldn't care," he plowed on, "because we hated each other. But having someone die in your arms…your wife…knowing that things could have been all right and that you could have loved each other if we'd have given each other the chance, knowing that…"

He ground his fists into his eyes to stop the tears, feeling them leak from beneath his fingers. The other two were very still.

"The reason she died," he said, "was because she believed in justice. She was going to protect the colony. And I think part of that was she wanted to prove to me how capable she really was. I've never stopped believing she died because of me. Whenever someone else died in the war because of an attack we made…whenever I killed someone…I saw her face."

"It's not-" Duo began, but Wufei shook his head.

"Knowing that doesn't make a difference. When she died, something…broke. I wish I were a Gundam sometimes, a machine, that someone could turn a wrench and fix. But I'm human and that's not possible."

The wind picked up, and he tucked stray wisps of long black hair behind his ear. "I wanted to prove to her that I was worthy. That I was a worthy husband to such a strong woman. I'm still trying to do that. I've spent the past two years doing penance, telling her I was sorry, that I'd failed her because she died for nothing."

Wufei stopped his pacing, gripping the railing, eyes fixed on the rain. "I'd like to say that I've stopped doing that, but I haven't. Two days ago, again, someone died because of me. I know that it isn't my fault – he could have saved himself and come home, but he didn't. He made a choice. But I still can't help myself."

Turning around, feeling the hard balcony railing dig into his spine, he faced the two pilots, one standing at the doorway, one at the edge of the balcony. "When does it stop?" he demanded. "When does the hurting go away? When do I stop hating myself?"

Heero pushed himself off the railing, and Wufei watched silently as the Wing pilot made his way over, stopping and facing him. "I'm leaving in an hour," he said. "Une's decided to send me to defend Sparta. I doubt Sally will strike there once she has L1 in ruins, but better safe than sorry."

Wufei nodded, wondering where this was leading, not trusting himself to speak lest he burst into tears at the first word.

"That's the level of trust the world has in our abilities right now," Heero continued. "We're not criminals, we're not murderers. We're tried and proven warriors who have pledged our skills to their safety, and they trust us."

The blue eyes met his squarely, confidently, and in them there was no fear, no guilt, just a steely resolve. "I know that your wife must have been a wonderful woman and a great pilot and warrior, and I would have been proud to have known and worked with her. But the fact remains that the one who came to us wasn't Chang Meilan. It was you, Chang Wufei, who came to us from L5 piloting Shenlong Gundam. And it was you who helped us win the war."

Heero held out his hand, and Wufei stared at him. He felt the beginnings of drizzle on his face – clean, cool water. "Before anything else happens, I want you to know…that I am glad it was you."

The rain broke over them like the tide, and Wufei finally let the tears come, glad for the rain to mask them. As he reached out and grasped Heero's outstretched hand, he felt himself jerked into a rough embrace, and everything disappeared – the images of Meilan's dying body in his arms, Treize's face on his comm screen, Varis' shuttle exploding into leaping flames – and all he could see and feel was a darkened room, a frightened boy with a scar across his face, and his own voice, saying, _welcome home_.

Heero released him and he stumbled back, a little bewildered, into the metal railing. The two pilots were smiling at him, Heero a little uncertainly, Duo grinning like a maniac. The hurting was still there, but it had lessened somewhat.

It would be all right.

"You gonna fight with us, Wufei?" Duo said, and he knew the answer before the question was out of the Deathscythe pilot's mouth.

"Yes," he heard himself saying, "I'm with you. We've got a war to win."

* * *

**Scene X: A Kingdom Divided**

_ "J'ai laissé des bouts de moi au creux de chaque endroit.  
Un peu de chair à chaque empreinte de mes pas,  
Des visages et des voix qui ne me quittent pas."_ _ I left some bits of me in every place  
A little flesh in every footstep  
Faces and voices that never leave me  
_ _-- Jean-Jacques Goldman, De Bouts De Moi_  


He awoke to birds singing.

Trying to turn over and finding that he couldn't, he opened his eyes and found himself staring at a white ceiling. In the background there was the soft chatter of…the radio? Or maybe a vidscreen, turned to some news channel. Listening for another second told him that the window of the room was open and that it was raining outside. He could smell it.

No one had to tell him that it was a hospital. He had spent an exorbitant amount of time being ill or injured lately, it seemed, and he really had no one to blame but himself.

The last thing he remembered was seeing the white towers of the base command center in the distance and feeling the dull throbbing in his right arm, which meant that he'd somehow broken it as Epyon had tipped over onto the ground during his struggle with the Zero system. He hadn't even bothered to radio headquarters that he was coming. Perhaps Etille had. He didn't know. He had thought they would sooner throw him out than accept him, the prodigal son, back into their care, so what did it matter?

He'd fought the Zero system once again, and this time, the Zero system had won.

Why?

There were a dozen different excuses. He hadn't used it in a long time. He hadn't flown a real mobile suit battle in a long time. Epyon was harder to handle and he was out of practice. But excuses were quite useless now in this scenario, where no one would believe him anyway, when he no longer had any pretenses to keep up. He had tried, and he had failed.

It was more than just him not being in control and being aware of the system's workings. He hadn't wanted to be in control. He hadn't wanted to be aware, because then he could just throw conscience to the wind and run on pure emotion.

He understood now, just a little, how Dorothy Catalonia felt.

Soon discovering the reason he couldn't turn over was that his arm was suspended to the side of the bed in a plaster cast hung on a large metal stand, he also discovered that he could at least sit up. There was a small mirror to the side of the bed and for a second he wondered if he could somehow turn it over or push it onto the floor so he wouldn't have to see his reflection, the reflection of a broken man, staring back at him.

But that was a lost cause after all. No matter if he didn't want to believe it – others who looked at him would see what he was afraid to see. And it was far too late to hide from the truth for vanity's sake.

Scooting to the edge of the bed, he lowered his face and peered into it.

Haunted blue eyes stared back at him out of a gaunt, hollow face. There were red patches on his cheeks and forehead from where A007's unforgiving sun had burned him, from too many hours standing out in the field. A mass of small scars over his right eyebrow and around his right eye were just scabbing over. He raised his good arm to touch them, and winced as they stung. There was another long, thin scar, jagged and messy, stretching across his chin. He needed a haircut.

"Well," he said to himself, a little ruefully, with a sigh. The tabloids wouldn't have anything to report on for a while at least. Or maybe they'd take pictures of his scarred and disfigured face and blow it up to 500 times its normal size and stick it on the front cover so the world could see what Milliard Peacecraft had become.

Milliard, Zechs. Did names matter anymore? Did it matter what he called himself?

"I'm a failure," he said to the wall, and if he was any more delirious, he probably could have sworn to himself that the wall smiled back at him. But no, he was just drugged and bound up and broken, and so deadly tired.

It wasn't a physical tiredness, because his body felt well-rested, even with the injuries and broken bones. He'd had worse injuries before in his Academy and OZ days, and it hadn't stopped him from getting up the next day and getting done what needed to be done. The Academy had needed him. Treize had needed him. He couldn't afford to be ill.

But for some reason his mind seemed to have shut down on him now, and as he eyed the door and wondered if he was strong enough to get up and walk to it, his brain rang a warning bell at him. It's not possible, it said to him. Even if you do get to that door and walk out of the hospital, what would you do? Where would you go?

_I could go back to work. I could go back to the Preventers._

And his brain said reasonably, do you really believe they'll accept you back? After your failure on A007, after Noin's death, after your little stunt in Epyon? They'd sooner stick you in the crazy ward.

_But Une went through that during the war too. Une will understand._

And some far corner of his mind, which always seemed to save every scrap of conversation that he'd ever heard, whispered Dorothy's words to him.

_Une sent you out here to die._

He had never told Noin that he loved her. So many things left unsaid, undone. Did he wish he had? Did she, in that split second before she died, think of him?

It hurt to even think of her, to even think of the sound of her name. It was like a messy wound dealt by some knife or even an axe, the executioner's axe, the weapon still buried deep in his chest and unable to be removed. He didn't know if he wanted to remove it. He didn't know if he wanted to try. Because if he did, and if the pain went away, wouldn't that be untrue to her memory? Wouldn't that be like saying that she had never mattered?

He would never love anyone the way he had loved her. He wished he could have told Dorothy that. Maybe that would have made things better.

_For once in my life, I wanted to do something right._

As he lay down again with a sigh, the door clicked open.

"Oniisama?"

He froze.

Her footsteps didn't come any nearer, but he didn't want to turn, didn't want to look, didn't want to do anything but lay there with every muscle in his body tense so that he didn't have to see her.

"Oniisama, I…"

There was an awkward silence.

"I – I brought you some flowers," she said at last, and something inside snapped, and he moved his head so he could see her.

She was the same as he remembered her, and yet different. She didn't look any older, and she was wearing plain slacks and a white shirt, with her hair down. But it wasn't the dress or her hair that made her different. There was something in her face, in the way she carried herself, in the softness of her voice when she spoke, that he didn't remember from when he had forcefully parted ways with her a year ago.

Their eyes met. She flinched but didn't look away.

"Hello, Relena," he said.

"Hi," she ventured, looking shy, and it was as if they were meeting for the first time, which in a sense, they were. He wasn't sure what to say, so he watched in silence as she moved to the little table by the wall and plunked the vase of flowers down on it with unsteady hands. From this angle, she looked ten years old.

"How are you?" he said quietly, sensing that she wasn't comfortable saying anything until he acknowledged her presence.

She twisted her hands. "I'm…fine. How are you?" Twitching her shoulders as she realized it was a stupid question and nervously biting at a fingernail.

A flash of memory and he somehow remembered her standing there at two years old, when she had stolen a cookie from the kitchen without asking, and stuffing her fist in her mouth when confronted by their mother. He'd watched from a doorway, curious as to what her punishment would be, and then had been outraged when all she got was a slight scolding and no dessert.

He smiled. "I've been better," he said. "But I'm all right. Have you been busy with the trial?"

Her head snapped up. "I didn't know you followed-" she began, then stopped. "A little," she said instead, and he didn't press the issue, instead looking over her shoulder at the flowers on the table. She dropped to her knees beside the bed so he could get a better look. They were white lilies.

"Thank you," he said simply, and she just stared back at him, face stricken. Another awkward silence.

"When I returned to the Cinq Kingdom after the war," he began conversationally, and he sensed her stiffen, though outwardly, her body language didn't change. "I was searching for something. I knew I wouldn't find it in Cinq, but I didn't want to face the world quite yet. That was why I went back. It wasn't that I wanted to be the king, or even the queen's advisor. I didn't even want to be your elder brother."

"I gathered that the moment you walked in the door," Relena said, and he was surprised by the venom in her voice, though he'd expected something like that.

"I suppose most of me wanted Treize back most of all – I didn't let myself care about you or the kingdom, because I was angry at Treize. He and his family were the ones who took care of me when our parents died, you know…while you were with Darlian."

He took a breath to start the next sentence, and then realized that he had no idea what to say. So instead he watched the rain for a while, his mind blank, struggling for words. "I guess I'd putting off thinking about you for a while. Because I knew eventually we'd have to see each other again, and nothing I say now will make things right. I've been a failure my whole life, and I'll just chalk this up to another milestone in my career of failures. I know that's no excuse, but…" He let the words trail off, knowing that it was probably wise not to say any more.

"I hate you," she said.

"I thought so. I don't mind."

If his quiet equanimity bothered her, she didn't let it show, just sat there with her hands twisted in her lap, biting her lip, no longer the queen of a kingdom but just a seventeen-year old girl who had never made peace with her past. "I've always hated you. I hated you when you were Zechs Merquise, I hated you when you were the leader of White Fang, I hated you when I thought you died and I hated you when you came back and I hated you when you left again."

"I thought-"

"No you didn't!" she cried, and he flinched despite his resolve not to let anything she said bother him. Because it did. Because this was Relena, his sister, and…

"I can't live like this, Milliard. I can't live knowing that I have a brother only to lose him time and again, and then realizing I never had him in the first place!" She raised her eyes to him, and tears leaked from the corners, running down to the corners of her mouth, but she made no move to wipe them away. "I was pushed and shoved into this kingdom by you, and you have no right – absolutely none! – to treat me the way you did!"

"Relena-"

"I know you never loved me. I thought I loved you, but maybe I was wrong." She made a move to push herself to her feet, then stopped, pushed her hands against the edge of his bed instead and stared at him with hard, angry blue eyes. There was another flash of memory, and he suddenly saw his mother's face, those same hard blue eyes, the resolve that he now realized was a little bit foolish and a little bit desperate and mostly just very brave.

"Then why did you bring me flowers?" he asked softly.

She made a half sob, half hiccup, and turned away from him in a curtain of blond hair. "Because you're in the hospital. And everyone in the hospital needs flowers."

"Relena, I don't hate you. I can't say right now that I love you either. I-" he stopped. "Relena, please look at me."

Maybe it was the pleading note in his voice that convinced her, because he never pleaded. But she turned around slowly, dragging her gaze with her to finally fix it on his face unwillingly.

"I have lost too much in the past two years. I lost my best friend, my kingdom, my reason for fighting. On A007, I lost two people very dear to me – one because I was too selfish to see how much I hurt her, and the other because of her unselfishness, to die saving my life and the lives of my soldiers. I'm not the same man who came back to Cinq after the war, Relena." He gestured to the cast on his arm. "I rebuilt Epyon, thinking I could revenge Noin. I don't know what I was thinking. Noin would have told me that there was nothing to revenge, to go pick up the pieces of my life and try to rebuild that instead of a machine which served its purpose long ago."

"We're all trying to rebuild, Oniisama," Relena said harshly. He nodded.

"I know. I know I'm not the only one, and I am not trying to make excuses. I'm not even asking for a second chance, because you and everyone else have given me chance after chance and I've let you all down."

"Why are you telling me this?" she whispered.

"Because I want to love you," he said after a long moment, trying to pretend that he was not about to cry. "Because…I want you to be able to love me."

Outside the window, the rain pattered, and he turned his eyes toward it, hearing her take another deep, gulping breath, sigh once, and then heard the soft taps of her shoes as she left the room without another word.

The door clicked closed, and he wondered where Epyon was, anyway. If they had dismantled her again or if she was still standing in some hangar waiting for him. He wasn't sure what he would do if he saw her again. He wondered if Sally would try to come after her, if she made it as far as Geneva. Though she wouldn't, he was quite certain of that. Heero Yuy would never let that happen.

Noin had believed in the Gundam pilots too.

But that didn't matter now, anyway. He stared out at the rain, listening to its soothing patter until his eyelids felt heavy and he laid his head back down on the pillow and drifted into sleep.

* * *

**Scene XI: At the Tower of Babel**

_ "Dans cette epoque cybernique  
Pleine de gents informatique,  
C'est la sel fantaisie ici pour toujours."  
_ _ In this cybernetic era  
Full of computer people  
It's the only fantasy here for always_ _-- Cowboy Bebop, Fantaisie Sign_  


Her fingers pulled on the various threads she had spent months setting up, causing them to hum to life. Webs of information and deceit began to twist and shift, and worlds were unmade simply because she wished it. Outside, the battles were waged, and people were dying, but inside the world of the net, another battle was forming, one which was no less important - though few people would ever realize it.

This was her battlefield, and she was the master.

A few moved to stand against her, to protest her changes, not realizing the force they were dealing with. She shocked them, overloading their sensors with information or cutting them off, frying their brains with overstimulation. Later they would be found, dead, hooked to monitors that flashed with incomprehensible numbers.

There were casualties in the information war, too.

It took less than a few hours for the various hackers to realize that Something Big was happening to their world as well as the outside one.

Many hardcore hackers, the junkies, weren't overly concerned with what was going on Outside. They only disconnected long enough to keep their physical bodies alive, but politics and war weren't their concern. They had deeper games to play, and always... there was the search for the one thing they all desired.

Knowledge.

But that day, fifteen minutes after Sally Po issued her threat, their world began to change. There were flickers, as holes disappeared and shifted, and suddenly they became aware that a master hacker was rearranging reality as they knew it... for some ulterior motive. A hacker whose skill and strength of will was able to dominate theirs...

It took an hour - a nearly impossible length of time, considering the instantaneous response some of their best were used to - to figure out who, to realize that a legend was walking among them.

Always before the name had been whispered, a nightmare told to newbies or an ideal that kept the old hands working harder and harder, trying to achieve perfection which forever was remodeling itself, forever upgrading. In the world of the net, time stood still for no one, but legends kept growing because they never stopped competing.

From hole to hole, layer through layer, word spread through cybernetic lines, and they trembled.

Aidoru was moving.

The strange dichotomy Quatre saw whenever he looked at Lady Une made his head spin. He still wasn't quite sure what had happened at his trial, but the slight pain he felt in his neck from where Une's sword had pierced his skin assured him that he wasn't dreaming. Dry blood flaked on his fingertips when he accidentally brushed against it, testament to Une's deadly intent.

Somehow his trial had finished, and he had walked off... not cleared, but not convicted, either. One second, he had been prepared to sit there for months while the Senate ignored the fact that Sally was about to bring the world down around their ears, and the next Une was proclaiming that she would slit his throat before seeing matters continue the way they were. Most people would have been terrified at being held at sword-point, but he had understood. Une had a reason, and he had trusted her.

_She will be able to make them see the truth_, he had thought.

He was upset, though, at the results. Now he would forever be stuck in limbo, forever the one who got off on a "lucky break." There would be no vindication or condemnation, no definite answers. He wanted to sit back, and take a break, but his life wasn't working out that way.

He was starting to get used to the fact that for one of the supposed ten richest men in the universe, he had absolutely no control over his fate.

Une wasn't giving him time for recriminations, though, whisking him back to base under an escort of the best guards. With their protection, they shouldered through the press corps, ignoring the questions that were shouted at them and the flashing lights of the cameras. He only had the briefest glance of an unmarked car that awaited them before finding himself practically crammed into the back seat, along with Une.

Underneath them, the car hummed it sat waiting in the middle of a four lane road, and he shifted in his seat, wondering why traffic had to be so heavy. It would be ironic if too many precious minutes were lost due to such a mundane thing as a traffic jam.

He glanced at Une for the thirtieth time, trying to reconcile the strange overlay of Lady Une from the One Year War with the Preventer general whom he had come to know. The colors were right, but the uniform was wrong, and he felt like he had been thrown into some strange parallel universe, where OZ had won, or at least hadn't lost.

Maybe if they had won, someone else would have the headache he was feeling now. Maybe the pilots would all be able to try to lead those normal lives they felt were so impossible.

Maybe Trowa wouldn't be... missing....

Trowa, without ammunition, exiting his Gundam... His first sight of another pilot, and the way his heart had lifted to see that he, too, was just a boy.

"Are you all right?" he had asked after two years apart, forgetting about anything else. Trowa always said he didn't understand emotion, but he had said the right thing, offering comfort when Quatre had needed it.

Their fingers had been entwined, like their fate, only to be forced apart by the trial, and their fates...

He shut his eyes, placing his hand against his heart, wondering if his friend, his comrade, could have died without him feeling his loss. Before, during the war, he had felt Heero's near-death, so wouldn't he have felt...?

Trowa wasn't dead, Quatre told himself, trying to make his heart believe it. It would take more than Sally to kill him.

He didn't want to imagine a world without his friend in it. They had always known as pilots, they ran the risk of death, but always before they had come through, always before the five of them had triumphed and been invincible.

_He's not dead. I would know it._

"What happened to Trowa?" Quatre asked, his soft voice containing nothing but polite interest.

Une glanced over at him, her hands clenching and unclenching. "We're not sure," she said finally. "He was at Kashmir when it went down, and I think he's dead or seriously wounded. That has to be the only reason the missiles didn't deploy."

It only took a second for Quatre to piece together the rest of the puzzle, figure out why Une had sent Trowa Barton, Gundam pilot, to such an important installation. It was hard to quell the feeling of dislike that welled inside of him for the general, but staring at her face, he knew what a burden she was bearing. How many people has she sent to their deaths? The price of command, to stay behind while friends went and didn't return...

Glancing down at his pale hands, he twisted his fingers together, trying to calm himself down. "He's alive," Quatre said softly. "He just didn't fire."

Une looked out the window, staring at the unmoving car beside them. A small girl from inside made faces at their car, obviously unable to see anyone through the mirrored glass. A slight smile traced her lips, but there was nothing but sorrow in her face.

"Do you believe that? Trowa could have stopped Sally, stopped this war, if he had fired those missiles. Don't you think he would have?" she asked.

_It was like I was staring down two roads. I didn't know where either of them led, but I had to make a choice._

The memory of Trowa's soft voice, apologetic and sorrowful, filled Quatre. He shut his eyes, wondering what Trowa had seen that none of the rest of them could. The sharp green eyes always seemed to pierce through whatever deceit was laid before it.

Maybe he had seen the path to that true, elusive peace.

"I think Trowa did what he had to," Quatre said. "If he had killed Sally, that would have solved nothing, in the long run. The underlying issue is there - why did we let this happen?"

"I've asked myself that countless times, and the truth is, I don't know. Everyone has a different ideal, a different utopia. I wish there was a way to make them all real, but there's not," Une replied. She looked back at him, her soft brown eyes full of sorrow. "But there's no time for moral issues or questions, now. There's a colony about to be destroyed, unless we act."

The car inched forward, and they watched the buildings crawl by. She spoke again after a few minutes of thoughtful silence passed.

"Sally's on the way to L3 right now. It's the only colony that hasn't been touched by the recent activities. L1 is in turmoil, and L2 and L1 are so closely tied that it's impossible to separate them. L4... well, having their unofficial royalty on trial hasn't done much for the social stability. I think her goal is to establish a space base to strike from, and with L1 gone, L3 is logical. The yakuza are likely to support her."

He had never thought of the colonies being invaded, never thought of Sally's other plans. The former Preventer second in command was brilliant, to have so many plans going on at once... daring, to take the risks, but if she could pull it off...

"How does she plan on taking the colony?" he asked. "Any ideas?"

"There's been some fluctuations in its security system, which leads me to believe that she's going to pull the computer systems down... and my hackers have told me that the net world has been shifting along with it. She's got one of the best hackers on her side, working inside of the system."

Une wasn't seeing the whole picture, Quatre realized instantly. If the hacker was able to pull down the security net for a colony, what else would they be able to do? So much was done electronically... economic, military, communications... everything....

The hacker was Sally's ace in the hole, Quatre thought with grim surety.

The car finally pulled onto base, and began to wind its way to the main building. Still, he ignored it, knowing that Une needed to know of his assessment, to think of the larger picture.

"Une, I think it's more than a colony you have to worry about. If the hacker can control L3 long enough for Sally's forces to invade it, what else can they do? Haven't any of your agents had any luck countering them?"

"No," Une said. "We've been after Aidoru for years, and he's always ahead of us. Most hackers refuse to work for legitimate agencies, and I can't believe he aligned with Sally. He's always been apolitical."

Aidoru... the idol. The name was ominous.

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"What do you know about hacking?" she asked.

He blinked, wondering at the change of subject. "Not much. I'm decent with a computer, but I never got into the VR modes of surfing. I'm not a hacker."

"None of our hackers are good enough to match this threat. And we don't expect you to be a hacker. We want you to use the skills you have."

It was like scouring his soul with iron wool, a reminder of his helplessness, knowing that his comrades were out in the field, fighting, while he was left behind because he had been stupid enough to believe that Sandrock wasn't needed anymore.

How wrong he had been.

"Une, I'm a Gundam pilot without a Gundam. I can't do anything."

How true that was. He had thought he could fight at his trial, but in the end he had been saved by others. Now he was talking technology and strategy, but it was just talk.

_Talk gets us nowhere. Now is the time to act._

Instead of stopping at the main compound, as Quatre had been expecting, the car glided past the building, bearing right.

Towards the Covert Ops facility.

Une ignored his negativism, waiting until the car stopped. "I'm going to take a fall, Quatre. When we win, someone is going to have to take the blame. Who invited Sally into the Preventers? Who made her the second in command? Who let her office security be breached? Who, Quatre?"

"I..."

"Leaders lead, but sometimes they sacrifice themselves. I know that. But right now, I don't have to worry about my future, so that means I can act without restriction. There's nothing holding me back, Quatre," she said, and the smile that played at her lips was ironic. "Surprisingly, it's an incredibly liberating feeling."

"What about the Preventers?" he asked hesitantly. He tried to imagine the new organization without Une at its head, and drew a blank. They were her child, her gift to the world, and he couldn't imagine it without her.

"Brown is a good man, one of the best. And Peacecraft..." she sighed, shaking her head, dismissing the thought. "The world has more than one leader. I have a prodigy coming up who will be a very good successor, along with my aide. We have to do what we can to ensure they get a chance to lead."

The door opened, and they began to move, ignoring the security guards that glanced suspiciously at them as they passed. Une wove him through tunnels that seemed to be descending, and he wondered why the regularly spaced lights flickered every thirty-three seconds.

"Our hacking staff works here, but we also have some top-secret projects here. There's one I think that will be helpful."

Une was being secretive, and he didn't like it.

After passing by the sixty-third door, she stopped at the sixty-fourth, pressing her hand against a palm plate. The lock beeped, and a slight "click" sounded as it electronically unlocked.

"Come in," she said, motioning for him to proceed her.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light. There were two technicians inside the deceptively simple room, which was filled with just a chair and computer monitors.

The chair seemed innocuous, a simple programmer's chair with a few extras that could have been expected from the best military installation, but he knew the headset. He had seen Dorothy wearing a similar one while fighting on the Libra.

"You... don't know what you're asking...." he whispered.

"I know what I'm offering. The Zero System pitted against the best hacker society has ever produced... what do you think, Quatre? You don't have a Gundam anymore, Winner, but here's a chance for you to get into battle again. I gave Trowa the chance, and he let me down. Will you do the same?"

He wanted to argue that Trowa hadn't let anyone down, but no one knew what had happened at Kashmir... and they wouldn't, not unless they won this fight.

He was moving towards it without even knowing, and then the technicians were hooking him up to monitors.

"If there's anything that goes wrong, we'll pull you out," one of them said to Quatre.

Quatre knew what could go wrong. He remembered the pain, remembered the stress on his body.

"Don't," Quatre told them.

"Regulations-"

"I'm not a Preventer. I'll come out on my own, or I won't come out at all. I assume this is hooked to the Web?"

"As soon as the system engages, it should put you into an intense VR. You won't be aware of anything except the Web. Theoretically, the Zero system should give you more control, since it's a more powerful computer than anything out there... but...." The technician hesitated.

"I know. I can't let it control me."

_Not this time, Zero. I beat you once._

Taking a deep breath, he braced himself before speaking. "System engage."

Act XI Part II Act XI Part IV Back to Sainan no Kekka


	43. An Invitation from Hell

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2005 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

**SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT XI, PART IV**

** Dare ni mo wakaranai  
Mirai o sagashiteru...omae wa dare?  
Sora o somete yuku aoi honou  
Tooi yoake  
** ** Who are you who searches for a future  
That no one can understand?  
A blue flame that dyes the sky  
Faraway dawn  
**

**--Gundam Wing, _Tooi Yoake_  
_Faraway Dawn_, Zechs Merquise image song**

**Scene XII: La Femme Fatale**

**"Kurayami ni kagayaita hoshi no hikari o wasurenai.  
Shouri e tsuzuku tabi wa owaru koto o shiranai."** ** Don't forget the stars which shone in the darkness  
The journey leading to victory doesn't know an end  
** **-- Prince of Tennis, Go to the Top!**  


And in the end, she won. Dorothy Catalonia always won.

But why did she feel so... restless?

It could have something to do with the post-trial let down, she knew. Now that she had nothing to focus on, perhaps her mind was just being over-active. She had become used to plotting and scheming with Relena and Sylvia, and now that that had been removed from her immediate priorities, she realized one thing.

She was bored.

The fact that the world was under a 72 hour penalty imposed by Sally Po might have had something to do with it. Dorothy was used to being in the center of things, and right now she was feeling decidedly left out, like most of the rest of the world. She had no clue what was being done, and the session the World Nation had called for tomorrow seemed completely futile. Only the Security Council had been in Emergency Session with the president, and though she knew she had gained a lot of prestige with her coup in getting Quatre off on a technicality, she was smart enough to realize that all they were doing was probably hand-wringing.

The real work was being done by the Preventers. The way Une had swept Quatre away as soon as she could gave plenty of indication of that.

But why did Une want Quatre?

Dorothy paced back and forth in her study, ignoring the chocolate éclairs Rosalie had produced in an attempt to keep her in line. The thick, creamy delicacies sat ignored on her desk beside a cooled cup of chai tea latte, because when Dorothy got too wound up, even her notorious sweet tooth fell by the wayside.

There had to be something she could do. She was special, dammit, and surely her skills could be useful in some capacity.

She could feel the minutes ticking down, and hated the helplessness of knowing that her fate was in someone else's hands. She wasn't that type of person. She was the one who pulled the strings - she was in charge of her own destiny.

Dorothy had just proved it.

Her hair swung pack and forth as her pacing increased. She pushed it out of her way a few times in irritation, making a half-hearted promise to herself to call a hairdresser to cut the whole mess off if the world was still turning in a week.

There had to be something she could do... she didn't want to be as useless as she had been on A007....

The pieces fell into place for her then. She hadn't resigned her field commission yet - and all Preventers had been called to active duty.

Didn't that just make things interesting?

Une had been surprised when Lady Dorothy Catalonia wanted to see her. She had been directing the defense from Liberation forces, trying to keep track of Quatre's progress - of which there seemed to be very little - in apprehending Aidoru, and generally keeping people from panicking. She didn't want to play the political game right now, but after watching Dorothy in action at the trial, she knew that it would be a bad idea to offend the new political powerhouse.

Dorothy sauntered into the room, confidence radiating off of her in waves. Her pale eyes scanned Une's office, checking for something, but fell flat. "Hello, Lady Une," she said. "I'm here for an assignment."

Une was confused. She had no clue what Dorothy was getting at, but had to admit that wasn't surprising, considering that she was running off stimulants and probably would be until the crisis passed. She wanted Sally caught, now. "What?" Une said, unable to think of anything more clever or cutting.

Dorothy wandered over to the seats that Une kept for her guests and slid into it, crossing her feet neatly at the ankles. "I never resigned my commission, Lady, and you've activated all Preventers," she said, and the cat-like smile was entirely too smug for Une's liking.

"Fine. You're dismissed, thanks for your service," Une said absentmindedly. She really didn't want to deal with Dorothy at the moment.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Dorothy asked.

"Dorothy, your last experience commanding wasn't a roaring success," Une said dryly. "I don't have any units that need a commander at the moment, anyway, and I doubt you're in for the long term. If my guess is right, you're trying to do something-" Une paused, as she finally thought of a solution for the problem Dorothy could possibly present. "How are you at hacking?"

Dorothy blinked. "I know how to use a computer pretty well, but I'm not a hacking expert."

"That's better than Quatre," Une mused. She leaned forward, her eyes intent on the blonde woman who sat across from her. "What I'm going to say is under top security clearance. You repeat it to anyone, I throw you into military prison. I don't give a damn about your rank."

Dorothy was curious now. Something involving hacking that was that closely guarded? It sounded... interesting. "Done."

"Quatre is currently pursuing Aidoru, who seems to have allied with Sally. Aidoru is considered to be the premier hacker.... and is attacking the security system on L3."

It took a moment for Dorothy to process what she had just been told. "Why send Quatre? You just implied that he knew nothing about hacking."

"He's mastered the Zero. We figured that would protect him. Aidoru has fried three of my best hackers, and is currently rearranging the net to suit his whims. None of the renegades seem inclined to stop him."

Dorothy pursed her lips. "How overmatched is Quatre?"

"Completely," Une admitted, shutting her eyes. "But we have to stall Aidoru, because my intelligence says Sally's on the way to L3...."

"To capture the base. I wouldn't be surprised if she's got contacts with the yakuza there," Dorothy mused.

"That would be her pattern. I've already traced her to supplying the Rebellion on A007."

Dorothy tensed, gripping the chair. "What?"

Une leaned back, knowing she was wasting time, but wanting to work through her thoughts. Dorothy would be a good listener, because she had a sharp, analytical mind. "She's recalled the soldiers there, and they were involved in the attack at Kashmir."

Dorothy let out a low hiss as she realized exactly what that meant. "It's her fault, then," Dorothy said. She swung to her feet, clenching her fist. "Damn her! She's been playing us like puppets!"

"Don't you think I realize that?" Une snapped.

Dorothy forced herself to take a deep breath to calm down before resuming her seat. "No mercy, Une. Show her no mercy."

"I don't intend to."

"Is that true? Do you see her as the enemy? Or do you see her as a misguided colleague who can be redeemed?"

"I-"

"She's responsible for the death of Noin," Dorothy said. "Noin died to save me, but she wouldn't have had to if Sally hadn't started it in the first place."

"Are you sure you're not trying to shift the blame off your own shoulders?"

It was a question Dorothy didn't want to hear and refused to accept. "I'll accept the blame for my part in it! Noin should be here, right now! She was ten times the soldier you are, and a hundred times the soldier I am! But she's not here because of Sally's actions! If you show her mercy, that means you're letting her killer go free!"

She was on her feet again, pacing closer. Une could see the frustration and self-hatred the blonde had been keeping pent-up for weeks simmering in her eyes.

"The quality of mercy is not strain'd. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven..." Une whispered.

Dorothy's rage seemed to idle as she recognized the phrase. "Shakespeare."

"I want to kill Sally, too. But would Noin?"

"She would have been the first who said to forgive her," Dorothy whispered. "She understood duty, and the consequences of it."

"Sally sees her duty as something different than us. She hasn't wavered from her principles or what she sees as her duty. That's why a lot of us are hesitating."

"If I get hold of her, I'm going to kill her," Dorothy said. "That's my duty."

Une stared into the ice blue eyes and realized that Dorothy was telling the truth. "Thankfully for my conscience, you're not going after Sally. I need you to help Quatre."

"The Zero System," Dorothy said softly. Unlike many who had wrestled with the monster, she didn't wake up with nightmares from it, but it wasn't a particularly fond memory of hers, either.

"Exactly. Quatre has been trying to work through the net for the last eight hours, and I don't think he's been having much success."

Dorothy considered the offer. "If I lose... what happens?" She had heard horror stories of net burn out, and she wanted to make sure exactly what the stakes were.

"Aidoru has been frying those who come after him. Backlash from too much stimulation. People... react differently."

"I've read about it." She had, too. Mild cases began to experience blackouts, but others went insane, and a few even died from the overload.

"But you'll have the Zero System," Une said. She was refusing to admit that she wanted this desperately; this unexpected ace in the hole might be just what she needed to stack the deck in her favor.

"I'm game," Dorothy said. "I refuse to sit around and do nothing any longer."

* * *

**Scene XIII: Sister of the Black Devil**

**"Shinjiaeru yorokobi mo  
Kizutsukeau kanashimi mo  
Itsuka ari no mama ni aiseru you ni  
Time goes by.."** ** The happiness of believing in each other  
And our sadness when we hurt each other  
So that someday I can love you as you are  
Time goes by...  
** **-- Every Little Thing, Time Goes By**  


_Because I want to love you._

_Because I want you to be able to love me._

The hand on the windowsill was hers - the soft, white hand of a lady, a high-born princess, the queen of a kingdom that was lauded as a paragon of excellence for all its efforts after the war. She watched, almost distractedly, detached, as the hand flexed, relaxed, flexed again, fingers clenching the silver frame of the window, feeling strangely displaced.

What did those mystics call it again? Out-of-body experiences? Something like that. She wondered if she might be having one, because Relena, Queen of Cinq, wouldn't be standing at the window of her room staring out at the dusk and the rain, trying not to cry. Relena, Queen of Cinq, would have been moving along the grand corridors of the World Nation's headquarters in downtown Geneva, making the rounds and shaking hands with the triumphant politicians of the day, of Quatre's trial.

That was the problem, really. She was one of the triumphant politicians of the trial, and doubtless they were looking for her and would be surprised to find her not present at the emergency summit this evening on the impending destruction of L1.

She couldn't bring herself to care about L1. She couldn't bring herself to care about Quatre's trial, though some small part of her knew that she was glad he had won and glad that she had been one of the ones to bring about that victory. It was empty, really, all empty, because in the end, what did she, as a person, as a girl, have left?

Queens weren't supposed to be selfish.

But then again, she wasn't supposed to be queen.

The fist slammed down into the metal frame with a ferocity that startled her, and the jolt of pain surging through her brain momentarily pierced through the fuzz that had seemed to surround the events of the past few days. She brought her knuckles to her lips and bounced up and down on her heels, trying to soothe her screaming hand, still staring out the window through involuntary tears in her eyes.

The world was gray.

She had been prepared for the sight of her brother lying there in that hospital bed. Yes, she had realized that he hadn't been well...that he had been injured in not one, but three battles and had gone through some major surgery...but to her, Milliard Peacecraft would always be mysterious, deadly and graceful, invincible. The pale, scarred face looking up at her had been a shock, though she thought she had hid her surprise well.

Perhaps the problem was that Zechs Merquise and Milliard Peacecraft were two distinct, different people, two men who she could not yet separate, one her brother and the other the proud, cold OZ commander who she had learned to hate so very well.

_I've always hated you. I hated you when you were Zechs Merquise, I hated you when you were the leader of White Fang, I hated you when I thought you died and I hated you when you came back and I hated you when you left again..._

He hadn't realized it even, but she had seen the intense hurt there in his eyes as she'd said those words, and she had been telling herself all day after that visit that it didn't matter, that his opinion didn't count, that she had never counted, and so why should he matter to her?

It had come later in the afternoon, as Relena was standing by the headquarters building hailing a staff car to take her back to Dorothy's estate, that she had admitted to herself that she had lied.

It hurt. It hurt to admit that she still cared for her brother, after everything he'd done to her. But he'd admitted, hadn't he? The Relena of a year ago, of six months ago...perhaps even a month ago would have crawled into that black hole of hers and hid, the black hole which proclaimed that the only opinion that mattered was hers, and her opinion was that Milliard had ruined her life.

If the events of the past two months had taught her anything, it was that she, Relena Darlian Peacecraft, was Queen of Cinq, whether she liked it or not, was responsible for her own actions, whether she liked it or not, and was remarkably selfish. Whether she wanted to admit it or not.

Heero had known that. And two days ago, he had told her that it didn't matter, that he cared for her no matter what. She wished she had that kind of unconditional love, the power to love like that.

_Because I want you to be able to love me._

She was crying again, and that was no good. Angrily scrubbing at her eyes with her hand, she turned her back to the window and headed downstairs. It was almost suppertime, but the big house was near empty, with only one maid and a cook on duty. Dorothy had left her a note last night, telling her that Une had requisitioned her for something (not saying what exactly "something" was), and that she might not be back for a few days. Catherine she hadn't seen a trace of since yesterday, when the news of her brother's supposed death had been broadcasted. Relena had a hunch Trowa's sister was probably on base as well. And Sylvia hadn't yet returned home from the summit.

Dorothy's house had been a wonderful haven and she had been incredibly grateful for the company of the other girls. Sometimes in the early hours of the morning, not able to sleep, she would get out of bed, pad down to the small sitting room at the back of the house next to the kitchen in her bare feet, and find the three other girls already there, awake, drinking hot chocolate and talking in low voices about nothing. Politics and war were off-limits. Instead, they'd sit, giggling softly about the latest gossip, about childhood memories, about home, about boys.

But when she was the only one there in the big house as evening fell, she could almost feel the walls staring at her, wondering what she was doing there. It was as if they could tell that she was no Catalonia or Khushrenada. _Usurper_, they whispered. _False heir. Unwelcome guest._

Relena paused on the marble staircase, realizing her hand was trembling on the banister, and she gave herself a good, hard shake. She was almost an adult by civilian standards, had been an adult for a while by responsibility standards, and had definitely outgrown fairy tales and stories of monsters under the bed.

"Clemente?"

The maid appeared at the bottom of the stairs out of nowhere - Relena had been impressed with Dorothy's servants and demanded Dorothy tell her where they were trained - and dropped a brief curtsey. "My lady? Are you hungry?"

Relena paused, staring out the French windows in the neighboring drawing room. "I'd like a little supper, please. Nothing fancy - I think I shall be the only one eating tonight." She laughed lightly. "I suppose I'm the odd one out today. Everyone else is still on base."

The maid curtseyed again and disappeared, and Relena regarded the scenery outside the windows moodily. There wasn't too much room for a garden here in the middle of the city, but the gardener had done the best he could, and a few very pretty plots of flowers and shrubs bloomed in the backyard. Looking out into the distance, into the sky that should have been colored the colors of sunset if there hadn't been so many clouds, she could see, very faintly, the shadow of cargo planes taking off from the base.

It seemed such a short time ago that her father had taken her on her first shuttle ride into space. And now he was dead and she was the queen.

Reaching the drawing room, Relena seated herself in one of the elegant leather couches facing the window and stared moodily outside.

_I've been a failure my whole life, and I'll just chalk this up to another milestone in my career of failures._

_It wasn't that I wanted to be the king, or even the queen's advisor. I didn't even want to be your elder brother._

Did she want to be queen?

The question surprised her as it posed itself in her mind, laying itself down as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to ask herself that. For a girl running from her past, from her present, and from her future, she hadn't done a very good job. Relena Darlian Peacecraft, Queen of Cinq, now currently involved in the internal affairs of the World Nation, with the fate of the former Gundam Pilots, with the head of the international military organization, making decisions that would affect not only her country, but the world and the colonies...definitely not the resume of someone running away.

_It's not that I don't want to be queen_, she admitted slowly, twisting her fingers around the lap of her dress. _It's that...I've always felt inadequate._

That was it. She didn't feel like a queen, because she had always been under the impression that she wasn't a queen. That she didn't want it because it shouldn't belong to her, and she would do a poor job of it.

She had hoped her brother would tell her otherwise, would support her, would give her his approval. His silence had hurt her more than any words he had ever said.

_All I want, Oniisama, is for you to tell me I'm worthy of you._

Silent tears dripped down her cheeks, and she saw the image of him in her head again, broken and drained, white against the white sheets of the hospital bed, telling her, _I've been a failure my whole life, and I'll just chalk this up to another milestone in my career of failures._

_You're not a failure,_ she had wanted to tell him. _I'm a failure. I wanted you to be ruler, not me, because I don't deserve it. I'm not good enough. I wasn't born to this like you were. _

And now, just like then, just like always, she could do nothing for him. He had been out risking his life for her and for the world, had lost everything, including the woman he had loved, and all she could do was stand there...and tell him that she hated him.

"I don't hate you, Oniisama," she whispered, almost choking on her own tears. "I lied...I don't hate you."

Footsteps down the hallway "My lady? Your supper is almost ready."

Relena jumped up from the couch and fled the room, not daring to show her tears to the maid because she had to be composed, calm, always, even when her heart was in pieces. It had hurt her when she had to disguise her tears at Noin's death, even though Catherine would have let her cry as long as she wanted to.

She rounded the corner of a small side hallway and collapsed against the wall, slowly sliding down and landing in a small heap on the floor, feeling the cool marble tiles against her legs and back.. Her brother wasn't dead...but he might have died. And he would have died knowing that his sister hated him, knowing that they had never been reconciled...believing that he was the one to blame, as always, when it was really her. Both of them were like that, blaming themselves for things that weren't really their fault. But this, she knew, was her fault alone. Not his.

The thought of him dying crashed into her with a sudden jarring impact, and she hugged herself, shaking, not daring to sob aloud for fear the maid would find her. He would go again, she knew. He wouldn't stay in the hospital for long - a day, maybe less. Perhaps she'd wake up tomorrow to the news that he had forcefully checked himself out, told Une he was going no matter what. As long as Sally was there, as long as the colonies were in danger, as long as the Preventers were going somewhere, he would go too.

Resting her head against her knees, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to erase the image of Epyon exploding, going up in flames with her brother inside.

_War is wrong, no matter what! But pacifism doesn't mean passive!_

Her words to Catherine, spoken what seemed a lifetime ago. She had been right - pacifism did not mean that she was allowed to stand there while the world trampled her face in. From all the historical accounts and records she had pored over when she first ascended the throne, Nathaniel Peacecraft had allowed that to happen. He had been a king, but instead of stepping up to defend his country when certain death approached, he had done nothing.

She was not her father. She would not sit by and do nothing.

But what could she do now while the world was waiting for Sally to make good on her threat? There were plenty of politicians capable of keeping the populace in check, and she had no doubt Sylvia and maybe Dorothy were up there right now with some brilliant plan. While she, Relena, was hiding.

_What do you want most right now, Relena? What, in your heart of hearts, is your wish? If you could do anything, what would you do?_

"I'd want Heero with me," she said aloud, but even as she spoke the words, she felt that inside twisting of her gut which told her she was lying to herself. That wasn't what she wanted most. She had Heero, had him as much as he would allow her to have him, and he was the last person she needed to worry about. Heero was capable of taking care of himself, and the world besides.

Milliard.

"I don't want you to go up in Epyon, Milliard," she whispered fiercely, lifting her head to stare at the wall. "I don't want you to go before I say I'm sorry. You can't die for nothing. I'll...I'll go myself if I have to!"

The impact of her words didn't hit her till a split second later, and she blinked in shock.

Go? Her?

She didn't know what had possessed her to say something like that. Even more shocking was the realization that she had meant it. She, who had never piloted a mobile suit before in her life, who advocated peace above all else, who had believed that fighting was not the solution to any problem...how far was she willing to go?

The whisper of a conversation came back to her, a young man leaning across her desk, pleading her to help him. _Please, your Majesty... you helped end a war before..._

What had she said to Chris Johnsen in return? _While it may hurt the ones who love us, being true to what you are is what's best._

_While it might hurt the ones who love us..._

But it was crazy. She couldn't possibly go. What would happen to the kingdom if she was killed or captured? What would Milliard think? She could very well imagine him coming charging after her and getting killed anyway in the process.

_But this isn't about me dying, in the end. It's about...him. I want him to be proud of me. I want...to save him._

Relena had never been one for rash decisions, but if she thought on this anymore, she knew she was going to lose her nerve. Jumping up from the floor, she bit her lip, thinking. She couldn't go alone. She hadn't the faintest idea of how to pilot a mobile suit, much less a Gundam of Epyon's stature. She didn't know where Epyon was. And even if she did, how on earth would she manage to acquire it?

Her first thought was Dorothy, but Dorothy was in the middle of Une's business, and even if Une would let her take Epyon, she would hate to take Dorothy away from such important work. Catherine was in the same boat - she didn't know the first thing about a mobile suit, and Sylvia was out of the question as well.

She could ask Quatre, she supposed, but she doubted he was in any condition to grant a request such as this. Sighing, Relena paced the length of the hallway, forehead wrinkled in thought, trying to ignore the giant voice inside her head blaring that this was the most idiotic idea she had thought of yet. It didn't matter...it didn't look like she could go after all. There was no one else who could take her.

Wait.

She froze, raising her head, tapping one finger against her cheek. But there _was_ someone else. How willing this person would be to even listen to her idea, she didn't know, but...

It couldn't hurt to try.

"Clemente?" she called down the hallway, straightening her dress and brushing the last of the tears away from her eyes. "Send for the driver please, and let me eat my dinner on the way. I need to be taken back to base."

* * *

**Scene XIV: The Final Lap of the Race Begins**

_"We're strange allies with warring hearts..."  
-- Dave Matthews, The Space Between_

_We've got a war to win._

Duo clung to those words, telling himself that killing his allies was a no-no. Still, he knew that having hostile "friends" could make a mission fail even more quickly than having a strong enemy.

Glancing over his shoulder, he stared at the strange dark-skinned boy who made every one of his instincts scream "kill him before he gets you, stupid!" Watchful dark eyes followed Duo's every movement, and Duo was sincerely wondering how the hell he had gotten into this situation.

He sighed. He knew perfectly well how he'd wound up in this dilemma - it was Helena's fault. He'd been preparing to go to L1, doing final checks on his shuttle, when he'd turned around to see the golden-haired girl there.

"Helena!" He'd been surprised, since even Hilde hadn't known he was back on base, and he hadn't intended on telling her. The Preventers high command and Wufei were the only people who know that he and Heero had come back per orders, gotten their Gundams through a quick inspection, and were heading out again as soon as possible. He didn't think Hilde would appreciate that.

Something about her was different. It seemed that every time he saw her, something about her had changed - a new seriousness was entering her eyes, and the long hair was less and less elaborate. Today she simply had it ponytailed at the nape of her neck, flowing down nearly to her waist. It was odd - her hair used to be her pride and joy, but now it seemed like it was something she had forgotten about.

She looked at him with the expression he'd become familiar with during his time at Cliffside, the one that indicated that he was about to get a lecture about something important. Her eyes were slightly narrowed and her lips were pursed thoughtfully, and he could tell she was about to say something he didn't want to hear.

"You're going to L1," she said flatly after a moment, apparently deciding on the blunt approach.

Dammit, he should've chucked the mission and applied for a job at one of those antiquated psychic networks. "How the hell did you know that? That's classified," he hissed, annoyed that the mission he'd only known about for less than a few hours was common knowledge.

"Shin hacked into the Preventers database. Um, he said that you might want to mention to someone that the net is really acting weird right now."

"I'm sure Une's aware of it," Duo answered, putting his hands on his hips. "Why are you so interested in what I'm doing?"

"We're going with you," she said, and the look in her eyes was one he'd seen on many females, the one that said arguing was futile, better get used to it.

"You are?" he asked, and he was going to be just as stubborn. There was no way he was going to take a bunch of civilians into a war zone, especially one as destabilized as reports indicated L1 was becoming.

He didn't blame them. The Black Diamond Cartel had fallen, and that meant the Breaks was completely out of control. Now the colony was staring Armageddon straight in the face, and while the wealthier elements (many of them members of the so-called government) were abandoning ship, Duo knew that those left behind were panicked and scared.

Anarchy was starting to look attractive to the residents, apparently. Une's agents who were on colony had already indicated that looting was up 70 percent, rape and murder had tripled, and it was basically chaos. _Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we're going to die_ seemed to be the general consensus, Duo thought sarcastically.

Thus, Duo was going with Deathscythe. If for some reason Heero and Wufei weren't able to stop Sally from unleashing her weapons, he'd have to stop them when they came for the colony.

One way or another.

"We're going, Duo. You've got three passengers."

Duo frowned, trying to figure out who else. "Chris... isn't well enough to travel," he said slowly.

"Shinobu, myself, and an assassin from the Breaks named Darkflight. He wants to go home. I think he believes that if the colony is going down, he's going to go with it," Helena said.

Duo felt himself tense at the suggestion. He didn't want to meet the guy who had kept Heero company on his descent into utter stupidity. "I am not taking a suicidal drug addict home just so he can have a last hurrah," he said brusquely, feeling annoyed that Helena had suggested it. "I know Shin is from the Breaks, but I don't have time for this. This is a mission, Helena, and I frankly don't have time to make sure you're going to be okay. People are dying up there, and I don't know how things will turn out."

_I'm not even sure I'll be coming back from this one. I might be throwing myself in front of some nice nuclear missiles._

Helena grabbed him by the collar, pulling his face down so his nose was level with her own. "Listen to me, Duo. We're not going for some kind of nostalgia deal. We're going because we think we can help. Do you know who Darkflight is?"

Duo had never really thought on it. He had known Darkflight was from the Breaks, an obvious conclusion given Heero's activities for the past two years, but he had never really identified him as anyone worth noticing. "Is he someone special?"

"He's.... well, his real name is Shionji Hideki."

Duo stared.

"He's the Shionji cartel heir, Duo."

Duo let out a low whistle. "Fuck," he swore again. "The world is ending," he muttered. "A Seki and Shionji working together."

"That was rather my reaction when the two of them explained the politics of the Breaks to me. Shin's... not going to be coming back to Cliffside when all's said and done," Helena said, and for a second he saw a trace of the girl who'd been his classmate before the harder look of a woman who'd grown up way too quickly suddenly returned.

L1 politics weren't his thing, since he was an L2 child, but everyone had heard of the Shionji cartel, and what had happened. There had always been rumors of a missing heir, but Duo had, like many others, dismissed them as a fairy tale.

"Are you sure he's the Shionji heir?"

"Shin is," Helena said.

The Seki heir probably wasn't wrong.

"Fuck," he said, unable to find anything else to say.

"Hear me out, Duo. I'm not the best versed on colonial politics, but even I know that the two cartels have hated each other for decades. But Shin's convinced Darkflight to do this. How, I don't know. I don't know even if Darkflight won't betray us in the middle of this. But he sees hope for the colony, and he's got to try. And I agree with him." Helena's blue eyes pleaded with him. "Please, Duo? You're the only one who can get us there. The Preventers would never let them leave their quarters if they knew the truth."

The words rang in Duo's head, and suddenly his world view reoriented. Possibilities for getting order on the Breaks in a fashion that didn't involve pounding heads together came to mind as he analyzed the possibilities with clinical detachment. For a moment the thought popped into his head that most colonists would kill to have these two boys in their possession, sitting in front of them. And then he realized exactly who they were talking about.

The two heirs to the most powerful crime organizations on the colonies, perhaps even in the world. Broken organizations, crumbling foundations...but the names Seki and Shionji were not names to be bandied around even after all this time. And he, Duo Maxwell, might be helping them.

"Fuck," he said again, not able to think of another word in his vocabulary that was more appropriate.

"All we want is a lift," Helena said. "Just drop us off on L1 somehow and we'll take care of ourselves." Duo almost let something slip out about how a girl like her couldn't possibly hope to take care of herself in a place like the Breaks for even a minute, then decided that the comment wasn't worth it. It wasn't Helena's decision, in the end - it was Shinobu's, and Duo could understand, even if he didn't want to, why Shin was choosing this path.

Besides, Shin and Helena had hopped on the plane with Sally to come rescue him, so he figured he owed them one. And as for Darkflight...well he was sure Heero owed him one for something sometime.

"Fine," he said, heaving a deep sigh. "I'll take you."

So now he had three passengers, two who possibly could stabilize the situation if they didn't kill each other first, and one naive middle class girl who really had no clue what she was getting into. This was just going to be one barrel-full of fun.

The shuttle cockpit was a bit cramped, but the three of them had managed to bother Duo as little as possible during the flight so far. Shinobu and Darkflight would talk to each other in short, clipped sentences for a few minutes, then would watch each other in a quiet fashion as Duo messed with the controls. The atmosphere was tense, and he couldn't think of anything to do to pop the super balloon of tension that had swelled between them all.

Shin, too, had changed in a way that Duo couldn't quite put his finger on. There seemed to be a depth to him that had been... not missing, but buried deep within. Duo had always known the other boy had a dark side, but now it seemed to be barely below the surface, ready to strike as needed.

He would need it, if he expected to do anything on L1. The colony was a harsh place, and wouldn't suffer idealists or innocents.

The assassin was leaning in a seat closest to the pilot, his eyes smoothly surveying his surroundings. Had he been inexperienced, he would have been jerky, his eyes darting uneasily, but Darkflight had the smooth experience of one who was used to surveying his territory. His posture was seemingly relaxed, with his feet propped up against one of the monitors, and his hands crossed over his arms, but Duo had no doubt that it would take him .008 seconds to have a knife out and ready to be used if he felt the situation demanded it.

Dangerous, Duo recognized. A predator.

Well, Duo wasn't anyone's prey.

He noticed a bit of tightness around Darkflight's lips, and saw that his hands were white where they were clutching the simple black cloth of his shirt.

"You okay?" Duo found himself asking, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to smack himself upside the head.

"I'm fine," Darkflight said, but his voice was tight. Duo looked closely, and saw the assassin's breathing was just a bit too quick.

Great. The assassin was astrophobic.

Helena looked at them a bit uneasily since they were speaking Japanese and she still barely understood ten words of the language, but Duo pressed on when he realized what was wrong. "You know, I can give you a sedative that should last until we get to L1," he offered.

Darkflight stiffened, and he gave him a glare that Duo swore he must have learned from Heero. "No drugs."

"It's okay," Duo said. "A lot of people don't like space flight."

Helena seemed a bit surprised. "Are you okay?" she asked, suddenly noticing that Darkflight was too tense. Apparently she didn't know him well enough to read him, but usually she would be the first to notice something was wrong with someone else.

Darkflight actually seemed distracted by the blond. His eyes lingered on her hair, and Duo realized that he probably wasn't seeing her, but someone else.

He knew how that was, too.

Darkflight looked at Shinobu and asked for a translation, which the Seki heir gave warily.

"I'm fine," Darkflight said. "I just... well, it's only the second time I've flown."

"Maybe you should take something," Helena said in concern after Darkflight's reply had been given to her by Duo.

"No. No drugs," Shinobu said, and his eyes met Darkflight's in some kind of understanding that went over Helena and Duo's heads.

"This is my first trip to space, too," Helena said. She smiled at Duo shyly. "My parents never had a reason to send me, but always promised they'd let me go when I graduated. I guess I'm cheating a bit, aren't I?"

He laughed a bit. "I used to think I'd never get down to Earth, either," he said. "It seemed so far away. Now I've gone back and forth so often it should be a regular commute... but I never lose that sense of wonder of when I first embraced the stars, princess."

He hadn't called her that since the day at Cliffside, when he'd last sat on his cliff. His face grew melancholy.

She apparently remembered it, too. "Would you go back, if you could?" she asked.

"Knowing what I do now?" Duo asked. "Probably not. I'm not meant for high school."

She tried to hide the hurt, but he saw it. "I don't regret it. It was nice to pretend, you know? But... I'm not normal. None of us are. Do you think you'll be able to go back now, knowing what you do?"

She nibbled on her lip, before glancing on Shinobu. "I'm not sure I'm going back to Earth," she said. "I might stay up here."

"You're not," Shinobu said. "I wasn't planning on letting you come on this trip, remember?"

She blushed, looking away. "You agreed," she said. "And Darkflight said I can help you." She gave the assassin a sweet smile, and he rewarded her with a sniff that didn't sound as nasty as it should have.

"Against my better judgment. Duo's right about us not being able to watch you."

"I can watch myself."

Darkflight seemed to understand what was going on. He motioned to Duo this time, and demanded an explanation. Frustration showed on his face at not being able to talk directly to the pretty girl.

"Not in the Breaks," said Darkflight. "You... I shouldn't have listened to you when you changed your mind." He seemed troubled by something.

"It's too late for that. I'm on the ship, and that's that." She looked at the monitors, sighing a bit. "Space is so beautiful, isn't it?"

"It's too big," Darkflight said.

"We live here," Duo said softly in Japanese, trusting Shinobu to translate for Helena. "No matter how you look at it, that's what the Colonies and Earth have in common. We're all floating out in the great beyond that is called space, just tiny specks in a vastness we can't even begin to comprehend."

Darkflight actually seemed to pale, despite his dark skin. "I'd rather not think about it."

"Most people wouldn't," Duo said. "It's why there's so many problems."

Darkflight rolled his eyes. "It's not my fault. I'm actually trying here, against my better judgment, to do this making a difference shit that Wi - Heero has apparently gotten reminded of."

Duo stared at the other boy sadly. Something about Darkflight reminded him of tarnished silver, something that had the potential to be shining and wonderful, if only someone found the time to polish it.

"I always thought Heero invented it," Duo said. "Whenever things went to hell in a handbasket, you knew you could count on him. Did he really change that much?"

Darkflight seemed to freeze. His body tensed, and Duo knew that the fight-or-flight reaction was about to kick in before Darkflight managed to get himself back under control. "No... no, he didn't."

It was weird, Duo thought, to be jealous of an assassin from the Breaks. Duo had fought hard to escape his upbringing, to keep from sliding into a life of drugs and self-destruction, and seeing the dark teenager sitting next to him was like seeing a glimpse of what he should have become, if he hadn't been lucky enough to fall in with Solo and Father Maxwell and Sister Helen.

But he _was_ jealous, because Heero had replaced him with... this boy. Hadn't they been best friends?

He ruthlessly suppressed the surge of petty jealousy, knowing it had no place, not right now. War made for strange bedfellows, and now he and Darkflight needed to get along if they were going to succeed in bringing some kind of peace - or at least a ceasefire - to L1.

The shuttle the Preventers had supplied him with was mediocre, Duo knew, because most of their best were actually out in the field being used by personnel. He could feel a strange surge on one of the engines, and he had to make compensations for that. It was a good thing, because it gave him an excuse to not trust the autopilots.

They were less than an hour away from L1 when Helena finally started to get nervous. She toyed with her hair, checked on Darkflight (who still seemed slightly green around the gills), and tried to talk to Shinobu, who seemed to be lost in his thoughts. The cabin was too small for her to pace, but he had the feeling that she would be doing that too, were this their room.

His temper finally broke. "Sit down, Helena," he ordered.

She glared at him. "Why? We're not in landing mode yet."

"I need to concentrate, and you're distracting me," he replied, fiddling with a control that would cut the power to the right engine by .05 percent. "This is delicate work."

Helena looked like she was ready to say something biting, but Shinobu stopped her by pulling her down into his lap. "Listen to Duo. It's one of the first rules of spaceflight - always listen to the pilot, even if they are being a pain in the ass."

She huffed a bit, but leaned her head against his shoulder. "I'm sorry, but being cooped up here for fourteen hours is driving me stir-crazy."

"I know." Shinobu's hand stroked her cheek gently.

"You can't do that," Darkflight said suddenly, staring at Shinobu's hand.

"What did he say?" Helena asked, but Shinobu's hand fell away, and he shifted Helena off his lap.

"I know," Shinobu said in Japanese.

"Shinobu?" Helena whispered, sounding a bit afraid. She still didn't understand Japanese, and was starting to think that was a serious problem. Did anyone on L1 speak English?

Duo tried to keep his eyes on the controls, not wanting to hear the very personal conversation that was about to take place. Darkflight had no such qualms, twirling a knife between his fingers as he watched the Seki heir with dispassionate eyes.

"You can't be my girlfriend, Helena," he said, switching to English, which sounded broken and fractured. "I can't show you any favoritism where we're about to go."

She opened her mouth, and her lips moved a few times before an ironic smile found itself on her face. "You know," she said after a moment, "I didn't think like that. I think... I thought...." she trailed off and shrugged helplessly.

He felt equally helpless. "You should go home, Helena. As soon as you can, you should go home. I never should have let you come."

"Probably not."

Helena was different than Hilde, Duo reflected as he began to make preparations for entry. Hilde would have fought about being told what to do, but Helena accepted the inevitable. Then again, Helena already had her way in getting to come, so there was no point in her screaming about how nasty the menfolk were being.

Women were devious creatures sometimes.

"We're preparing for descent," Duo announced. "Another half an hour."

Darkflight and Shinobu exchanged looks, and Duo was amazed how in sync they seemed to be already.

"Can I ask what the hell you two are going to do once you get down there?"

Shinobu shrugged. "I have no clue? I haven't been to L1 in three years?"

Duo almost hit his head against his control panel. "Why the hell are you so determined to come back, then?"

"Because no one else will," Shinobu said. "Like it or not, it's my home. They need a leader - I'm going to give them one. I'll work with the devil himself if that's what it takes - but Darkflight's not the devil. He's my ally."

Darkflight looked at the Seki heir in consideration. "It's our home. It's not much, but that little ball floating in the vastness of space is home," he said, shutting his eyes. "I... there's people there I care for, and I want them to be okay."

Duo's breath caught as something Heero had said came to him suddenly, as he realized that like the Messiah, a prophecy was about to come true.

_I wouldn't be a pilot if I wasn't able to believe in humanity. One day there won't be a need for people like you and me, Duo. I hope we both live to see that day._

_That day is almost here, Heero, if an assassin and a cartel heir can put aside their differences to try to save the people that live in a world many would call hell_, Duo thought.

He focused on the controls to hide the tears that threatened to spill over. _Boys don't cry...._

_But men do...._

He hoped his voice wasn't choked up as he adjusted the flaps in preparation for colony reentry. "Deathscythe and I'll see that you guys have the chance to calm people down," he promised.

Turning back, he stared at the three, knowing that he had just sworn to become the last line of defense. Even if it killed him, he was going to make sure the missiles never hit.

_There may not be a need for people like me anymore,_ he thought, _but there's definitely a need for people like the three of you._

**END SAINAN NO KEKKA ACT XI**


	44. Soaring To the Future

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2002 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

**SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT XII, PART I**

** Ore dake no kotoba de  
Kimi ni tsutaetai  
Kanashimi no mukou ni  
Kagayaki ga mieru **

**Seishun tte kotoba wa  
Sukoshi tereru kedo  
Ichido dake no kyou o  
Muda ni shitaku nai**

**Dare datte hitotsu ya futatsu  
Kizuato wo kokoro ni kakaete iru  
**

** In my own words  
I want to tell you  
In the distant sadness  
I saw the light**

**Though the words of youth  
Are a little shy  
Today comes only once  
I don't want to waste it**

**Everyone carries a few scars  
Inside of their hearts  
**

**--Gundam Wing, _Ore Dake no Kotoba de_  
_In My Own Words_, Heero Yuy image song**

**Scene I: Epyon's Revenge**

_"It's almost over, it's almost over  
No more war and no more soldiers..."  
-- Smashing Pumpkins, With Every Light_

No matter how hard she tried, Hilde couldn't keep her hands from shaking.

Flying Epyon was like flying a clone of Wing Zero except that Epyon was...darker, if a Gundam could be described that way. Wing Zero was the avenging angel, but Epyon was the devil, with a feeling of impending doom that permeated the cockpit and which Hilde could feel in her very bones even as she had first sat down gingerly in the pilot's seat and tried to familiarize herself with the control panel. It wasn't very different from Wing Zero's after all.

She was insane.

She was sure Duo would have told her that, which was part of the reason she'd agreed to Relena's harebrained scheme in the first place. When the Queen of Cinq had showed up at her door a few hours ago, she'd been startled, wondering what would bring one of the most powerful politicians in the world to the door of a humble ex-Federation soldier.

"I have a favor to ask," Relena had said, and with those words, Hilde felt her world turning upside-down again.

Her whole body, all of her instincts and all of her reason, had said no. Stealing a mobile suit wasn't something that was entirely foreign to her, but this was Epyon they were talking about. She had no doubt that once Une found out about this, the whole Preventers fleet would be sent out after them to get the suit back, and it wouldn't matter a whit who Relena was.

"Does your brother know you're doing this?" she had asked, then had realized that didn't need an answer. Relena was stealing Epyon from under Zechs' nose, and Zechs would not be happy when he found out, either.

"Maybe you should reconsider, Relena," she'd said gently, wondering if the young queen had suddenly gone insane. She'd heard of it before, of people cracking under stress, and Relena was certainly under a lot of stress right now. "I think if you went home, got some sleep-"

"Yes or no? Are you coming with me or not?"

It was then that Hilde realized that Relena wasn't crazy, that she had her mind and heart set on going through with the plan, and if Hilde didn't agree to take her, the other girl would try to pilot Epyon herself.

She had tried not to wince, imagining the damage and destruction an untrained pilot could do in the cockpit of a Gundam, not to mention the fact that Epyon was equipped with the Zero system and would probably completely fry Relena's mind before she got off the ground.

The Zero system.

Hilde'd blanched at the thought. The memory of her journey to Earth in Wing Zero was still raw and fresh, and sometimes she would still wake up with nightmares in which she was again in the cockpit looking out into space, seeing Duo die. The last thing she wanted was to willingly expose herself to that hellish machine again.

And yet...

Hilde Schbeiker was a fighter, and the Zero system was something she had faced and hadn't conquered. That was no shame in itself – Duo had admitted to her that he'd been defeated by the system as well – but the competitor in Hilde refused to let herself admit that victory wasn't possible. Sure, the Zero system had beaten her once, but she was prepared. What if she faced it again knowing how it worked? Didn't logic conclude that it was possible for her to master it this time?

She was just as capable a pilot as anyone she knew, and she would not be beaten by a machine.

The thought had chafed at her as Relena stared her down with those hard blue eyes. Hilde had never met Zechs Merquise in person, but she'd seen pictures of him and seen him on the news. Brother and sister had the same eyes.

"Quit staring at me," she said. "You look like your brother, and he's pretty scary as it is."

Apparently she said something wrong again, because something that seemed very much like anger and resentment flared up in the other girl's face, and Hilde sighed inwardly. But Relena didn't give her the chewing-out that she had thought was coming. Instead, the queen simply sighed and looked down at the ground, deflating a bit. Hilde blinked, realizing then that Relena really wasn't crazy, but that this was the direct result of something else that had happened recently.

"Won't you come in?" she had said, watching Relena take a seat on the bed. Hilde closed the door. "All right. What happened?"

"Milliard can't take Epyon," Relena said simply. "So I'm going to."

Hilde gaped. "That's your reason?"

"I owe him," Relena said wearily. They must have had a fight, the queen and her brother. Belatedly, Hilde realized she'd overheard that Milliard Peacecraft was in the hospital on Geneva after he'd been shot down at Kashmir. "I said...some hurtful things to him. I want to make it up to him."

"Relena-"

"And that's not all," Relena continued, hurrying on as if she might lose her nerve if she didn't get all the words out in a split second, and Hilde wouldn't be surprised if that was really the case. "If I don't take Epyon, he'll go out again. He's in no shape – he's badly injured and exhausted. But he'll want to go after Sally, and I can't let him do that."

"He'll come after you, you know, once he's heard that you're gone."

Relena stared at Hilde challengingly. "If you were me and Duo was in Milliard's place, and you knew that if he went up there to fly, he might die...wouldn't you steal his ship and take his place?"

Hilde froze, the events of three weeks ago resurfacing in her memory.

_I'm sorry Duo, but I have to do this._

"That's not fair," she mumbled, but she knew Relena was right. She had taken Wing Zero because she didn't want Duo to fly it, knew that if Duo flew it the Zero system would have wreaked the same havoc on his mind as it had on hers. She did it because she loved Duo.

Zero system or no Zero system, was it really fair of her to deny Relena the same?

"You told me when I last talked to you," Relena said, "that I was the most powerful politician in known space. To act rather than react. That I had the power to aid the ones I love."

Hilde nodded grudgingly, not liking the fact that Relena was firing her own words back at her, but unable to deny the fact that she'd said them.

"I'm acting now rather than reacting, and I need your help. You're not happy in being left behind. I know you're not. Here's your chance."

Hilde stared at her and Relena stared back. The ticking of the clock on the mantle was very loud in the silence.

In the end, it all came down to how much people were willing to risk for the ones they loved. She could help Duo. Relena could help Zechs...and Heero. If Hilde agreed.

"Fine," she said, before she could change her mind. "Fine. I'll go with you."

The guards, recognizing Relena, had let them into the Gundam's hangar once Relena assured them that her brother had sent her to make sure his beloved mobile suit was safe and repaired. Hilde wished they had flightsuits, but civilian clothes would have to do for this flight. It was a simple matter of getting up to the cockpit, opening the hatch, and familiarizing herself with the controls.

It was a rather tight squeeze in the cockpit, but as both girls were light and small in frame, Hilde still had room to move around and take the controls. She had thought Relena would be more of a nuisance than anything, but even though the other girl hadn't ever piloted a mobile suit before, she proved surprisingly adaptable to life in the cockpit, picking up the functions of switches and systems after one explanation. Hilde had told her that it was good for her to know how the suit worked even though she wasn't piloting just for information's sake, and Relena had seemed to accept that explanation.

She didn't tell Relena that if the Zero system incapacitated her again, the other girl would have to pilot the Gundam. And that was a very likely possibility.

Hilde had felt sure of her odds against the Zero system before they'd snuck out of her room and out to the flightline, but now, inside the cockpit, she could feel the vestiges of the system pressing down on her mind even though it hadn't activated yet – just the sheer thought of being in the grip of the jaws of that program gave her the chills.

And yet there was no turning back now. Swallowing, she finished the final checkups and hit the power.

There was a split second's pause and then, just as in Wing Zero, she could feel Epyon gather itself beneath her, as if stretching long unused muscles. She saw the eerie green glow reflected around them, bouncing off the hangar walls, as the Gundam's eyes lit.

If she let herself drift for just a second, she could almost feel Epyon breathing.

"What the – hey! Stop!"

She saw the hangar guards rush towards them, but it was too late. She was in a Gundam, and they were on foot and armed with conventional weapons. Making a mental note to ask Duo why the hangar guards didn't at least have mobile suits, she turned to Relena, who looked pale but determined.

"Hang on," she said, and the queen nodded briefly, and Hilde began turning the Gundam around, felt the ground shake as one of Epyon's great feet hit the ground, then the other. The hangar was completely sealed shut, but it would be no problem to cut through the wall with the beam saber.

She wondered if the Zero system would engage when she lit the saber, but the cockpit remained dark as she raised the energy blade high and sliced through the wall of the hangar as if it were paper.

"And we're off," she yelled to Relena above the whine of the systems, hitting the power to engines, bracing herself as the whiplash hit her, wincing as she heard Relena's yelp of pain and realizing she'd forgotten to warn her that the initial startup of the engines tended to be a bit of a shock to those who weren't prepared for it.

And then Epyon launched itself into the sky like a wild animal, and as the stars spun closer, Hilde barely retained the sense of mind to remember how to work the throttle and engine controls. She had been wrong about Epyon. It was similar to Wing Zero as far as controls and basic functions, but where Wing Zero was a mass of durability, a built-to-last war machine, Epyon was half as light and twice as lethal. She was quite sure that Zero and Epyon had been built with the same specs and that this one had received some modifications since the last time it had been used in the Eve Wars, but Zechs' Gundam was like nothing else she had ever flown.

"Hilde? HILDE?"

She realized Relena had been calling her name for the last minute or so, and shook herself. "I'm fine. It's just...I can't believe how powerful this thing is. Your brother must be one hell of a pilot, Relena."

Relena raised an eyebrow at the indirect compliment but didn't comment. "What's going on?"

"We're going to be flying at a pretty high altitude, so I'm waiting for the altimeter to tell us that we're at the correct height. Then I'm going to be punching in the trajectory. You ok?"

The queen nodded, and Hilde made another mental note to remind Duo that Relena Peacecraft wasn't as fragile and timid as people would make it seem.

"We're going to Sparta," Relena said. "Our latest intelligence suggests that Sally is there to steal some of the Preventers mobile suits before going up into space, so we're going to stop her."

Hilde blinked. "Space?" She stared at Relena. "Surely you're not saying that we're going into space after her."

"If we have to," Relena said calmly, "I have no objection."

Hilde whistled under her breath and turned back to the nav computer, hoping to God that Sally was stopped at Sparta. She hadn't bargained on going back up to space any time soon, and she didn't want to do it in a stolen Gundam with no life support suits. She had faith that Zechs' state-of-the-art life support system was fully capable of supporting two humans into space, but...going into space wasn't something that one did spur of the moment.

She turned to tell Relena that, and saw that the other girl was hunched over, staring outside the cockpit, looking lost. One tear leaked from the corner of her eye, and for a moment Hilde was reminded of herself, knowing that she had to steal Wing Zero to keep Duo from coming to harm, yet hating herself for doing it.

"Relena?"

"I just want him to be proud of me," Relena choked out, and Hilde freed one arm from her restraints, leaning over and giving Relena a huge hug.

"I know," she whispered. "Believe me, things will work out. You'll see."

Relena gave her a watery smile and Hilde winked. "You and me against the world, girl...no one can stop us!"

She keyed in the last code for Sparta and sat back in the seat as Epyon flew on. The lightness of the craft and the quickness to which it responded to commands was still amazing her. Relena shifted beside her and Hilde crooked a finger, motioning her to come closer.

"This is the nav control pad. Entering the coordinates isn't much harder than driving a car, if you know what you're doing. There's an automatic GPS system built in so if you don't know the coordinates you're going to, you can pull it up on the map."

Relena's gaze met hers, and Hilde realized the queen knew why Hilde was explaining all this to her. "We'll be all right, Hilde," she said. "You'll be all right. I believe in you."

Hilde's hands clenched on the stick. "I flew Wing Zero back to Earth," she said softly. "I faced the Zero system and I lost. I don't know how well I'll do with the Zero system the second go around." Looking Relena square in the face. "I'll be honest. I'm scared. I agreed to go with you not only because I knew that you needed me to help you get Epyon off the ground, but because I refuse to believe that I've been beaten forever by the Zero system. But there's a very real chance that when it engages and when it really matters, I won't be able to help you. There's also a very real chance we both might die."

She could see Relena processing her words behind those bright blue eyes. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried," Relena said at last. "But it's also something I've thought about. The Zero system in the end...is just a bunch of numbers. I asked Dorothy about that once, how she could have beaten the Zero system when so few people could, and she said it was down to the living brain of man versus the digital brain of the machine. She said as long as you don't forget who you are..."

"I know," Hilde returned softly. "But still, I am afraid. The things I saw..." she trailed off, and the two girls stared outside together at the clouds. It was almost 4 AM. The sun would rise soon.

"It should take about three hours or so to get to Sparta," Hilde said. "You might as well take a nap."

"I'm not tired."

Hilde smiled. "Neither am I."

The sky gradually grew lighter and Hilde felt herself dozing off in spite of her brave words earlier. Her body was tired though her brain was awake, and once when she looked over, she saw Relena doing the same. This was a crazy plan, she told herself tiredly. Duo would have a fit if he found out. Somehow that thought filled her with a kind of fiendish glee. It wasn't the first time she'd snuck out and done something behind his back, and he should be used to it by now, but it hadn't ever been something of this magnitude.

If Relena died on this flight, it would be very likely that Hilde would be facing a trial and heavy prison sentence for stealing a Gundam and failing to protect the Queen of Cinq. She had a feeling that Zechs Merquise would probably not push for a light sentence either.

But that was all in the future. And the future could be changed. She thought back to her vision of the future that she had seen in the Zero of Duo dying, of Duo's visions that he had seen when he had been under the Zero system. So far, neither of those had come to pass, and she refused to believe that they were set in stone.

_I will not be beaten!_

The hours ticked away and when she looked over at the nav computer and saw the numbers flashing thirty minutes to destination, she shook Relena.

"Almost there. Time to wake up."

The other girl rubbed her eyes sleepily and blinked at the screen. Hilde turned her attention to the weapons controls, making sure everything was charged up, and Relena watched her curiously.

"Are you sure Sally is at Sparta?"

"No," Relena admitted, "but it's the most likely place."

Hilde reached over and flipped on the radio. She had wanted to fly under radio silence as long as she could, but the best way of knowing what to expect at destination was to listen to base traffic on the radio waves.

A jabber of voices filled the cockpit, with sounds of explosions, and the two girls looked at each other. Relena's face was white.

"She's there," she said, and Hilde nodded tightly. She felt suddenly lightheaded for some reason, but tried to ignore it. It was not the time for her lack of sleep to be catching up with her.

"I guess we're at the right place."

"Coming up on your right, two at nine 'o clock", someone snapped over the comm, and there was a screech and whine of static, and then a very familiar voice.

"All units pull back to four-nine-zero. That way's blocked! We need to regroup."

Relena's hands went to her mouth, and Hilde froze. There was no mistaking that voice.

"Heero!"

"I wonder if Duo's with him," Hilde whispered. The lightheadedness was giving her double vision, and everything was moving increasingly slowly, as if she was trapped in a big tub of molasses and unable to breathe.

"Hilde, I-"

"No cold feet!" Hilde said firmly, giving herself a good shake to try and rid herself of the double vision and the feeling of time stretching. "We can't go back now."

There was a dim golden glow at the edge of her vision, and with a sudden startling clarity she realized that the double vision and the dizziness were not products of her sleep-deprived mind.

The Zero system had activated.

"Relena," she said, hearing her voice as if from a thousand miles away, slurred and almost indecipherable. "If they call on the comm...don't...answer..."

"Hilde? HILDE?"

"Relena?" she tried to say, but the world was fading away rapidly and she could feel herself falling and floating at the same time, seeing the cockpit of Epyon as if through the wrong end of a telescope, all bathed in yellow, spinning around and around like a gyroscope. She was so dizzy.

It was only a split second warning that she had before she saw them in her viewscreen, thousands of mobile suits, all coming for her. Too close! They were too close! How could she not have seen them coming?

All at once, they fired, thousands of beams streaking towards her with pinpoint accuracy, and the Gundam wasn't responding to her frantic course corrections.

The beams hit. Epyon shuddered like a wounded animal. She could hear it screaming.

She screamed too, feeling her throat slick and raw from the sound. She tried to jerk the stick to the left, but Epyon still wouldn't move, staying on wobbly course as if the flight control systems were entirely dead, though they still showed green on the panel.

The enemy's guns glowed and she could see they were preparing to fire one final time. Epyon's hull was shot. One of its engines was out. She threw an arm over her eyes, knowing she was going to die, and yet everything around her was strangely calm. Maybe it was the eerie yellow glow that hung over everything like a cloud of fine dust or sunlight, or maybe it was the fact that everything was moving in slow motion. A mobile suit broke from the enemy crowd and she could see it slowly tumbling over on itself, rotating in mid-air with smoke billowing out from the fuselage, and one second seemed like an hour.

The enemy fired. The beams streaked towards her, spears of white-hot light.

She braced himself for the impact-

And then everything disappeared.

"What-" she tried to say, but she seemed to have lost her voice, and it was only her and Epyon, alone in the great vast blackness known as space, stars as far as the eye could see, and then there was something in the corner of the screen, something coming towards her.

"Duo?" she whispered, reaching out to touch him, at once relieved to see him and feeling that something was terribly wrong.

"Hey Hil," he grinned. He was holding something... _holding the beautiful Earth in his hands, cradling it close to his chest._

"No..." she whispered in horror. "This can't be."

_His wink convinced her that it was no other. "Wanna play a game of catch?" he said, holding the ball out to throw it._

_"No!" she yelled, horrified. She wasn't sure what would happen if she missed catching the ball, but was sure it would be a Very Bad Thing._

_He gave her his hurt-puppy expression. "Ah, Hilde... you know me better then that. I was just teasing." He held the ball out, and stared into its depths, a smile on his face. "It's so beautiful." Then his expression perked up, as though he was hearing something she couldn't._

"No, Duo," she begged him. "Don't do it, Duo. Don't do it!"

_He ignored her, half turning to a shadowy figure. Hilde couldn't make out any features, but Duo obviously recognized the person. "Oi! Glad to see ya!" he said, speaking to the newcomer. "We're in trouble, some people want to-" he was cut off by a brilliant flash of silver that jammed into his stomach._

Hilde screamed.

His eyes were wide as he looked up at her, as if seeing her for the first time all over again. "Oh...hello Hil," he whispered, grimacing in pain, then looked down at the knife piercing his stomach in some semblance of surprise. "I..."

"NO!" she shrieked, launching Epyon at him.

She wasn't quite sure how it happened, but somehow the cockpit opened and she felt herself suddenly ejected, tumbling head over heels through the nothing that space was, not wearing any sort of space suit but still breathing, still alive. Her hands clamped onto something warm. Duo.

"I won't let you go!" she said fiercely into his ear. "I won't let you go!"

"Hil-"

"NO!" she shouted, and drew him close to her, as if by crushing his body to hers, she could save him. There was something warm and wet against her abdomen and she closed her eyes, feeling the tears slip down her cheeks, refusing to think about the fact that it was Duo's blood.

"Hil, I..."

Her eyes flew open. The world! What happened to the world?

"Oh God," she whimpered, seeing the silver and blue globe disappearing beneath them from when Duo had dropped it as he'd been stabbed. "No...no!"

"Go save them, Hil," he whispered. He touched her cheek. She stared at him, stricken, not wanting to believe this was the end yet again.

Yet again?

_Something's wrong here...something..._

"I can't leave you," she insisted, hugging him to her, knowing that if the Earth disappeared beneath them that they would both die, but telling herself at the moment she didn't care as long as he was with her.

"You have to, Hil."

"I WON'T!"

"Look at me, Hilde!" His commanding tone forced her gaze up to his face, warped with pain, yet strangely calm. "You can't save me, but you can save the world. People are counting on you. Will you let them down?"

"I don't want to save the world!"

"But you have that power," he shot back. "Are you going to waste it all on a selfish wish?"

She cried against his shoulder, not knowing how he could be so cruel, and then she felt his hands on hers, gently loosening her grip.

"Go now, Hilde. You have something you need to do."

"I can't," she sobbed. "I'm not strong enough... I can't..."

"Hilde?"

Another voice...there wasn't supposed to be another voice. It was just her and Duo...Duo's body stiffened against hers.

"Hilde. Go now!"

The new voice must be the person who had tried to kill Duo. "I won't let you have him!" she cried, not letting Duo's fingers in their weakened state loosen her grip on his shoulders. "You can't have him!"

"Hilde, look at me! Please, Hilde..."

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" she screamed. She felt a hand on her shoulder and raised an arm to slam it behind her and knock the perpetrator unconscious.

"Hilde! It's me! It's Relena!"

Relena.

She froze. She knew that name. Why was that name so important? She sensed a sudden change in the set of Duo's body and he relaxed against her, going almost limp.

"Duo!" she shrieked, and he nodded his head so slightly.

"Go...with her...Hilde..."

She wrenched herself from his body with tears blinding her, felt herself float backwards and slam into something else, another warm body. One arm wrapped itself around her waist, holding her steady.

"I won't let you go," Relena's voice said, and Hilde raised her eyes and turned her head to look behind her and saw that Relena was bleeding, a huge diagonal gash across her face from her forehead, across her nose, running down to her neck. Beneath the torn skin and flesh above her eye, a fragment of bone gleamed. The blood dripped, thick and red, onto Hilde's shirt.

"Relena-"

"Don't worry about me," the other girl said, and held up her other hand. "You dropped this."

The bright Earth was in her hand and Hilde took it, hugging it to her, crying silent tears. "Come on, Hilde," Relena said. "It's time to go."

"I can't leave him," she cried, struggling against the hand that held her to go back to Duo's body, its limp form drifting away from her into the distance. If he disappeared there was no getting him back...she had to get to him before it was too late.

"He's dead, Hilde! There's nothing you can do."

"I can't leave him!"

"You can't keep him forever, Hilde," Relena intoned softly. "All you can do is look ahead to the future and try to change it." She pointed to the globe in Hilde's hands. "And you have the means to do that."

She knew Relena was right, but as Duo's body faded into the distance and was lost, she could only clutch the globe to her chest and sob.

"Hilde!"

The pressure around her waist eased and she realized Relena had relaxed her grasp. Looking around, she was startled to see Epyon there behind her, its dark form ominous against the light of the stars but at once strangely comforting, beckoning to her.

"It's your choice, Hilde," Relena said. "I can't make it for you...but the world needs you. I need you. I can't do this without you."

Duo...

Duo had sacrificed his life for her and for the brilliant globe she was now holding in her hands. She looked down at it, looked up at Epyon, wondering what it would say if Gundams could speak.

Hesitated.

"Come on, Hilde," Relena said. "I'm with you." The other girl held out one hand, and she could see the stars sparkling around her and around Epyon's armored head, its spiked tail. Calling her. "Come with me. Let's get out of here."

Hilde looked down at the Earth in her hands one final time, closing her eyes and squeezing out the last of her tears. "All right," she whispered and reached out her hand-

The world rocked on its foundations and they were rushing against the wind, faster than anything that had ever moved before, rushing into the distance-

Scenes spun before her eyes – her mother, her family, Howard. Her classmates at basic training, her friends who had been killed in battle. Zechs Merquise and Heero Yuy facing off against a backdrop of dying suns. The Peacemillion. Duo's smile. Deathscythe Hell cutting through the darkness of space-

The Zero system.

The yellow glow pounded against her eyelids and she straightened, squared her shoulders and stared it straight in the eye.

_I WILL NOT BE BEATEN!_

- and she jerked against the seat restraints, opened her eyes to see the ground rushing up rapidly before her on the viewscreen. Giving a hoarse shout, she grabbed the stick with both hands and yanked it up, praying they would make it in time before they were pulverized into the ground in a mass of molten Gundanium.

Epyon shuddered. She heard the ear-splitting grinding of gears and was afraid for half a second the machine wouldn't respond. But the Gundam didn't let her down. With a suddenness that left her stomach churning, it reversed directions and shot back up into the sky with a deafening roar of engines. Gunshots pinged past the windows.

Her vision seemed brighter, clearer, and she wove through the web of gunfire with ease as Epyon gained altitude, soaring into the sky.

"Gundam Epyon!" the comm squawked. "Gundam Epyon, this is Sparta Command. Commander Peacecraft, please respond!"

Commander Peacecraft?

And then it all came crashing back to her. The Zero system. The vision of Duo again. Epyon. Relena.

"Relena!" she cried, forgetting about the enemy for a minute as she turned around to check on the other girl.

"Gundam Epyon!" chattered the comm, but she ignored it.

Relena was collapsed against the back of the cockpit, unconscious, slumped against the floor. Hilde's breath hissed between her teeth, but Relena didn't seem to be bleeding, and there was no trace of the slash on her face that she had been wounded with in the vision that the Zero had given her.

Hilde blinked.

She had...beaten the Zero system.

Relena must have realized what had happened, but instead of following Hilde's orders to take control of the Gundam, she had willingly entered herself into the system to get Hilde back out. She felt a flash of guilt at how much the young queen had risked on her behalf...though if she hadn't, they might both be dead by now. She remembered how close Epyon had been to crashing into the ground and realized she must have lost control of the craft while the Zero system had control of her.

Hilde cast one last look at Relena to make sure she was still breathing, and then turned her attention to her attackers. With the Zero aiding her vision, it was almost too easy to predict their movements, evade their fire, and catch them unawares, sending them crashing to the ground in fiery balls of burning fuel.

Duo had died again in the dream. She couldn't save him...but strangely, she felt less guilt over his death than she had the first time.

_You can't keep him forever_, Relena had said, and she realized that the other girl understood much better than she did what it meant to love someone like Heero Yuy or Duo Maxwell.

Trowa Barton's words came back to her. _Loving a pilot is the hardest thing in the world. Chances are, none of us will die of old age...our luck will run out someday. When I left my sister, I doomed her to always wondering about me, and having no definite answers. To love us, there's always that uncertainty..._

Epyon's heat-rod tail whip was molten metal in her hands, and as it sliced cleanly through an enemy Aries, sending it streaking down to earth with a fiery trail in its wake, she realized the sun was rising.

"Gundam Epyon," the comm said again, but it was a different voice, familiar to her ears. "Colonel Peacecraft, answer me! This is Marauder Leader!"

Her targeting module beeped, and she could see that, plunging toward Epyon through the sea of enemy mobile suits and gunfire, was Wing Zero.

Grimly, she flicked on the comm. "Hello, Heero Yuy," she said.

She had the pleasure of seeing him look startled. "Hilde?"

"None other."

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Your girl didn't want to be left behind," she said, allowing herself a small grin as she dispatched a Taurus. The Zero system flickered and she spun Epyon around, making a tight 360 degree turn that she would have never been able to do in a regular mobile suit, catching two more Tauruses off guard and giving each of them two nicely placed shots in the engines. Wing Zero emerged through the resulting fireball, firing off deadly accurate shots with its blaster rifle with almost careless ease.

"What!"

"Relena. She's here with me."

He looked shocked. She was tempted to seize the rare moment and say something, to tease him, but the situation was too serious for that.

"Where is she?"

"We had a run-in with the Zero system and she's currently unconscious. Don't worry," she said to the questions she knew he was going to ask before she'd finished the sentence. "She's fine, as far as I can tell. She just had a hell of a lot of trouble pulling me out."

"If she's hurt-" he began darkly, and she waved him off.

"I'd be a lot more concerned with what Big Brother is going to do once he finds out she stole his Gundam and took off."

"Looks more like you stole Epyon," he returned. "Watch out on your left, eight 'o clock!"

"Got it covered," she returned. "And it was Relena's idea, not mine. She needed a pilot. Watch my back?"

"Roger," he said, and Wing Zero came streaking toward her, slowing abruptly as it came along her starboard side, and fell into position at her back as she started firing, feeling the slow, satisfied little glow she always did when she was fighting with an expert pilot as her wingman, knowing that the two of them could take on anything.

"Where's Sally?"

"I don't know," Heero said, the scar rippling as he frowned. "That worries me. We've been fighting her forces for more than three hours now, and I don't understand why she hasn't shown up by now, unless she's on the way to L3. But from everything I've heard, she would be crazy to try and breach L3's defenses unless she's got more firepower. The Preventers' Colony Base is there."

Hilde nodded and was about to respond when a weak voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Hilde?"

"You're awake!" she exclaimed as the Zero system alerted her to a five-ship formation approaching from the northeast.

"Relena?" Heero's gaze shifted, and Hilde glanced quickly at Relena to see the other girl smiling.

"Heero...I thought I would come help you..."

"You're crazy," he retorted, but there was little vehemence in his voice. "I can't let you stay here...you'll get killed."

"I need to do this, Heero," Relena said with a tone in her voice that told both of them it was useless to argue with her. "Don't tell me to leave. I won't."

"I'm not going to tell you what to do," he said, and Wing Zero shifted places on the screen into what Hilde recognized as a five-point formation. A mobile suit exploded directly above her and she narrowly avoided the resulting shrapnel as she shifted into the formation to match Heero. "I've given up trying to tell you what to do." To Hilde's shock, Heero smiled, a mere quirking of the lips that might not have amounted to much on someone else, but on Heero, it was a genuine smile. "I will try and keep you safe...Hilde's a fair pilot herself...but you realize the danger you're in."

"I know," Relena said. "Thank you."

"It's my turn to say thank you," Hilde cut in. "For saving me, Relena."

She felt a small hand on her shoulder. "You had it in you, Hilde, to beat the Zero system. I just helped a bit."

"You know what," Hilde said. "There's a backup set of gun controls to your left. If you want to help, have at 'em."

She could feel Relena hesitate for a second, and then the other girl grasped the controls. "I do want to help," she said with a conviction in her voice that caused Hilde to look admiringly at her just as she squeezed the trigger. The shot went wide on the scope, but she could see Relena trembling and knew just how much it was taking the other girl to do this. Epyon banked to avoid a barrage of shots and Hilde wished she had a g-suit.

"You don't have to-" she began, but Relena glared at her.

"I want to," she repeated, as her next shot hit an Aries in the left leg. "I'm acting, remember, not reacting."

"Your girlfriend's got spunk," Hilde said over the comm, and was rewarded with Heero's glare before his attention suddenly shifted, his lips compressing into a thin line.

The console beeped.

"Marauder Leader, we've got a bogie at six 'o clock, just above the horizon!"

"She's here," Heero's curt voice said, and Hilde looked at the targeting screen again. It had lit up and was beeping with the frantic beep that signaled approaching enemy reinforcements.

"Preventers, regroup!" Heero commanded. "Unit leaders, formation Foxtrot. The enemy's here."

"Roger. Unit leaders regrouping. Battle formation commencing."

There were seven transports in all, and Hilde looked helplessly at the screen, realizing that those seven transports held more than twice the number of Preventers forces all combined. As the first cargo door opened, she had already prepared herself for the brightly colored form of Heavyarms as it emerged from the hold, Tauruses streaming out from behind it like a colony of insects swarming in for the kill.

"Heero?" she breathed. "This isn't going to be pretty." Beside her, she felt Relena shift, steadying herself.

"Yes, we're outnumbered," Heero said. "But we're not running."

"I know," Hilde said. "We're ready."

* * *

**Scene II: The Wisdom of Mortals**

_"To be near the goal while the enemy is still far from it,  
to wait at ease while the enemy is toiling and struggling,  
to be well-fed while the enemy is famished –  
this is the art of husbanding one's strength."  
- Sun Tzu, The Art of War_

"Let them go," Une said, not bothering to look up from her sandwich.

"But-" Enrico Lopez, who had just informed her of the theft of Epyon, looked extremely frustrated with his commander, who seemed to not be taking a word he was saying seriously.

"I'm not going to be the one to tell Relena Peacecraft she can't have a Gundam if she wants one," Une said, seeming more interested in the fact there was too much mayo on her turkey and rye than the fact that one of the most dangerous weapons known to mankind had just been stolen from her command.

Lopez sighed, looking frustrated. "Ma'am, I have to protest. She's a civilian, and-"

"Technically Epyon isn't Preventer property. We could get annoyed at them for destruction of property, but I don't think I want to lock horns with her. She's got diplomatic immunity, Lopez."

Lopez actually did tug on his hair this time. "Ma'am-"

"Get used to it. It's called politics."

It was hard not to laugh at the look Lopez gave her, but she was tired and the snickers escaped. It felt like kicking a puppy, really, but sometimes she thought Lopez asked for it.

"Look, Lopez. We have less than twenty-four hours before hell breaks loose — or doesn't. If Relena Peacecraft thinks that stealing her brother's Gundam is going to make a difference, I'm inclined to believe her."

"It's against regulations."

"I threw the rule book out when I held a sword to Winner's throat. When this is over, I'm out. There's no way I can save myself anymore, so we might as well have a blast going down," Une said.

She'd felt remarkably free for the last two days, knowing that none of her decisions would have to be measured on the political scale. She was screwed, knew it, and that gave her the ability to not give a damn about what they thought.

For once, she'd been able to lead the way she'd wanted to, rather than the way she'd been expected to, and she'd accomplished amazing amounts.

Her units had been deployed more efficiently, and for once shed gotten rid of a few of the deadweight officers who she'd been obligated to find positions of prestige for because of patronage, shoveling them into places where they couldn't do any damage, and in two cases, she'd even outright dismissed them. They were already screaming, but it had been with great satisfaction that she had actually hung up on them instead of politely listening to their plaints.

As for the World Nation, she had completely severed communication with that mass of idiots, stating that in the emergency situation, it was need-to-know... and they didn't need to know. How satisfying that call had been to place.

It would come home to roost, she knew. They'd remove her from command, even though she had been the one who'd founded the Preventers. Even though they didn't have the authority to get rid of her, she knew that if she didn't resign, she'd effectively be crippling her command.

She would cross that bridge when she came to it. But if there was one thing Treize had taught her, it was not to look back at the bridges that were burning behind her.

_Whatever you do, don't look back_, she thought.

It was strange, but when she tried to remember Treize's face as he told her that, but for some reason, she couldn't. A month ago, that would have sent her into a panic over the thought that she was losing some precious memory, but now she was resigned. Time was separating her from him, and in a few years, she would lose more, until maybe she wouldn't recall exactly how he looked when he teased her, or the scent of his clothing.

_All things must pass_, she decided. _Even memories._

Lopez, though, who was standing in front of her and pacing back and forth, wasn't a memory. He was very real, and the way he seemed about ready to burst at her nonchalance was amusing. He was still so young — she wondered if she was doing the right thing, in deciding to groom him as her successor, but at times, she saw the raw potential.

Brown would still be there, to pick up the pieces of the Preventers, she knew, but Brown was old, and the Preventers needed someone young. Someone vital... someone with vision.

That was the one flaw she saw with their Golden Boy. Lopez was all brain and heart, but he lacked the ability to truly dream of the big ideals. Hopefully she would be able to instill that same sense of future that Treize had given her, before...

Before the end.

"Lopez, I've done what I can. Now we sit back, hope, and put out what fires we can. Most of the battle is waiting. Have a sandwich - how long has it been since you've eaten? You'll lose your edge if you're fatigued."

Lopez nodded, and it seemed a bit stiff to her. He grabbed a half of an egg salad off the platter that the kitchen had sent up to her a few hours ago, took a bite, and chewed thoughtfully. "It's stale."

"Story of my life. You'd think since this could very well be our last meal, we'd be dining well... eat drink and be merry, but we're eating inadequate food in my office. Treize would have said it was inelegant."

Lopez didn't even perk up at Treize's name, merely reached over for a napkin. "It is, a bit."

_I've always assumed that everyone around me held Treize to be in the same regard that I did_, she thought. _But there's people like Lopez, good people, to whom Treize is just a name..._

Was that such a bad thing, really?

_Don't look back._

She had to accept that Treize's time had passed. It was his ideals that lived on, through them.

"Lopez... if I could offer you anything in the world, what would you ask for?" she asked curiously.

"A raise?" he said quickly, apparently not thinking.

"A... raise?" she echoed slowly, setting the remains of her lunch down. "I just offered you anything, and you ask for a raise?"

"I've played the 'one wish' game before, and while it's fun to dream, sometimes it's even more fun to make it practical," Lopez said, and his white teeth flashed through his smile. "I know what you're capable of. If you offer me anything, I'd ask you for a raise. If someone else offers me anything, I'll ask them for something different. It depends who makes the offer, and when. I don't dream big - I dream practical. It's why I became a soldier. I dream of goals I can reach... paths I can map."

She thought of others, who were out there, fighting for their lives at that very moment, and began to feel annoyed. The boy in front of her didn't understand. "You..."

"My lady, I serve and protect. And... I dream a soldier's dream... but those are practical things, really. Things that can be accomplished... or not. In a soldier's world, things either happen - or they don't. You live or die. The mission is accomplished or fails. If you break it down, that's the truth - and that's what I want. I want a chance to be a soldier, not a mere braintank. So... I ask for a raise, since it's practical. Let the politicians spout about ideals... I'll settle for a gun."

A strange thought process... but intriguing. She'd known about Lopez's brilliance, and sometimes she felt a bit overmatched when dealing with him. She always felt like he was second or third guessing her decisions, since he was so much smarter than she was... but now she was starting to wonder. "Don't you... ever dream big?" she asked. "Those who don't try great things never succeed in wonderful things."

Lopez shrugged. "I don't really have to worry about that. I've never come across something I couldn't do, if I didn't try."

"Maybe you don't try big enough things. Everyone tries things they don't succeed in."

He seemed to think on that for a moment, thoughts racing behind his brown eyes too fast for lesser mortals to understand. "Maybe. But I haven't come across anything that's defeated me yet."

He was a god among men, she knew – handsome, brilliant, talented... but she saw his weakness.

He could not dream. He didn't see the point in fighting for anything that was a hopeless cause. Lopez hadn't realized that sometimes the hopeless battles were the ones that most needed to be fought... because every now and then, they could be won.

Like five young teenage boys against the world...

_Is it such a good idea, to leave the Preventers in his hands? I may be flawed, but at least I have a goal..._

She knew of less intelligent people, who lacked Lopez's intelligence, but tried harder. Lopez worked hard with what he had, she wouldn't deny, but she wondered if he would ever get lazy. It would be dangerously tempting, she knew. Brilliance was entrancing... but it blinded. And even the brightest diamond had flaws...

"What do you think about the pilots, and their mission?" she asked suddenly. She needed to know if she was wasting her time, grooming him to take her place.

Again there was that flicker in his eyes, which always seemed so innocent and frighteningly intelligent at the same time, the strange dichotomy dizzying and worthy of her concern. "You're testing me, aren't you?"

She couldn't lie, not anymore. "Yes. Tell me honestly."

"The only one I've met is Winner," he said, "so he's the only one I can give you my assessment of."

"Why just him? Everyone else has an opinion."

The slight smile that curved his lips seemed a bit sorrowful. "I can tell you exactly what I know you want to hear, since that's my specialty. I'm good at that sort of thing, getting all the answers right. But it's not necessarily what I think.

"Everyone always tries to tell me how to think, to control my mind. I can put all the information I've seen and heard about them in my head, and churn out a reasonable answer, about what people want. But... it's not what I want. If you want to know what I think, I can tell you about Winner. If you want to know what you want me to say, I can tell you about everyone."

Her doubts about him froze. "Tell me about Winner, then."

"He's... as good as I am - smart. Maybe the only person I've ever met who is. There's a quality about him that's a bit more refined, I think, a bit sadder. I wonder if I would have been like that, had I been born on a colony?" Lopez paused for a moment before shaking his head. "Friendship is important to him, and so is duty. He doesn't differentiate between the two – friendship is an aspect of duty, really."

"Anything else?" Une asked when Lopez paused thoughtfully.

"I was just wondering... how he and I ended up so differently."

She looked at him, unable to decide. One moment, she was convinced that Lopez was too innocent and too disconnected from a soldier's truths to see what the Preventers needed, while the next he would be saying something that had her thinking that maybe, just maybe...

"Come with me," she said, rising to her feet.

Lopez brushed the crumbs off his jacket hastily, and followed her as she led him out the door.

The path to the Covert Ops facility was practically abandoned this early in the morning, Une noted, and having Lopez walk a respectful two feet behind made the visit seem quite different than when she had dragged Quatre in, two days before, and Dorothy, hours later. Both of them had walked with her, as equals.

Lopez was quiet, forgetting the familiar tone she had encouraged in her office, and the even pace she set was bred from years in military service. Neither said anything as she cleared him for entrance.

"This is why," she said after they made their way through into the depths.

Placing her hand on the palm pad, the door slid open, revealing a scene that looked like something out of a computer tech's nightmare.

Quatre Raberba Winner was seated in the same chair she had left him, and he hadn't moved. Une's eyes looked at the tech who was watching the monitors, but his eyes didn't move away from the steady lines that were wavering on the screens. Wires and tubes criss-crossed over Winner's slender body, and only the lower half of his pale face was available.

"What... what's going on?" Lopez whispered, sounding horrified. His quick mind was making work of the scene, trying to piece together the information, but was obviously coming up with the fact he didn't have enough information.

"This is the Zero System," Une said. She walked closer, noting the half-filled IV. "Winner's been hooked to it for two days..."

"What!" Like most people, he had heard of the Zero... but unlike most, he had a better idea of what it did, exactly. He moved forward, obviously intending to unhook the teen. "That's inhumane!"

His movement caught the tech's attention finally. "If you disconnect him, you'll kill him," the tech said in a cold voice. "I'm watching his vitals, and so far, he's fine."

"Why?" Lopez demanded. "You're killing him!"

"Because someone had to... and he's the only one I could ask," Une said. "A few hours after, Lady Catalonia volunteered to help as well."

"What are they doing?"

"They're tracing a hacker, Aidoru... and if they do get him, the security system on L3 will fall."

Lopez shifted his eyes to Quatre, the man he had only seen in the shadow. Tendrils of gold hair escaped the helmet, but for the most part, he couldn't see him. "This... is the difference between us."

"I would do it myself if I could, but I can't," Une said softly, moving over to touch Quatre's hand. "All I can do is wait for him, though, and let me know... but as of now, the defenses haven't fallen, so I believe in him and Dorothy."

"Two days... has he slept?" Lopez asked softly, still staring in disbelief.

Une glanced over at the tech, who gave them the answer. "His brain patterns have been active this entire time. It's an intense session... when he comes out, he's going to be severely disoriented. At this point, he's going to have to come out of it on his own. I don't dare break the connection because it might send him into a seizure."

Lopez was quiet as he stared a bit longer at the Gundam pilot before looking at his general. "Why... does he do it? He's not a pilot anymore."

"They never stop, because... we need them. Until we stop asking them, they won't be able to say no. Someday, it'd be nice if we'd stop asking then to shoulder our burdens, so they could have lives of their own, but for now, that's the way it's going to be."

Something she said seemed to strike a tone with Lopez. "Their lives are on the altar of mankind..." he whispered.

"Yes... yes, they are," Une answered. "We should get out of here."

"One second, please?" he asked.

She nodded, curious, as Lopez went over to kneel beside Quatre's chair, looking like a subject at his lord's feet. "Hunt well, and don't be afraid to let the arrow fly," he said softly. "I have faith in you, friend."

"He can't hear you," the tech said, sounding a bit reluctant.

"No – but I'm sure somewhere he can feel my faith in him."

Une nodded a bit, hoping that her faith in the others was felt just as strongly. For right now, all she could do was wait. She had put her pieces into play – now she was left hoping they would do the work they needed to.

* * *

**Scene III: Through the Looking Glass**

_Down, down, down. Would the fall never come to an end?  
"I wonder how many miles I've fallen by this time?" she said aloud.  
"I must be getting somewhere near the centre of the earth."  
- Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland_

She moved through a world that was constantly changing around her, trying to keep from being frustrated out of her mind. She hadn't known what this full-submersion experience would be like, hadn't realized that it would be so... real. Perhaps even more real than the world outside, because in here, all that mattered was what a person thought, and if they were strong enough to make it happen. It was like treading water, and hoping that you could learn to breathe without air.

"Remember, Lady Catalonia," the tech who had lowered the headset onto her head, "while you can't be hurt physically, if your mind becomes convinced the damage is real, if can reflect itself on your body..."

"You mean if someone cuts me, it'll appear on my body outside?" she asked cynically. It sounded far too much like a sci-fi film to her.

"No... not exactly. But you may feel the pain, and that's the same thing, in the long run. If someone fires a gun, and you get shot through the heart, the shock of the experience may very well kill you. It's about belief. The mind is a powerful thing."

"Then I'll just have to get people to believe what I want them to, won't I?" she asked.

"Lady... the people who are in the holes you'll be going to are sunk so deep into net reality that it's doubtful that they even know what the real world is anymore. They've been doing it for years. I don't know how you'll be able to stand up against them, the true hard-core hackers. At best, you may be able to stall Aidoru using the Zero... but I doubt it. Aidoru is a god, and you're merely using a piece of exceptional technology. No matter how good the technology is, the mind behind it is what counts in the end."

"Then Aidoru had better prepare himself for Ragnarok," Dorothy had said firmly. "I don't lose, and you obviously don't understand what the Zero is." Without waiting for any further cautions, she had strapped the headset firmly in place and engaged the system.

It had been like falling, she realized, swimming through a golden stream of liquid numbers as the data raced by too fast for her to follow as she connected to the web. She blinked a few times as she realized the VR was connecting to one of the entry level holes, and took a breath, then another.

_It's about belief, and how strong you are_, she thought. _I will not lose here_. Glancing down, she wondered what form her subconscious had decided on for her avatar. It was hard not to laugh when she recognized it.

Her long golden hair was the same, and she was willing to wager that her face hadn't been changed, either. However, she was wearing Nordic armor and a sword strapped at her hip, and she saw the slightly golden glow emanating from her skin.

A Valkyrie.

Interesting, that her mind would take the form of the Goddess of the fallen, one of those who guarded Valhalla's gates. She would have thought on it longer, had she the time, but right now, time was not to be spared.

This hole was shaped like a bar, and meant to keep all of the relative newbies from delving too deep into the world that lay below. She knew, from the articles she had read in the past, that the web was made of thousands of such places where hackers would create "safe havens" from the information flow that would overwhelm them, but she doubted that any of the information available to the general public would be of much use to her now.

She would need to go deeper, but she doubted that she would find much of use here. Still, this was an entry, which meant there would be a way through... if she could find it.

Opening the door, she walked in, smiling a bit as the twenty customers inside all immediately swiveled to see who she was. They were jumpy, she could tell, and despite their mishmash of clothes and identities, she could see genuine fear.

Had this been a normal establishment, she would have gone to the bartender, but normal rules didn't apply here. Part of the game was figuring out whose hole this was. Her eyes darted around before settling on the only child in the room, the only one who seemed at ease.

Her heels clicked as she made her way over to him, and picked him up in one gloved hand. The child squirmed, and the bar shifted color, indicating she had chosen right, but her control was too strong. "Who are you?" an adult man's voice demanded from the six year old girl's mouth.

She knew better than to give her real name. "Call me Valkyrie," she said, and she knew that within moments, her presence on the net would be flagged to whomever these low level users were lurking for. "I'm looking for someone."

"So is half the world," the child spat, and the walls of the bar seemed to close in for a second before she frowned and reality settled back into its previous shape.

"Who are you?" she asked, shaking the child.

"I'm Black Widow, and this is Spider's Bite," the child snapped. "Are you a newbie?"

She tilted her head, considering her reply. "I've never hacked, but I'm a computer expert. I've heard of some things that have rather disturbed me, so I've decided to check them out for myself."

"You and everyone else in this world," the child snapped. "Everyone is disconnecting who has any sense, but we've got a few heroes who seem to think they can straighten the connections."

One of the people nearby was staring at the two of them with a puzzled look. "Doesn't she look like the Prince? The one who came through about eight hours ago?"

Black Widow stared at her. "Is that who you're after? You both kinda glow the same... what kinda hook up are you using?"

"The best," she answered. The Prince had to be Quatre, she realized. "And that's exactly who I'm looking for... he came in about eight hours a head of me... he's a real hero type. I'm trying to keep him from getting in over his head."

"He went down," Black Widow said. "He said he was going after Aidoru..."

She let the hacker go, sighing a bit. "That's him, all right. Stupid vengeance gig or something." _Quatre really needs to learn about subtlety_, she thought with annoyance. "I'm going to go see if I can go fish him out of whatever mess he's gotten into..."

They seemed suspicious of her, not that she could blame them. "You're not with them, are you?" the four-breasted woman who was acting as bartender asked, leaning forward a bit.

"Them?"

"If she has to ask, she probably is... or she's too stupid to make it far," Black Widow countered, staring at the golden figure in front of her. "I say we sent the lady on her merry way and let Aidoru kill her."

The others shivered at the thought. "Blackie, that's not the way we're supposed to be doing things..."

The child's eyes turned on her, and she realized how dangerous the situation really was. "We don't have to play by those rules anymore. Six of the surface holes have disappeared, and at least twice as many Under Holes are gone, too. How many good hackers have been fried since Aidoru started to move? If Prince and Valkyrie think that tangling with our best is a good idea, I say let them commit suicide."

"How many of you are physically on L3?" she asked, ignoring the implied insult.

Two of them murmured.

"You're dead if Aidoru succeeds. He's taking out L3's defenses... turning off its computer systems. The Liberation Force is moving at it, and when that happens, you're sitting ducks, unless something happens you'll just... flicker out of existence," she continued, and she was sure the smile on her face was as cruel as anything she had worn during the war. "Imagine... talking to a friend, drinking one of these fine cyber cocktails... and then... poof! You're gone."

She was about to elaborate further, hoping to scare them, but the world tilted again, much like it had when she first entered. Around them, the bar flickered again, and this time she could see Black Widow frown in concern.

"Fuck it. One second!" The child froze, and it seemed that everything in the bar "jumped" slightly to the right before Black Widow took a deep breath. "Got it."

"What the hell was that?" she demanded, feeling like she had just taken a ride on a ship that was in the middle of a storm-tossed sea.

"That... is what is what you're talking about, Valkyrie," said Black Widow, a ferocious scowl on her face. "Every hour or so, we've been experiencing a major data surge, and I need to move the Hole slightly to keep from being wiped out. I'm good, but I can only keep up for so long... that is what you're experiencing. I highly doubt that you and Prince will be able to survive going deeper... right now I'm protecting everyone in here. I wouldn't be surprised if Prince hasn't already been fried."

She was amused at the suggestion that Quatre would be taken down so simply, but wouldn't let them know. "I suppose that's a risk we're just going to have to take, isn't it? All I have to do is keep from letting a system overload crashing me, right?" she asked thoughtfully.

The others looked at her in pity, and she knew what they were thinking. Newbie, too cocky, won't last...

True, perhaps, if she hadn't been with the Zero system. But the quiet hum of the Zero was telling her that Aidoru's machines, while good, wasn't its match. She knew that she could overcome Aidoru's experience with her intelligence and her mastery of the system that had driven good men insane.

And she had faith in Quatre, as well. Because they were the good guys, and they couldn't afford to lose.

Shutting her eyes, she extended her senses, allowing the Zero to get a reading on the Hole and tuning out everything but what really mattered. "The door... is... there..." she murmured, turning her eyes to a mirror that hung on the wall. It was only ten inches wide, and twelve high, but she noticed how it was reflecting what had happened two seconds later, the slight lag annoying her.

"Your system is slow," she said to Black Widow.

"It's a hint," Black Widow said a bit resentfully. "Only those who are clever enough should notice that." Grudging admiration was in her voice.

She nodded her head to the patrons of the bar. "Be sure to convey my name correctly. It's Valkyrie."

The mirror was still too small for her to walk through, but she knew that it was all mind over matter. Without letting her thoughts dominant, she walked through it, telling herself that it wasn't impossible.

Her lungs felt like they were filling with water, but she resolutely pushed on, knowing that she had no choice anymore.

IP addresses raced by her, and she continued to fall, as data was transferred at rates that even the Zero had trouble comprehending. The deeper she went, the more she became aware that she was dealing with the very heart of the world's network, the very substance that kept their computerized world running. Zeros and ones combined into an almost incomprehensible language, one which the Zero translated for her.

_Yes, no, no, yes, no..._

It was all either or, yes or no. Something about the simple perfection of the black and white code appealed to her sense of aesthetics, and she realized that in this place, all that mattered was strength.

Things that resembled large cockroaches crawled by, and one or two made a move to attack her, to keep her from moving on, but that was when she discovered that the sword she had envisioned for herself had a practical use. She killed the first, using the grace her sword masters had trained into her, and even though it wasn't the foil she was most comfortable with, she found the broadsword suited her well.

_It's all mind over matter..._

The second she merely looked at, and it pulled away, unwilling to confront her.

Every now and then, she felt someone try to tug on her, tendrils of power reaching out and pulling her off of her self-determined path, something that enraged her. She had a goal, something that she wanted to accomplish, and being distracted wasn't on her agenda. Angrily, she jerked away from each of those brushes, and knew that she was probably annoying some of the more high-level hackers with her lack of manners, but she felt it was exceptionally rude of them to interrupt her.

The waves that Black Widow had warned her of came periodically, shifting the streams of information around her. The first surprised her, for despite being aware of the fact that they would be coming, she hadn't realized exactly how strong they would be.

It felt like someone had put her inside of a salt shaker and shook as hard as possible.

The world around her changed colors, and she watched in horror as the information streams began to race straight at her, where the way had previously been clear. Her instincts kicked in and she pirouetted away, only to almost run into another chain that looked sharp enough to cut...

And another...

And another...

She wasn't sure how long the shift lasted, but she survived, undamaged, only because she was stubborn. Pausing for a moment, she stared at the rearranged system around her, trying to figure out where the path was.

It was gone. Her route had vanished, and she was going to have to backtrack if she intended to continue to proceed. Zero murmured suggestions on cutting through, but she didn't trust it, because not even the supercomputer could see how thick the information chains were.

If she didn't know better, she would have sworn Aidoru was doing this on purpose, to prevent himself from being followed... but Zero pointed out that Aidoru probably wasn't even concerning himself with two minor hackers the Preventers had found at last minute. Aidoru was already too far ahead, too...

"Dammit, no wonder none of Une's agents got anywhere," she swore. "I'm wasting time..."

But as of that moment, she had no better ideas.

Masamune watched the progress of the golden lady with a bit of surprise. He'd known that Lady Une was going to pull something out of her hat, but he hadn't been expecting anything like this.

The golden glow around her wasn't user image, he could tell... it was system image, which indicated some kind of super computer that the Preventers had decided to turn on Aidoru... He wondered if it would be enough, to stop the master hacker. But as of right now, he didn't have a choice in the matter.

Aidoru had violated their honor code, and had to be punished. Unfortunately, he didn't know if there was anyone good enough to pull the master hacker in line.

"Should we invite our guest?" he asked idly, knowing that no one could hear. Most of the hackers had abandoned the lower levels, since Aidoru's remodeling had affected the Dungeons the worst. His domain had been safe, of course, but he didn't know for how much longer he would be able to maintain it. He was seriously considering raising it a level or two to protect it from the worst of the damage, something he would never have thought possible, a few days before.

He saw how poorly she had reacted to the attempt to pull her in, and realized that she was probably going to do the same if he tried it. That meant he'd have to extend an invitation personally... and the thought irritated him. Masamune hadn't moved from his territory in years, except to disconnect. He doubted she would realize how great an honor she was receiving.

It was easier to rise through the data than to descend. He made sure to secure his Dungeon carefully, hoping that another information wave wouldn't hit while they were away.

He materialized in front of her, and was amused at how quickly she had her sword out, ready for use. "Who are you?" she demanded in irritation.

"I'm Masamune," he said. "I'd like to discuss something with you."

"I'm busy right now," she snapped, and the glow around her seemed to intensify. He could see she was willing to strike him, if he wouldn't get out of her way. "Excuse me, but I need-"

"I have information on Aidoru that you might find helpful."

She looked thoughtful, and some of her intensity faded. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"Trust doesn't exist here. Merely mutually convenience," he retorted. It was odd, to converse in the middle of nothing after so long being the master of the Holes. Around them the data flowed, and he shivered a bit, feeling exposed. "Can we go somewhere to talk? It's not safe here."

She seemed to be satisfied at his answers. "Somewhere secure?"

"My Dungeon, one of the best. The data surges haven't affected it yet," he told her, trying to keep the pride out of his voice, but failing.

"Fine." She held out her hand, and he took it, sinking them both into the system he knew so well.

It was true that he hadn't been affected by the surges, yet, but his Dungeon was more sedate than it had been in years. Much of his efforts had gone to reinforcing his security and tightening his control, so it was smaller than the hell he was used to calling home. She looked around, tilting an eyebrow at the lava pits which didn't seem to be bubbling so furiously as she pulled back.

"Nice place."

"It's home," he said. Stepping back, he selected the guise of Loki to match her Nordic theme. "Tell me, Valkyrie, do you think you can honestly take out Aidoru?"

Her smile was vulpine, making him wonder exactly who she was behind the fancy armor. "I've never lost a fight when it counted," she said.

It was time for him to choose, and he knew that if Aidoru succeeded, Aidoru would be the new god of the net. The very idea of living under a god annoyed him, because like most hackers, he preferred the lack of restrictions his lifestyle gave him.

Still... would this untried splicer have a chance?

Sometimes we take chances, he thought. "Aidoru is in a hole called The Nesting Place. It's near the core of some of the most powerful computers in the world... it gives him an amazing amount of control... but it's dangerous," he said. "Whoever ends up there tends not to come out in one piece, because you're dealing with pure data."

"Pure data?" she echoed.

"Think of it like an alcoholic beverage and the content of actual alcoholic content – though it's a bit more intense. Most of the holes at top deal with around 50 percent data flow, with some space between so people have time to actually think. Here, we're at about 75... and this is at one of the lower levels. The human mind can't process much more. The Nesting Place is about 90 percent data... only the best hackers can survive there. I'm impressed you're here, actually."

Valkyrie pushed a strand of softly glowing gold hair behind her ear. "I've dealt with 100 percent data flow before," she said softly. "I can handle it."

His eyes locked on the glow around her, recognizing what the system she was using had to be. Something legendary, something... "Fuck! It's the Zero..."

"Indeed. I can handle a bit of hard data being flung in my face," she said. "I may not be a hacker, but I think I can figure out how to manipulate the world around me. It's all about willpower, isn't it?"

He wanted to swear at her, for devaluing his life, but when a woman was walking around with the power of a god, the ability to remake his world, he didn't know if he dared. "Damn you..." he whispered. "You're one of them. We've fried about three of you in the last week..."

"You mean a Preventer? Hardly. I was merely sick and tired of being on the sidelines. No, I merely want to make sure the world keeps spinning so I can keep having fun. Now, if you meet up with... I think they called him Prince... him I'd be more careful of. He might actually think he is a white hat – but he's not."

"What is he?" Masamune asked nervously. He'd heard of a golden man moving through the net as well, but hadn't been able to locate him, since he seemed to be moving more quietly than Valkyrie had.

"Oh, he's worse. He's a hero – and those are the most dangerous people of all. They always do what they think is right... and right now, I don't have time to clean up the mess he makes. He'll be upset if anyone gets hurt, but that won't stop him, if it needs to be done. Now, can you tell me how to get to The Nesting Place? And if you see Prince, let him know, too?"

Masamune agreed reluctantly, wondering if he wasn't making a deal with the devil. All his netlife, he'd dealt with some of the worst scum of the earth, but something about Valkyrie was different. It wasn't until she left that he knew what it was.

She had a cause, a raison d'etre.

And that made her the most dangerous person he'd ever met.

* * *

**Scene IV: The Hush of a Stormy Night**

_"It's not that those who are pure have no direction.  
It's that their souls...are free."  
-- Treize Khushrenada, Gundam Wing_

The interrogator's chair was as hard and cold as ever, Etille thought distractedly, staring at the tips of his boots and shifting uncomfortably against the awkward position of his handcuffed hands digging into the small of his back. Across the table from him, Sally Po shifted her notes, glaring tiredly at him.

"This is getting us nowhere, General. I don't know why you won't tell me what you know. I can't believe you're holding back from loyalty to Une."

"This isn't about Une," Etille said in the same tired tone, matching her blow by blow. She might wear him down in the end, but damned if he was going to make it easy for her.

"What is it about, then?"

He simply stared at her with his best dead stare, but this was Sally Po and he had a feeling she would not be intimidated by it in the least. She wasn't.

"All you're getting out of this, Etille, is another long, hot night in a detention cell. If you'd tell me what I want to know, you'd be a free man in a heartbeat." Staring at him with a calculating look. "You know you want it."

"No," he said, not being able to come up with a better response.

"Where are Une's forces massing?"

Etille remained silent. She sighed again.

If she had asked him under pain of death to tell him why he was not volunteering information, he would have to honestly say he didn't know. It definitely was not loyalty to Une, whom he had served under for less than a week and hardly knew at all. It wasn't quite pride, because he had nothing to lose by confessing, and he knew it. What then?

The best answer he could come up with was that Sally's words to him the other day had stung, and he was not going to be humiliated by her again. But that wasn't quite it, either, because he was not easily humiliated, and her words had dug deep under his skin in a way that none ever had before.

He didn't want to admit to himself that her accusations were true.

_You've been a soldier all your life, but you don't know what soldiering is._

No one had ever said that to him before. He'd known that inside his heart for years, but every commander who he had worked for had seemed to believe that he had the passion and the fire for commitment. Every battle, every engagement, every project he took had been like that. Even Une had said nothing.

Sally had found out the truth. And the truth hurt.

It was like Mohammed Ali Banks and the unveiling of the Gundam pilots in a way, he thought to himself a little bemusedly. Banks had only showed the world something that many people had already known but had carefully kept from the light of day because it was something that wasn't proper to say. And yet the truth hurt.

Sally rapped on the table sharply and he looked up at her, noticing that it wasn't just her voice that was tired, but the rest of her expression and posture was as well. He was tempted to say something, to tell her to drop the façade and just be Sally Po, but figured that would not gain a very polite response.

"Etille, tell me about the defenses of L3, and I'll let you go. I won't even ask you about Une anymore."

He raised an eyebrow. "And what is so important about the defenses of L3?"

"None of your business!" she snapped, and he raised the other eyebrow. It had been the first time she had lost her composure in all of the interrogation sessions over the past two days. The strain of waiting was getting to her too.

"The truth hurts, Sally," he said softly.

She stared at him. "What?"

"The truth hurts," he repeated. "But sometimes you must learn to accept it."

"I'm not asking about the truth," she replied, and he could tell she was trying to keep calm. He had no doubt he was about to get strangled in a matter of seconds. "I don't care about what the truth is. Everyone has their own version of the truth sometimes!"

"Then why do you push your version of it on others?" he demanded, playing one of the few cards he had, and had the return pleasure of having her stare at him with her mouth half open. "Why do you insist on destroying a colony that obviously does not believe in the same truth as you do? Isn't that negating your own beliefs?"

"I will not bandy words with you over this!" she hissed at last, and stood up from the chair so quickly that it almost toppled over. "Escort the prisoner back to his quarters," she said to the guard, who inclined his head quickly and snapped to attention nervously as she exited, slamming the door behind her.

"Don't worry," Etille said to the young guard, who was making his way over with a wary look to undo the leg irons which strapped him to the interrogation chair. "I'm not dangerous. If you don't believe me you can ask your boss."

Trowa had spent the better part of that night and the rest of the next day prowling the confines of his cell, pacing from one wall to the next. If anyone had been able to see him, they might have remarked that he looked remarkably like one of the lions he had been so fond of in his circus, but it was a solitary cell in Kashmir's high-security detention facility, tiny, with four concrete walls and a bare lightbulb hanging high over his head from the bleak grey ceiling. A blanket and pillow on the floor made up his bed, and an empty tin in the corner was all that was left of tonight's dinner.

When he had gotten tired of pacing he had sat down restlessly on the cold concrete floor, and when he couldn't stand sitting anymore he had jumped up and started again. Every so often he felt a burning, unquenchable desire to pound the walls till his hands bled and scream until his voice was gone. He kept this uncharacteristic surge of emotion in check till the late evening, when he had finally given in, screaming like a madman and falling to his knees when his hands were so numb he couldn't feel the pain anymore.

He had broken down and cried then.

He knew there were guards outside, but no one responded to his outburst. He never heard footsteps, never heard voices. For all intents and purposes, he was alone.

It was what Sally intended, he knew. She had been wrong with Wufei because Wufei had changed so much since the war she didn't know him at all anymore. But he, Trowa Barton, was predictable.

After his tears had subsided and he had wiped most of the condemning traces off his cheeks, he had remained sitting there with his head against the wall, staring out the tiny barred window at the starry sky, trying to think. It was something he had not done in a long while, because thinking required him to let go of the mask of quiet acceptance and obedience he had been used to wearing for so long. Lately, his thoughts had been frightening him.

He thought back to Antarctica, the second time Heero had faced Zechs Merquise, in Trowa's Gundam. He remembered the pilots turning the plane around, against Noin's orders. No discipline, he'd said about them, because that was all war was at the time – an endless nightmare of following orders, shooting to kill, and knowing that whatever happened, he could never leave anyone alive.

When he had tried to self-destruct that first time, Catherine had demanded to know why. _Have you ever thought about the people who care about you? Don't be such a spoiled child! The people who will live... who will live without you won't be able to do anything but cry!_

He hadn't had the heart to tell her that there was no one who cared about him. That he was all he had. It amazed him that she had the capacity to love so deeply, to love someone she had known for so short a time. That had fascinated him about her, held him in awe even, because the someone she had chosen to love had been him, who had thought himself not capable of human affection.

Because in the end, he had still been Nanashi, child of L3, raised and trained to kill, to follow orders to the letter, to leave no man alive if he wanted to survive. There was no love in this world, Doktor S had drummed into his skull, only dominance. Even his oyabun, who had been almost a father to him, was one of the most ruthless men Trowa had ever known, and if their up and coming prodigy had ever made a mistake that warranted it, Trowa had no doubt that the yakuza boss would have had no regrets about putting a bullet through his skull.

It was the world that he had grown up in, and most people, he knew, would call it bizarre, even nightmarish. But to Trowa, it was the world he lived in now that was bizarre and nightmarish, a world in which there were too many choices and no clear road, a world in which the enemy was sometimes not the enemy and a man could not live just by doing what he thought was best for himself. He would give almost anything to go back to L3, back to the yakuza, because even if was not the happy world that other people dreamed of, it was familiar to him. It was comfortable.

Even the world of the One Year War was still comfortable. Though not as comfortable as life back on the colony, it had still been familiar territory to him: kill or be killed, shoot first or die fast. He knew that Heero and Duo understood. Later in the war, when he had begun to cautiously open up to human companionship, he had envied Quatre the luxury of being able to forget that at times. Quatre had fascinated him because the blond Arabian was so unlike himself, yet was still able to fight.

Doktor S had made him believe that all people who fought, who killed, were nameless, faceless nobodies in the world like himself who had to kill to stay alive. He had been taught to think of himself as part of the Gundam, solitary, alone in a world of people out to get him, with only the orders hanging over his head as a motive for staying alive. He wondered if that was why Doktor S had tried so hard to keep the existence of the other Gundams a secret from him. If he had met Quatre before the war, perhaps things would have changed.

He had thought that maybe Catherine loved him because she didn't know all of that. But he had seen for himself time and again that wasn't true. Even when Catherine found out the truth, she still loved him.

She had done so much for him and he had done so little for her in return.

She probably thought he was dead now. He wondered what Sally had told the world – probably that he'd been killed in the attack. One less ex-Gundam pilot. One less criminal for the world to worry about. He wondered how Quatre's trial was going. He wished he could have stayed for it, to let Quatre know he still cared. He wondered if the World Nation would actually do something about Sally or if would just sit there like it had done in the past, staring helplessly and doing nothing.

He wondered for a brief moment what it would be like to have the same ethnic loyalty that Sally had to her homeland and to her heritage. What would it be like to be French, not just knowing you were descended from French people, but having France alive in your heart and your soul, feeling it in your very bones? It was too late for most of the European nations, Trowa supposed, except for maybe Cinq, because Europe had been united and divided and split up and pieced back together so many times that being Spanish or French or German or Italian or anything else had very little to do with who you were anymore.

Treize had been part French and part German, hadn't he? And something else...Russian? Most of the European nobility were like that, his oyabun had told him a long time ago. _The old families take pride in the fact that they are old, not in where they come from. Because of that, we in the colonies have a different reason to fight. We're fighting for the chance to be our own people._

He had always wondered why a yakuza boss would sponsor a pilot for the colony rebellion, but had finally realized that the yakuza's ties with L3 ran deep. He respected that, but had never understood it. L3 was the place where he was from, nothing more. He had defined himself with the yakuza, not with L3, and until he had met Quatre and Catherine, he had thought he was fated to be the no-name pilot for the rest of his life.

And if he died here at Kashmir, maybe he would be.

Trowa was not an optimist, but he usually did try to look on the bright side of things for Catherine's sake. There was very little to be optimistic about in this situation, however.

Carefully, he got to his feet, wincing as his torn hands smarted, and started pacing again. It was impossible to sit still in this cell. He reminded himself of Duo, constantly moving, and the comparison brought a brief smile to his face which faded as he thought of his friends.

He wondered if Wufei had made it. At least Heero and Duo were safely back in Geneva.

That led to the thought of Ilene Keets, something that he still did not want to think about but had no choice. If he hadn't killed Ilene, would he have pushed the button and sent the missiles flying to Sally's death? Thinking on it now, he probably would have.

What kind of man had he become that he would kill little girls and yet leave world criminals alive?

_Sometimes, the things we fight for – the ideals and the causes for which soldiers fight –become more than just a matter of life and death. Sometimes it's necessary to put the cause ahead of your love for that person...But I don't think Sally has stopped mattering. To any of us._

And that was it, Trowa realized, stopping his pacing with a sudden jerk, frowning. That was what war was, what Treize Khushrenada had fought for and died for. War was not the emotionless destruction that many people pictured it as. War wasn't even about fighting for your loved ones or for the ideals that you believed in, though that was a main cause. War was something that warped the people around you into people who you no longer knew, and sometimes you had to break all the rules.

Trowa Barton didn't know how to break the rules.

There had been times during the last war where he felt those rules lifting – when he had met Quatre and Catherine, when he had piloted Vayeate to the brink of death to save Quatre from himself, and during the last battle of the Eve Wars when all he wanted was to go home, back to Catherine, and to end the damn war that brought her so much pain. But in the end, he couldn't truly step outside the boundaries. The events two days ago had showed him that.

And yet...

He hugged himself, staring out at the night sky. What Etille had said was true after all.

He did still believe Sally could be saved.

It was the same, he realized, the same as when Quatre had taken Wing Zero out into space after his father's death. If Heero hadn't been there, Trowa didn't know what he would have done. Perhaps Quatre would have killed him there, and all this would have never happened. It had been Heero, in the end, who had shown Trowa what needed to be done, because all Trowa had felt after Quatre's betrayal was the same harsh, cold numbness that he felt now whenever he thought of Sally and her own path of twisted justice that was only hurting the people who loved her.

Quatre had come back to them. But his actions had been influenced by the Zero System. Sally did not have that excuse.

Out of all of them, Heero might be able to kill her. But Heero's conscience would never forgive him for that – he would be doing penance for the rest of his life if that came to pass. And unlike General Noventa, Sally had no living relatives that anyone knew of to whom Heero could give that gun.

Trowa wasn't going to let that happen.

"She might be a fanatic," he said to the moon, "and it's not my place to judge that. But...she is still my friend."

It was halfway to his cell before Etille decided that he had had enough of sitting there and doing nothing.

The guard had pulled him to his feet and pulled out a gun at the same time, like always, keeping Etille a few steps in front of him while he followed cautiously with a weapon. Etille hadn't even been thinking about anything like escape, just another long night in his cell and another interrogation session tomorrow morning. Why escape? There was nowhere he could run. Sally had the place locked down, and before he had even gone two steps he would be caught.

So when the idea of escape entered his mind, he wasn't quite sure why he grabbed at it and decided he wanted it. Maybe it had to do with the endless interrogation sessions. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he was sick of Sally reading his every move. Maybe it was the fact that he just wanted to prove her wrong.

Whatever it was, he decided that if he was going to do it, he was going to do it now. Along that train of thought, he came to a stop in the middle of the corridor, where he knew there were no video cameras.

"Keep moving!" the guard barked, and he turned his head a little so he could see his captor's face. The guard was young, probably about the same age as the Gundam pilots, and looked it. The pilots didn't look it. They seemed much older, for some reason.

"I'm sorry," Etille apologized, and the boy blanched, and then Etille spun around, dealing a swift high kick to the side of the boy's head. The young guard didn't even have time to scream before he fell to the ground unconscious.

Moving quickly, Etille's eyes searched the boy's unconscious form and found the slight hump in the clothing that signified the presence of an electronic lock opener. His handcuffs were electronic, and he knelt, waving his bound hands in front of the thing, and heard a satisfying click as they came free. He stretched his slightly numb hands for a brief second, then handcuffed the boy, pocketing the key, and threw the body over his shoulder.

It took less than a minute, running, to deposit the boy in his cell and lock the door. He didn't delude himself. The cameras in the hallways would have spotted him, and he didn't have much time before he was found.

Yet there was something he had to do.

_This wasn't what Treize wanted._

_I don't believe in Treize. And the last time I checked...neither did you._

Etille had startled himself in his outburst to Sally about Treize, because before he had met Dorothy Catalonia, he hadn't believed in Treize. Treize was a name, a figure, someone who had sacrificed his life in vain for some stupidly noble outdated ideal. But when he met Dorothy, and then the pilots, something had changed all that.

Talking to Chang Wufei, he had received an inkling of the world Treize had been trying to create. It was the world that the Gundam pilots and the Preventers and even the World Nation was trying to build now, and for Sally to take all of that future and that hope away and to plunge the world back into war would be...unforgivable.

He wanted to be able to forgive Sally when it was all over.

He wanted to be able to believe in Treize.

Slipping quietly down the hall, he could hear the sound of footsteps. Searching for him? It was probably not necessary for him to find out. They would come for him sooner or later. As long as he finished this, it didn't matter.

There was a computer lab in the guard station, and that computer lab had access to the prisoner directory and also the base intranet, both of which Etille would find useful right now. The guard station was right by the main detention compound entrance, and he crouched in the corner for what seemed like hours, waiting for voices or footsteps or something, but he could not hear a sound.

Finally, deciding that it was useless to wait any longer, he sprinted across the hall and rolled into the doorway of the guard station, ending up in another combat crouch, gun in hand.

The guard station was empty, unmanned.

Could it be that Sally did not have enough personnel to man it? Again, it wasn't important for him to find out. He headed for the computer on the far side of the room, knowing that he had five minutes. Maybe.

ENTER PASSWORD.

Being the former base commander, he had the hardware codes for the machines, and it was an easy override to get him into the system. It was the prisoner's database that was the hard part. He had never bothered to familiarize himself with it, never thinking that he would have to deal with it, for obvious reasons. The lines and lines of code and what seemed like gibberish bewildered him until he realized that most of it was encrypted transmissions meant for the guard station and the real database was in another part of the intranet.

Not a problem.

His heart was beating a little faster now, and he wondered if his escape perhaps had gone undiscovered. The database was organized according to cell, and he had to scroll through several pages worth of data before he found it. But the name was in there, and as soon as he saw it, he wondered why he had ever been worried, because Sally would not have killed him.

TROWA BARTON. C-BLOCK 251 HIGH SECURITY.

The sirens began to scream.

They had discovered him missing. There was not much time. Hurriedly, he exited the prisoner database to the regular intranet. What he was looking for was not on the intranet, however, and he needed more time that he did not have.

No time, no time, the sirens chanted behind him as he typed in the codes that would gain him access to the central Kashmir secure database, the one which Sally had undoubtedly thought that no one would be able to enter. She had been wrong. He would prove her wrong.

He had to.

Gritting his teeth and forcing his mind to work faster, his fingers to work harder, he dug deeper into the system. Every missed keystroke was a millisecond lost, every misfired brain synapse was his captors getting a step closer.

There were echoing footsteps in the hallways now, echoing above the noise of the sirens.

And then he found it.

Just in time, because as they burst in through the door with their guns at the ready, he had had just enough time to extract himself from the system, making it look like he had never been there, and entering enough erroneous data into the computer that if anyone less skilled than Aidoru himself checked the station, it would look like he had been trying to find an escape route out of the base.

"Freeze!" demanded a harsh voice behind him.

Etille obligingly turned, raising his hands in the air as he came to face the contingent of guards fully. The head guard gestured rudely with his rifle.

"Drop your weapon!"

As he reached to his belt to drop the stolen pistol to the ground, another Liberation Forces soldier moved to the computer, as Etille had predicted, to run a scan of the system. "Looks like he was trying to find a way out of the base, sir," he reported.

The commander grunted. "You're not going anywhere," he said, and Etille felt the familiar handcuffs snap on again. But it wasn't like last time, because he wasn't going to take this lying down anymore. He was going to take matters into his own hands.

He – no, not he. They – Une and Trowa and the rest of the pilots, Dorothy Catalonia and Relena Peacecraft and all of the ones on whose side he had allied himself. They were going to make this last battle count for something. Because Treize Khushrenada and Sally Po could not both be right, and he, like the people he now realized he admired most in the world, had finally chosen Treize.

Treize had not been perfect, nor had he been God. They all knew that. But he had at least been on the right road, had seen a vision of what could have been, and somehow, muddling through the dark tunnel into which he had pointed them, they would all someday emerge into the light.


	45. Soaring To the Future 2

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2005 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

**SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT XII, PART II**

**Mou ma ni awanai mou oitsukanai  
Sonna kotoba de kata o subomete  
Nigeru na yo**

**Saa mou ichi-do saa nando demo  
Doro ni mamirete ame ni utarete  
Tsukamaero  
Hora yume mita ashita wa kitto hareru yo**

**Moetsukiru hoshi no kakera mo  
Kagayaki o hanatte sora o kakeru**

**I'm out of time I can't catch up  
Shrug away words like those  
And don't run away**

**Come on once more, as many times as it takes  
Stained with mud, soaking in the rain  
Capture it  
Look, tomorrow's dream is becoming clear**

**The fragments of the burning stars and  
The appearing light will break open the sky**

**--Gundam Wing, _Ore Dake no Kotoba de_  
_In My Own Words_, Heero Yuy image song**

* * *

**Scene V: Chasing the Dawn**

_"Never seen a blue sky  
Yeah I can feel it reaching out  
And moving closer."  
-- Cowboy Bebop, Blue_

When Zechs had woken up to see Une standing by his bedside, looking especially grim, he knew this was not going to be good. Une had been especially grim-looking in most of the photos and clips he'd seen of her, but seeing her in person, looking at least five years older than when he had left for A007 a month ago, with a certain desperate look in her eyes...it was startling.

He glanced at the clock. It was 5 AM.

"You're awake," Une said, folding her arms and staring down at him. He stared back, sure the expression on his face wasn't the most intelligent one on the planet, but the medicine they had given him before he had fallen asleep made him a little dizzy. Though his arm wasn't throbbing anymore, which he took to be a good sign.

"Your sister took your Gundam."

There was a slight pause in which he was completely sure he had misheard her, or else his hearing had been damaged too, along with the rest of him, or he was simply deranged.

"...what?" he said.

She sighed, giving him a patient look. "Milliard. We didn't say goodbye on quite the right foot when you left for the colony, and when you came back you weren't exactly in any shape to debrief me on exactly what happened there. I would like nothing better than to throw you a welcome back party, and then sit down with you for about twelve hours and grill you until your brain comes leaking out of your ears, but unfortunately, we don't have that option."

All this information overload was making his ears ring again, and he blinked and shook his head, trying to process it. "Relena did _what?_"

Une gave him a critical look. "Did you two have some sort of fight?"

She took his _Gundam_? "EPYON?" he said incredulously, hearing his voice rise at least two octaves higher than it normally sounded. "That's impossible."

"Your sister seems to specialize in the impossible."

"You're joking," he said, staring at her. "You've got to be joking."

"If I were someone who liked to make jokes," Une said dryly, "now would be the time to make them. Too bad I'm not."

He pushed himself up on one elbow, staring at her, feeling her words start to sink in, feeling a horrible gaping feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Une. Please tell me you're not serious."

Her face was grim. "I'd lie to you, Milliard, if I could, but the situation is too serious for that. Relena and Hilde Schbeiker got into Epyon's hangar last night and took off with it. I have reports that they've been spotted at Sparta, where there's currently a large-scale battle going on."

He squeezed his eyes shut. "Damn," he said dully, falling back to the bed. "Relena...why the hell..."

"Whatever you did," Une said, "she obviously feels this is the best way to gain back your trust."

"Why do you automatically assume that I-"

"I know you both," Une interrupted harshly. "I don't know you that well, that's true, but I do know your sister better than most people, and I conclude that something must have happened between you two. Relena Peacecraft does not go randomly stealing people's Gundams and heading out to the battlefield."

_Because...I want you to be able to love me._

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," he whispered. "It wasn't-"

"What are you going to do about it?"

His eyes snapped open. "What?"

"Are you going to lie there like a zombie?" Une demanded. "I can't believe you, Milliard Peacecraft. Your sister's life is in danger, and you're lying there feeling sorry for yourself! If you're not careful, you're going to lose everyone who's precious to you!"

"How dare you," he growled, lunging out at her, but she neatly sidestepped, and he fought to regain his balance, narrowly avoided tumbling out of the bed onto the floor, tangled in his sheets. "How dare you! You have no idea!"

"Don't I?" Une's eyes flashed dangerously. "I saw what Treize did to himself at the end, and I am not losing anyone else to his own self-pity!"

He clenched his fists. "Don't talk about Treize like that!"

"I loved him, Milliard," Une said, the anger seeming to fade out of her stance, leaving her standing old and frail against the wall of the hospital room, and he felt himself trembling, felt his nails dig into the palms of his hands till it hurt, but he couldn't stop. "I loved him, and yet I let him die. I understood why he did so...but I don't want it to happen again. There is more to life than war and peace and grand ideals."

"Treize was..." he whispered. "Treize..."

"I cried when Noin died," Une said, and he shivered at the name, wanting to stop the words coming from Une's mouth but feeling suddenly tired, weak, unable to do anything but stare at his clenched hands and shake. He couldn't stop the shaking. "I cried when Sally betrayed me and I cried when Trowa was killed at her hands. I almost killed Quatre Winner two days ago, and now even he might not live the night. I cried for him too. So many people I have wept for in the past few days, and yet I couldn't even cry when I lost Treize."

"It's not-" he said, and she smiled sadly.

"I don't want you to become like me."

"It's not your choice," Zechs said dully, feeling the muscles in his hands relax, opening them slowly, staring at the red marks left by his nails on the skin. "I am what I am. Noin is dead...Treize is dead...I almost killed Dorothy...and my own sister is now in danger because of me. I can't erase all of that, not even if I was reborn."

_I have tried to do that_, he wanted to add, but didn't, knowing that she knew. _I thought by changing my name, by running from one place to the next, I could escape the past. But I should have known that it's not that easy._

"We can't be reborn, maybe," Une said. "But there's nothing that says we can't change who we are."

He stared at her, and for the first time he saw not the colonel of OZ or the military leader who had built the Preventers, but a woman who underneath everything had a noble heart, and he realized why Treize had loved her.

"Go save her, Milliard," Une whispered. "You're the only one who can do that."

It was a last-ditch reinforcement effort for the forces at Sparta, and he should have known that Une would have chosen someone like Chang Wufei to be in charge of it. Only someone like Chang Wufei would glance at him as he hobbled into the hangar, still bandaged and a little lightheaded from the pain medication they'd given him, and simply say, "Hello, Zechs Merquise. I assume you'll be joining us on our operation."

"I suppose you've heard about Epyon," he said, not exactly sure how to deal with the Chinese pilot, who standing there calmly watching him. They had never met physically during the war, but Treize had spoken admiringly of the pilot of Shenlong. Belatedly, he noticed that Wufei's arm was also bandaged. "I won't be piloting her today, for obvious reasons."

Wufei simply nodded. "I've heard. It won't be a problem. We've got a Taurus for you." He turned his head to the young Asian man standing behind him, most likely his second-in-command, judging by the rank he wore.

The man gave him a brief nod and the thumbs up. "It's ready for your use, sir, if you would like to take it."

"It's not Epyon," he said, "but I don't have any objections."

Wufei shot him another long, discerning look. "It's right over there, then. That white Taurus."

Zechs stopped walking.

"You mock me," he whispered, and Wufei appeared at his side, but he didn't have the strength to hit him or even raise his voice, simply gazed across the hangar at where the white Taurus was standing, looking like new, and he remembered when Noin had saved him from himself. Both times, she had stood in his way and prevented him from doing something he would regret.

And yet, when it really mattered, he still hadn't been able to save her.

"I simply thought," Wufei said, the dark Chinese eyes unreadable, "that her spirit would calm you." He looked away, across the hangar. "If you wish, I will give you a regular mobile suit."

Zechs forced himself to look up at the other pilot, followed Wufei's gaze to the tall, silent Gundam that stood sentinel over the gathered mobile suits and the mechanics running to and fro, doing final flight system checks, to the pilots who stood patiently, waiting to enter the cockpits. Shenlong's face, he mused, was very calm.

_I simply thought that her spirit would calm you._

"Does Shenlong calm you?" Zechs wondered, not quite sure if he was allowed to ask the question, but Wufei just smiled.

"Yes," he said. "She does."

It was all right, then. "I understand," Zechs said quietly. "I will pilot the white Taurus." He reached out uncertainly and touched Wufei on the shoulder, just a brief touch, the reminder that they were both still human, still warm and breathing and alive. _I understand._

Wufei smiled again, then straightened, the commander once more. Zechs let his hand drop. "Heero Yuy is at Sparta," Wufei said. "I have great faith in his abilities, as does General Une, but the Liberation Forces have thrown pretty much everything they have into this attack, and he's requested reinforcements. We are the reinforcements."

"Sparta's the Combat Command base," Zechs said, frowning. "Unless Une's done some sort of massive arms reduction since I left, shouldn't there be plenty of mobile suits there?"

"Mobile suits, yes." Wufei looked grim. "But where there are mobile suits, there might not always be pilots."

The Asian man behind him said, "We had enough pilots until the newspapers started making a big deal out of the Gundam crisis and Winner's trial, and many of our pilots were either transferred to other command bases...or they quit."

Zechs gritted his teeth. "Quit."

"You two haven't met, I presume. My wingman for this campaign," Wufei said, jerking a thumb at the man, sounding almost nonchalant as he said the word _campaign_. "Lieutenant Jeong Hye Sung, formerly 11th Taurus flight commander."

Zechs frowned. "You look familiar."

"I was your temporary executive officer for two weeks when you first arrived at Sparta, sir," Jeong replied promptly. "That was before they snatched some personnelist and moved me back to the squadron. And then you moved your office to Geneva shortly after that."

No wonder. He remembered Jeong now, a shy-seeming, soft-spoken man who had been almost like a ghost at times around the building - very different from the self-confident pilot standing before him. Perhaps his first impression had been mistaken. He had always had a problem with misjudging people.

"After the riots, Une had to shift personnel to Kashmir," Wufei said. "And also to Forteleza, both of which are controlled by Sally now." He sounded pained as he spoke her name.

Jeong seemed to sense Wufei's discomfort, because he stepped in, nodding at Zechs. "Po's forces also attacked Chi Lai Command Base in China and MacDonnell down in Australia, but she either miscalculated or was just feinting, because we managed to turn her back. That was yesterday."

"Still," Zechs began, and Wufei nodded.

"Yes. Still, that is not enough. I am not exactly sure what Sally wants, but my guess is that she is after those mobile suits at Sparta in order to launch some kind of grand invasion."

Zechs shook his head. "How can she do this? How can she start another war? Doesn't she realize what Treize died for?"

"She doesn't believe in Treize," Wufei said quietly. "I hate to say it, but perhaps Treize's death was not enough."

"I don't want to believe that," Zechs said. Wufei crossed his arms across his chest.

"Hopefully, I'm wrong."

"Commander Chang?"

"Are we green?" Wufei asked, as the tech came running up, handing him a stack of papers, which Wufei handed off to Jeong. The Korean man flipped through them, then gave a curt nod.

"Looks good."

"As far as our checks permit," the tech said, "all craft are functional and ready for takeoff. We didn't have time to do as thorough of checks as we would have liked, though."

"That's fine," Wufei said, signing the papers and handing them back. "I trust you. Jeong, sound the crew show call. All pilots to aircraft."

The tech disappeared, as did Jeong, and Zechs held out his hand. "I will follow your lead, Chang Wufei. Good luck."

Wufei hesitated a moment, then took his outstretched hand, shook it firmly. "When we get there," he said, "go save your sister. We can take care of the rest...our mission is for her."

The siren began sounding through the hangar, and Zechs heard the running of feet, pilots calling to each other, ingress hatches opening with a hiss and engines starting up. "I won't get in your way," Zechs said. "Do what you have to."

The sun was already above the horizon as the transports took to the skies, and Zechs sat at the controls of the white Tarurus inside the shuttle, staring at his hands, running his fingers along the console, the stick and the scope screen and the guns and wondering where Noin had touched them last. Here her finger had keyed in the code for engine run, he mused, and here was where she had controlled the mobile suit's arms, holding him back when he had wanted to run from her, and here...here she had had her finger on the trigger, ready to use it, just as he had been ready to kill her.

And yet he couldn't kill her, in the end.

He had cursed himself for that. His heart was weak, he had realized, and he could not imagine why it was so.

_Because humankind is weak...you and I are the weak!_

Heero Yuy was at Sparta. Heero Yuy was holding Sally's forces back...Heero Yuy was protecting his sister. Heero Yuy, in the end, had understood what he had not, and Heero Yuy had saved him. Heero was always saving everyone when no one else could.

He wondered if the Wing Zero pilot understood exactly who he was, what he symbolized to people. Treize had been a great symbol, but he had been the symbol of a dying age. Relena, his sister, was the symbol of the new age. But Heero somehow surpassed all that, had become the symbol of everything dear and important to the human race.

In the end, it had always been about Heero.

And Noin had understood that when he could not.

_I simply thought her spirit would calm you._

There were no thoughts of revenge anymore, no desperate need to avenge her death and to make it mean something, because he realized now that she had died at the controls of a mobile suit, doing what she loved most - her duty. It had always been about her duty, and he had admired that in her.

Through it all, she had loved him.

He wondered who Wufei's ghost was, the woman that haunted the Shenlong pilot's past. Whose memory drove the Gundam that he flew? Whose voice did Wufei hear when the lights were off and there was no one there to remind him that he was still human?

They were chasing the dawn, both of them, flying forward into the rays of a sun they could never catch, a sun that rose and hung in the sky and then set as they futilely pushed their crafts to the limit, because they were only men and their Gundams were only machines, and they could never be as fast as the stars. Noin had understood that, and he was sure that Wufei's ghost lady had as well.

_We're all the same_, he thought ruefully. _Pilots...chasing something we can't catch, living for it, dying for it._

"Zechs."

He jumped a bit at the voice in his ear, looked down and realized it was a private channel. "Chang?"

The scope pinged, and he adjusted the distance, saw the first enemy dots appear on the screen, saw the preliminary data readouts for Sparta Command Base scroll across the page. There were the Liberation Forces...there were the Preventers, outnumbered...Wing Zero...Epyon.

Heavyarms?

"Sally has Heavyarms?" he said incredulously.

"What you're fighting for today..." Wufei said, then stopped, as if looking for the words. "What these men and women are going to die for today. It's not about honor anymore, it's not about justice. I wish it still was."

"Was it ever?" Zechs said, and Wufei laughed ruefully.

"Today I'm just fighting for the world to have a chance to survive. For people - common people - to have the right to be happy." He stopped again. His voice was thick when he continued. "I don't want anyone else to have to die because of Treize."

The list of names. "Yes," he said softly. "99,822 people was enough."

"Then," Wufei said, "forgive me."

The comm clicked off.

"Chang?" he demanded. "Chang? Answer me! Dammit, Chang Wufei!"

The scope buzzed and he realized that there was an extra green dot in the midst of the formation of Preventers shuttles, a dot that hadn't been there just a moment ago, a dot that was moving almost too rapidly for his scope to follow, and with a muffled cry he activated the Taurus' power systems, propelled himself forward.

"Colonel Peacecraft! It's not time for the drop yet, Colonel!"

The doors to the shuttle burst open at the Taurus' command, and he launched the beautiful white machine into the air, saw the blue glow ahead that were the engines of Shenlong Gundam, saw even in front of that the red and orange flashes of battle, the explosions that tore at his heart even though he could not hear them in the airtight seal of the cockpit.

The Greek ocean to his right was blue and gold in the light of the newborn sun. A stray shot zinged past his window, like the beating of a mosquito's wings.

"Chang Wufei!" he shouted, and pounded at the controls because once again, the Taurus was too slow.

"Colonel Peacecraft!" Jeong's voice demanded over the comm, and he closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. And switched it off.

Wufei would not respond, anyway, and there was no point in keeping it on just to hear commands that he would not obey, because in the end, he'd promised to obey Wufei, and Wufei was trying to kill himself for nothing.

He imagined Noin's voice, calling him.

There was no Zero system on this mobile suit, but he closed his eyes, imagined the warm yellow glow surrounding him, imagined seeing the thousands of enemy targets spin and collide and then condense into one, just one giant enemy that he had to fight, imagined opening his eyes again and being flooded with a vision so clear it was almost like being God.

_Zechs._

There was Otto and the beautiful and terrible explosion when he had sacrificed himself in Tallgeese to attain the Cinq Kingdom.

There was Treize, who he hadn't even seen die, had pretended that he hadn't cared, had only heard his last words over the crackle of radio static, calm and accepting . _Zechs, I'll go ahead of you._

There was Dorothy, the girl who had never known him become the woman he couldn't know, and he only had realized too late that she loved him and that he had lost a friend because they had both been selfish.

And there was Noin.

His hand twitched on the stick, and he swung the Taurus into a tight loop, eyes still closed, knowing that if he was as good a pilot as he thought he was, he would be able to somehow survive this, and if he died, then it was fate.

He felt the Taurus shudder as it was hit. The Taurus spun faster and faster, and everything was a roaring in his ears, and he gasped for air, feeling his g-suit compress as the pressure became too great. Saw the thousands of targets again, reaching out, trying to feel with his mind the blasts coming toward him, trying to-

_You and I are the weak!_

_Heero is the heart of space._

_OPEN YOUR EYES, MILLIARD!_

The breath was sucked out of his lungs in a long, gasping heave, and he forced his head up, forced his eyes open just as something in front of him exploded. The Taurus shrieked like a dying thing through the resulting debris cloud, and looming up in front of him on the horizon was Sparta Command Base, all on fire, and then there was Shenlong Gundam.

"Chang Wufei!" he cried again, slapping on the comm, and then a voice.

"...Oniisama?"

She swooped down upon him, tail whip trailing behind her like the devil's own fiery punishment, and he spun the Taurus to one side as Epyon arced to the other. They screamed past each other, almost touching, twin birds of prey, and at the last moment he turned and seized Epyon's right arm with the Taurus' hand, and the black Gundam twisted, but did not struggle.

"Oniisama," she said. "You came."

* * *

**Scene VI: Dance of the Cybernetic Gods**

_"Since the beginning of time man has ruled the earth  
Deemed the principle power over all  
As time plodded on man's knowledge grew  
Till he was no longer man but a God."  
-Jag Panzer, The Age of Mastery_

He must have slept, somewhere in those long, desperate hours trying to track down Aidoru, for eventually even the stimulants failed and the knowledge that he was not part of the golden flow of ones and zeros around him, that he was merely a mortal human being, easily broken...all that was trickling away. He was no longer Quatre Raberba Winner, prince of the Arabian colony, Gundam pilot, friend and brother. His consciousness knew nothing except the silent surging of the machine through which his lifeblood pulsed.

He was the machine.

If he slept, he dreamt of the net, the world that was laced with information that could turn to poison and characters who could never be trusted, traps that could fry a mind, pitfalls designed to take out the unwary. The soft hum of the Zero had been the only constant; it lulled him whenever he felt too frustrated by the various knots that almost entangled him time and time again. He didn't know this, of course. How could he, when he was invincible?

The people of the net were hostile, but they were hostile to most, and he knew it was nothing personal. That was a pleasure, a nearly addicting drug as he realized that there was such a thing as anonymity and that he was rated on his own skills, rather than who he was.

He was dangerously close to becoming a drowner, he knew...someone who went under the net and never emerged, forgetting that there was something more outside of the information and lights. The fail safes on his unit had been removed, and he realized that it was unlikely that the techs would pull him up before the crisis was over.

Quatre was starting not to care...but forgetting to care would be his downfall.

From the moment he'd entered, pursing the hottest hacker perhaps in the history of hackers, he knew that the odds were against him. He was untried and didn't know the laws of this land, and even though he was using the Zero, the machine could easily turn around and suck him under and drive him insane... though his sanity now, perhaps, was all a state of mind.

He'd been weaving through holes and layers within an hour, trying to be unobtrusive. After his first encounter in the entry hole, where they had stared at him oddly, he wondered if he was doing something wrong, to make it clear that he was a newbie.

Then one of them had asked what his fixation with Winner was.

"Huh?"

"Why are you using Winner's form?" The stranger, who resembled a little girl with a man's deep voice, leaned forward curiously.

"I'm..." Quatre had been trying to find information, not wanting a deep discussion on forms. He hadn't realized that he hadn't selected a new form, like most people did unconsciously - apparently his mind was projecting his own body, instead of something he wanted to be, in a fantasy. Maybe that was the greatest fantasy of all - the chance to be himself.

"You really are new, huh? I bet you didn't even consciously select your avatar... what's your name?"

He opened his mouth, about to say _I am Quatre Raberba Winner, and who are you?_ before remembering the rules were different here. "Prince. Call me Prince." He wasn't sure where the name came from, but for some reason, it seemed right - an impersonal name that struck something at his core, a secret he wasn't willing to tell the real world, but was fine to speak among strangers.

The girl had laughed. The man's voice coming from the little girl's pouty lips was unnerving, but Quatre paid it no mind. "Clever. It's a lot to live up to," she had warned. "Winner's definitely a prince, though." He hadn't argued, knowing that his money and power made many feel that way.

He hadn't found out anything of value from them. Aidoru was rocking the net world, shaking it each time he reconfigured it. Quatre had caught on quickly that Aidoru's tactics were no mere cat-and-mouse game; no, the master hacker was after one thing only: destruction. Aidoru was after L3's defense system, and Quatre's fixes were Aidoru's playthings.

It made traveling interesting, to say the least.

Zero made things go more swiftly. Zero seemed to be able to pierce through the facades and layers of tricks, letting him see through to the heart of the net...

...and there was nothing there.

The one thing that kept him from forgetting the real world was knowing, somehow, deep in the part of him that remained human, that this false one was built entirely on fantasy.

She was close. It was a taste of heaven, knowing that it was less than four hours now, the moment which her whole life had been moving towards. In four hours, all the pain of groveling under another person's feet, waiting for her turn to shine - the secrecy, the constant fear of being discovered in those early days - all that would end. It had been the world against Aidoru, and Aidoru would prove that she was invincible.

She didn't have much time to think, but for the most part, she did not have to. Most of what she was doing was trying to unbraid the strands of L3's security system. It was a long and meticulous process, and even she had nearly been tangled a few times in the numerous safe guards that had been created to prevent a hacker from pulling them down. Perhaps ten or twenty of the world's top hackers could have made it as far as she had; perhaps five of them could even follow her into the webs she had woven around herself and understand her movements. But there were none who could complete the task. Except her.

The Nesting Place was perhaps the most dangerous hole that had ever been made. It was ancient, created back when the net was just turning into VR, before people realized the differences in data content and how much the human brain had been able to handle. For them, closer had been better. Always build it closer to the pure information flow, and you'd have more control.

In theory, that was true. The closer to the source, the more control over the information and the easier it would be to access. The Nesting Place rested at the key junction of several supercomputers, where they interfaced under high-security measures. It was a highly illegal hole, but had been created so long ago that destroying it would have been counterproductive, as systems had been build on top of it. Unlike many holes, the Nesting Place didn't look that different from the outside. No one dared to try to put their personality here, so all it resembled was lights and cables of information, dancing around a space which was barely big enough to move in.

To her, it was like swimming through a thick liquid, like a drug hit that sent one soaring to the utmost high. To most computers, it existed as a part of the core system. To those in the know, it existed as a dangerous temptation, a chance to take things apart and gain control at the same time.

Almost all truly great hackers eventually gave into the desire and visited it at least once...and only about half of them returned. Those that did never went again, becoming afraid of what they had found there.

You shouldn't touch the sun, they said. Man wasn't meant to do some things, and that was one of them.

She didn't believe them. Man was master over the machines they had created, and while she loved and respected their power, she knew that in the end, it was all about who was the strongest, the best.

Man was the master, and she was man's idol.

To her, the defenses for L3 looked like a complex braid, one which had to be carefully untangled piece by piece. Thousands of delicate threads, full of information and protection codes, were bundled into tight clusters, and hummed into life before her sight. It was a beautiful, living thing, changing a bit whenever L3's sensors made it adjust, and she almost regretted destroying it.

Almost. People like her were not made to create.

Sally had asked that the she pull the defenses down at least an hour before the missiles were launched. She fully intended to made sure she timed it exactly, to show exactly what Aidoru was capable of. Sally was one of the few human beings in this world who understand a little of what it meant to be the underdog, of working your way from the bottom to the top. She was not like Kushrenada or Peacecraft, born to power. She was not like the Gundam pilots, given power as if it were a toy. Sally Po was intelligent and ruthless and knew how to destroy.

But she wondered how long even Sally Po would be useful to her. In the end, there was only Aidoru.

The information flow was freeform around her, and though there was no true "here" nor "there" in the net, she still felt stretched out, bobbing up and down in the waves the data rivers created. It gave her an illusion of defenselessness, she knew. Every hour or so, she would pause in her work, to make sure that no one was coming after her, that there were no silent hackers sneaking up behind and intending to pull the plug. She didn't trust them...but they knew better than to get in her way, not after she'd fried six of their best.

No one was going to tangle with her.

Her fingers tugged on each braid patiently, working slowly to make sure that the work would be thorough and unfixable. The system was layered, a complex mix-mash of old and new, and utterly unique. Each supercomputer was like that, really, but this was the biggest one she had ever tried taking down. Some of the braids were hidden by other machines, other computers. The security guards were good, and once she had even been thrown out of the net when she'd made a near-fatal mistake and triggered an alarm.

It took three hours to recover from that, and she'd been lucky she hadn't been fried. The people who had built this system were serious, and meant to take out any would-be intruders with their defenses.

By now the net world was well-aware of what she was doing, and it had been amusing that none of them had dared to stop her, not even with the ripples her gradual destruction was causing. She'd had to shift several of the systems to the side when they got in her way, and she knew the reverberations had probably triggered a cascade collapse in some of the lesser machines attached to the net. Those hackers who were smart and cautious would be gone by now. The ones who were dumb and reckless would stay and would never know what hit them. The ones who were smart and reckless - hell, they made their own rules. She wondered how many of them would stay, too.

Her computer had alerted her, two days ago, of an intrusion from the Preventer's base, and then a second, but it seemed that whoever the agents that had been sent were not going to be able to find her in time. She laughed inwardly at the idea. She knew what Une had to work with, and none of the hackers were anywhere near her level. The two best had already been killed by Masumune.

L3's defense system was putty in her hands, sticky like strands from the yolk of a raw egg, dripping into pools of liquid data, disappearing with plops that slivered in her enhanced vision like fireworks. A few more yards and then there would be no more braid, simply ribbon of phosphorescent silver strands winding their way into the distance, and as soon as the hour arrived, she'd cut through them all. Without any system to support them, the threads would tighten, quiver, shatter like broken glass, and L3's defenses would fall.

And no one would be able to put it back together.

He wasn't sure exactly when and where he first heard of the Nesting Place. Perhaps Zero, accessing other systems on his subconscious commands, tapped into something he wasn't aware of, but as soon as he thought on it, he realized that was where Aidoru had to be.

Quatre didn't consider himself particularly proud, but as he thought on the situation, he realized with a sinking heart exactly what Une had asked him to do. She had asked him to go into a battlefield practically unarmed against an opponent who was almost guaranteed to kill him.

She wanted him to be a diversion.

He didn't like the idea. He never did anything just to die.

He wondered if the fighting was over, and if he was wasting his time. He wondered if Sally had already killed the rest of his friends, or if she had been killed herself. He wondered a lot of things...but wondering was getting him nowhere. At least he could be certain the Preventers headquarters was still intact, because if Sally had gotten to it, he would not be here wading through crumbling strands of data. He would be dead, and so would the net.

It was dying anyway, he realized as he pushed forward. With the Zero's enhanced visuals, he could see that the ancient architecture that held the data walls in place were crumbling, and that level of the golden "water" he waded through had risen steadily until it was now thigh-high, and still rising. No matter who won this war, it would be a long time before the information world would be safe to use for any hacker of any level.

He had a decision to make - should he chance it, a direct confrontation with a hacker who was rumored to be perhaps the best ever? Or should he find an alternative route? He had never been particularly good at subterfuge, but like most pilots, he knew that sometimes a knife in someone's back solved matters more quickly than the direct route.

Or maybe...they could negotiate.

He was sick of the killing.

He didn't know anything about Aidoru, and had no clue what kind of person he was. Maybe he had joined Sally because he genuinely believed that Sally was right and the World Nation was wrong. Maybe he had beliefs and killed only because he had to. Maybe.

Quatre didn't believe it. From the utter ruthlessness Aidoru had shown when it came to abusing his fellow netphiles, Quatre's instincts told him that the hacker was egotistical, and in it for something that was beyond ideals and causes. Aidoru was most likely Sally's ally, not comrade. Each of them was using the other, and most likely knew that was the case.

It seemed like his only option would be a direct confrontation.

The Zero seemed to agree, and Quatre found himself drifting again, falling into a gold glow that was familiar and warm, and trying to fight off fatigue and heart-sickness, because he knew that if he gave into his emotions, the Zero would overwhelm him, like that time. He forced himself not to think of Trowa, probably dead now, or Heero and Wufei and Duo or...

It was getting hard to think, but there was no choice.

_Think of the mission._ Yes, that was what they had always done, right? Mission accepted, mission complete, like Heero was so fond of saying. Don't fail, others are depending on you. It's okay if you get soiled in blood, because that way the ones you love won't have to know the same pain...

Trowa's face, stained in blood as he was killed by Sally. Trowa's face, as he smiled and told him that it was all right to hate them, that they deserved to be destroyed. Trowa, dying again, this time by Duo's hand.

_This isn't real. I'm after a person, a human, a murderer trying to destroy a colony..._

_Haven't you already done that?_

_Yes, yes..._

_What was the feeling like, the power?_

_It's not about power... _

He was drifting again, too tired to fight against the Zero's pull. He wanted to see the truth. He wanted to show everyone that they were wrong, that he was right, to show the world that sorrow should be spared from those who you loved...

Duo. Heero. Wufei. His sisters. Trowa, dead now, killed by Sally...

He hated her.

He hated the one whom he had once called a friend, whom he had once trusted. She had killed Trowa, killed his best friend, for an ideal...

_But you would have done the same, had your positions been reversed._

_Right?_

His fatigued mind recognized the turmoil, recognized the golden glow to his memories as he thought on what had been, what should not have been, and the possibilities. It was too much, to really believe in anything, but right now, he had to believe in something, and there was nothing left to believe in, except...

His own face, looking back at him.

When it came down to it, he was all alone.

_But others trust me._

Une. His sisters. His comrades. Trowa, dead now...

_No. Trowa isn't dead until I see his body._

And then he shattered into a million pieces, the golden light around him flaring dangerously. "You won't beat me," he swore, and he wasn't sure if he was talking to the Zero or to Aidoru. Either way, he had won, because he had finally sunk down to the level where the Nesting Place was hidden. All that he needed to do was take the final step...

...and enter.

She was nearly there when the alerts she had placed around The Nesting Place triggered. The alarms went off, sounding like the base's klaxons, and she turned, curious and ready. The work she'd been doing had been of the most tedious sort, and she was almost looking forward to frying the intruder. It would be a welcome break from the meticulous work of separating the strands, one at a time.

Turning her head, she chose a guise, a silvery body that resembled the fluid constructions she'd often seen as a youngster. The headset rested on her eyes, lights flashing dangerously, and she knew she would resemble some kind of cyber artwork that most people would consider ideal for the hacker who was reshaping the world.

It was rather a pity no one knew who she really was. This kind of artistry almost demanded to be signed.

The Nesting Place opened like a great shell, ripples of metallic data flow dripping, lava-like, down into the core, pooling at her feet. She was impressed despite herself. Few hackers had been able to find this place near the core systems. Who was this, she wondered, who could make his way here unchallenged? Was it Masamune?

The intruder's footsteps echoed oddly through the hole, and she blinked as she recognized his face. The user's image was that of the famous Quatre Raberba Winner.

She would wager it really was him. She knew how Une's mind worked. "Hello, Winner," she said, smiling slightly. "Welcome to my parlor." _Said the spider to the fly_, she thought, and surpressed the urge to laugh.

He blinked a bit in surprise. "Are... are you Aidoru?" he asked, and his pleasant voice was slightly hesitant.

"Who else would be here?" she asked, turning her head slightly as she returned to the task of unbraiding the security system. "What do you want?"

"I'm here to stop you," he said.

"You can try," she challenged. "But you won't succeed."

"Why are you doing this?" he asked. There was no accusation in his voice, just fatigue of a man who had seen too much and was prepared to expect anything, no matter how unpleasant.

"Because I can," she replied. "Do yourself a favor, pretty boy, and get the hell out of here." She was in a generous mood, and beginning a cyber battle here would result in nothing but destruction of the system she was so carefully arranging to dance to her command.

"No. Aidoru, if you take that system out, millions of people will die."

She sniffed. She really didn't care what happened on L3. "So?"

His eyes flashed, and she realized that she had finally pushed him into the corner she wanted. "I'm going to stop you," he announced, and suddenly a string of code was flying from him, zipping past her head, designed to throw her out of the net.

She threw up a defense and smiled at him as his code hit her shields and shattered. Pity. Waste of a complex piece of work. "I don't think so, Winner. I've never lost."

"You've never faced a Gundam Pilot before," he returned, and suddenly more codes were flying, as he attempted to get her system to disengage.

"So what?" She laughed, evading his throw again. It might be fun, this bit of child's play. "You may be the best at piloting a machine, but in here, I'm the god."

He stared back at her, blue eyes steady, burning, unafraid. "No human is a god," he said, and then the battle begin.

* * *

**Scene VII: Hymn to the Fallen**

_"I know I'm searching for something so undefined  
That it can only be seen by the eyes of the blind."  
- Billy Joel, The River of Dreams_

It did not take Heero much to admit to himself and the rest of the world that they were badly outnumbered. It wasn't that he had any problem in asking for help, but it was simply that he would be asking for help that the Preventers could not give.

They had mobile suits, but they had no pilots. There were hangars and hangars of Tauruses at Sparta, newly manufactured from before the end of the last war, all sparkling and never piloted, waiting to be taken up in the air for the first time. The problem was that the World Nation had forbidden the Preventers to train pilots for these craft, because it had been their belief that combat air and spacecraft were no longer needed. And now Sally was after those same mobile suits that somehow, through all of the World Nation's insistence that war was outdated, had never been scheduled for destruction and the scrap pile, but had just been sitting there for two years.

Now, the World Nation was getting its stupidity thrown back in its face, but that was no comfort to anyone.

The odds had evened out a little with the arrival of Epyon, but as good a pilot as Hilde was, she was no Duo or Zechs, and even if Duo or Zechs had been here, it would have made little difference, because Sally's forces were too many. _This isn't going to be pretty_, Hilde had said, and as the Liberation Forces had struck with all the firepower, they had, he had realized the truth of her words.

Almost one-fifth of his force had been wiped out in the first wave of Sally's assault. The Preventers had regrouped and gotten into some semblance of formation, but three more transport craft had appeared over the horizon, and he had wondered exactly how many forces Sally had up her sleeve, and then wondered why exactly she needed the Sparta mobile suits anyway, if she had so many available already.

The answer was simply that this was war, and more equaled better, and if nothing else, Sally had been fighting wars all of her life one way or the other, and she knew how things worked as well as the next person. If the enemy had it, you wanted it.

He had wondered if Sally would try to speak directly with him, but she had never attempted to open a channel. It was understandable...they'd never been very close during the war, and she would probably realize that nothing she could say would sway him. Still, he would have appreciated at least a gesture from her, to acknowledge her opponent.

After another sixteen of the Preventers Tauruses had gone down in flames and the Liberation Forces had set two more buildings on fire, Heero had decided it was time to call for those reinforcements they hadn't got.

He hadn't been surprised to get Une herself on the comm when he had radioed Geneva requesting backup. The expression on the general's face hadn't been pretty.

"We can't afford it, Heero! You already know that!"

"You either send backup," Heero said, "or we die here. Your choice, Une."

Her face was like a thundercloud, and if looks could kill, he would have been dead several times over. He knew she was not really angry at him. She was under attack from all sides, from the World Nation, from Sally, from the Preventers, her own organization. It was a lot for one woman to take, but if any woman could do it, it was Une.

"I can't promise anything," Une warned him. "You're asking for the impossible here."

He really did not feel like dying at Sparta, so he pulled the last card that he had. "Chang Wufei is still at Geneva," he said. "Send him."

They stared at each other, the Gundam pilot and the general. The Zero system fed numbers into his brain. Two more mobile suits down. Combat Operations Center 50 damaged. Three enemy fighters at his back. Aim beam cannon, fire, take out two suits. Let third suit crash into falling debris.

"Marauder leader! Sir, we've lost the flightline operations center!"

And finally, Une's lips quirked in a sort of half-snarl, half-smile.

"I'll see what I can do."

"You do that," Heero said, pulling Wing Zero into a dive as two Liberation fighters came out of nowhere, wove through the resulting crossfire as Epyon shot them off his back.

"How are you doing, Eypon?"

Hilde's face appeared on the screen. "We're fine," she said, but Heero could see the strain in her face and her movements, and behind her at the secondary fire controls, Relena didn't seem to be doing much better. He had been surprised at how quickly she'd picked up the art of targeting, and perhaps that was another sign that combat skills were more genetic than people liked to think.

He wished Zechs was here, but Zechs was injured and was probably better off in the Preventers hospital. He wondered what would happen if the two of them chanced to meet before this conflict was over, and raised one hand to his face, rubbing his scar.

Zechs had given him the scar, had set him free, or so he thought. And now the two of them were caught up in the great tide of world events again. If Sally managed to fire those missiles...

The Breaks would be destroyed, he knew. He wasn't sure how he felt about that; sometimes the thought would bring him almost to anguished tears, and then other times, he would feel nothing. Were the Breaks his home? Did his past and his heritage lie there, as Wufei's had lain in L5? And if so, what right did Sally, who was fighting for the freedom of her homeland, have to destroy someone else's land?

The hours crawled by and then sun crept higher up into the sky above the lapis-lazuli blue of the distant Greek ocean, and he desperately tried to keep his forces alive, tried to keep himself alive, peered into the horizon hoping for a miracle, and no one came.

"I don't think they're coming," Hilde said over the comm as Epyon dove to avoid a barrage of missiles, and he spun Wing Zero around, slapped the comm.

"Green team, come with me. We're going to initiate a ground assault!"

Heavyarms would have seen the mobile suits diving for it, and as he expected, Sally opened fire. The Taurus next to Wing Zero in formation was not quick enough, exploded. Heero gritted his teeth and opened fire back. Heavyarms sidestepped, brought up its shield. The mobile suit hangars were behind it, and he knew Sally wasn't about to let the Preventer troops push her off her territory.

_What's she waiting for?_ he wondered. Was she trying to simply get enough men to jump in each Taurus and take off with them? Was she planning to have shuttles load them up and take them back to whatever base she was operating from - most likely Kashmir? Was she simply going to stand there till the Preventers had run out of men and ammunition, and declare Sparta her territory also?

Wing Zero's feet touched ground with a jarring thud of metal, and Heero swung the craft around as Heavyarms sought to grab his arms from behind. He swung out with the rifle, catching the other Gundam in the shoulder, but it didn't fall, simply wavered on its legs, took a brief step backward, and then reengaged.

"We'll cover you, chief!" one of the Preventers said breathlessly over the comm.

"Roger," Heero snapped back, knowing, seeing only on the red and orange monster on the viewscreens, matching her blow for blow, wanting so badly to open the comm channel and say _Sally, Sally are you there? It's me. Heero Yuy_, but knowing that it would make not one whit of difference, because he was the enemy now.

He'd fought in Heavyarms before, knew exactly how the machinery worked, knew how the cannon felt when it fired, but he was not Sally. It was the pilot that made the Gundam, not the Gundam itself, and though he knew all the secrets of hand-to-hand combat in Heavyarms, it did not matter. He could still lose.

Trowa couldn't kill her, and now Trowa was dead. Could he kill her? He had told Duo that he might have to, if it came down to it...but it was not like killing Treize, or even Zechs. Treize or Zechs had always been the enemy, at least in name. Sally he had known, he had believed in. She had saved them when no one else would give them a second chance, and she had helped bring them to victory.

Sally thought that the World Nation was just another Federation. Sally didn't believe in Treize. Even he, a failed soldier and child of the war, believed in Treize...believed that Treize had died so that the world could be a better place. That was why he had wanted to survive, at the end, as the Libra fell to earth and he could have fallen with it, too.

Sylvia Noventa had called him a coward.

"Marauder Leader! We're picking up a-"

"It's a Gundam!" shrieked someone, and his eyes widened as the scope pinged. Four shuttles...and Shenlong Gundam?

"Wufei," he whispered, just as Hilde snapped over the comm, "It's Shenlong. He's here."

He swung away from Sally, leapt into the air as Heavyarms opened fire, bullets tracking toward him as he wove and spun through the buzzing cloud of shells. "Wufei?" he said, opening the channel to the other Gundam, "Wufei, are you there?"

But something wasn't quite right as he watched the blip that was Shenlong Gundam shoot towards them with an almost frightening speed. Wufei wasn't responding, and the white Taurus that emerged from the shuttle a moment later was something he thought he'd never see again, because wasn't Noin dead?

"What the hell is going on?" he snarled, and he heard Hilde gasp, and Relena's startled voice.

"Oniisama?"

And he knew she was right. The pilot in the white mobile suit wasn't Noin. It was Zechs Merquise.

"What are you doing, Wufei?" he demanded, but the Shenlong Gundam was silent, just like Heavyarms was silent, and he could see now that Shenlong wasn't even attempting to evade the fire that surrounded it like a swarm of insects. Bullet pinged off the Gundam's hull, leaving black scars, but Shenlong kept coming, barreling through like nothing in the world mattered anymore.

Only Heavyarms.

With a cold feeling in his gut, Heero realized what Wufei was trying to do.

"Wufei! Wufei, answer me. Dammit!"

"Heero Yuy!" the comm crackled, with the familiar deep voice he knew so well, a ghost out of the past, "No time for pleasantries. We've got a suicidal pilot on our hands."

"What's going on?"

"I don't know. He thinks he can beat, Sally, maybe. He thinks he's going to kill her?"

"Damn you, Wufei," Heero snarled, folding Zero's wings into a dive, and pulled the stick back hard.

The Gundam shuddered and then he felt the crushing impact of g-forces as the plane hurled itself back up into the air, shooting straight up through the clouds like a rocket, higher and higher, and then just as he felt the craft arch its back into the stall, he threw down the stick again and Zero rolled over on itself, looped around, and the g-forces eased for a split second before they were back, and the ground was coming up at him and Shenlong was in his front viewscreens.

"Wufei!" he shouted.

Heavyarms' fire was tracking him, tracking Shenlong, tracking both of them. He saw Zechs faintly through the side screen, saw the Preventers shuttles move into dropping range and saw the doors open.

"Sir, they've got the Taurus hangars completely surrounded! We're out of ammunition and-"

Static.

"Wufei, stop!" he bellowed, just as Zechs said over the comm, "Our reinforcements aren't going to be enough for that," and then Epyon brushed past his left with a roar of afterburners and Hilde said, "What the hell is Wufei thinking?"

"Grab him!" he shouted, and Epyon stopped, dropped like a sinking stone, swooped behind Shenlong that was almost on top of them, and caught and held one leg, both Gundams twisting from the impact, spiraling through the air.

Shenlong's dragon head arched out, and Wufei fired.

"You bastard," Heero said, and suddenly he was back in the Wing Gundam, and it was not this war but the last one, and he heard Doctor J's voice in his ear, heard the scientists' voices crowded around him, knew only the sound of his heart beating in his ears that was not even a real heart, because was a killing machine even truly alive?

_It is unnecessary for our weapons to have human emotions. Retrain him._

Wing Zero slammed into Shenlong with a force that threw him back against his seat, a force so hard that he cracked his head on the back of the chair and saw bright spots and stars for a moment before realizing that his right shoulder hurt like hell, and that he had probably dislocated it. But pain was nothing to him, nothing to a killer like him.

A killer like he used to be, before Wufei had saved him.

_Kill him_, the Zero whispered in his ear, but he ignored it as the Gundam transformed from the shape of a bird to the shape of a man, reaching out and grabbing Shenlong into a wrestler's hold. Metal strained against metal, and he heard the satisfying click of the comm, the calm voice. Too calm.

"Let me go, Heero."

Preventers mobile suits streaked past him, but Heero knew it was too late to save the Sparta base. Sally had taken control of the hangars, and her forces, firmly anchored on the ground, would annihilate the Preventers' in a heartbeat.

"Zechs!" he snapped. "Take your Preventers. Send them back to the shuttles."

Zechs did not ask why, did not question his orders. He was almost surprised to hear the former Lightning Baron's voice over the comm, ordering a retreat.

"Heero! Let me go!"

He hit visual, and Wufei's face appeared on the screens, blown up to three times its size in real life, and at this magnification, Heero could see that there was no desperation in the Chinese pilot's eyes, just a simple and heartfelt wish to end it.

_End it._

"I'm not letting you go," he whispered. "Don't do this, Wufei."

"I deserve this!"

"You do not deserve this!" he shot back. "Killing yourself now won't solve a thing! We're beaten here...Sally's won!"

"If I kill her," Wufei said, "I can win the war. I can do this, Heero. Let me go!"

_Are you God?_

_I'm not God. Just...a messenger._

"I won't let you go," he said, the words coming out thick and broken from dry lips. "Wufei...you told me...you told me I had a life left to live. That I had a cause. Even when I didn't believe in myself, you believed in me! Are you still trying to atone for your wife's death? Didn't my words to you mean anything at all?!"

The slanted eyes narrowed, but behind the anger, Heero saw grief. Shenlong struggled against him again, but he saw Epyon tighten its hold on the Gundam's legs.

"She needs to die," Wufei said quietly.

He pounded the console desperately. "The world doesn't need another Treize, Wufei!"

"I'm not trying to be Treize," Wufei said. "I'm just trying to finish what he started."

_I've spent the past two years doing penance, telling her I was sorry, that I'd failed her because she died for nothing._

"He didn't die for nothing, Wufei," Heero whispered. "Treize died so that we would be able to live. He understood the meaninglessness of war...the foolishness of the human race! He died so that he could end that!"

"You don't understand-" Wufei snarled, and Heero closed his eyes, sent up a prayer, a wish, a command to the Zero system, and it responded. Wing Zero's afterburners lit, the engines powering to maximum thrust, pushing Shenlong Gundam back, back towards the shuttles.

"I understand," Heero said quietly. "I understand that you saved me from myself once. I'll save you too."

"Let me go! Heero!"

Shenlong's engines roared to life, and he felt the dragon Gundam ram against Wing Zero's restraining arms, saw Epyon in the background fighting to hold on, to pull back, heard Zechs' voice over the comm. "Heero! It's pointless...she's leaving!"

The Liberation shuttles were rising off the ground, and Heero realized that Sally hadn't even waited, had sent that many shuttles not because she had so many troops, but because the shuttles could carry loads of unmanned Tauruses. Sally was taking them back to Kashmir with her.

It was too late now.

"There'll be another time," he said to Wufei, throwing Shenlong back. Epyon let go of the Gundam's leg and swooped forward to help him brace Shenlong, and he saw Wufei sag on the screen, saw his arms go limp, and Shenlong stopped in midair.

_"Don't go, Sally..."_

"What are you going to do, Yuy?"

He did not remove Zero's arms from around Shenlong, keeping Wufei's image on the screen just in case the other pilot decided to do something stupid and try and go after Sally after all. "She's after L3," he said. "She won't stay at Kashmir long. She's probably got the pilots suited up and ready to go once the shuttles get in."

"I wouldn't doubt it," Zechs said, and he pushed the visual button, and one of the side screens that had held the image of Shenlong's control panel blinked, reappeared with Zechs Merquise's face on it. The former Lightning Baron looked odd with the short, cropped hair, like a shadow of his former self.

"It would be pointless to go after her at Kashmir," Heero said at last. "We've got...how many? Four shuttles here full of mobile suits?"

"Three and a half," Zechs corrected. "Part of that last shuttle was Chang and myself." He looked at Shenlong. "I doubt he's in much shape to fight."

"I can fight," Wufei said, his head bowed. "I won't be left behind."

"How's the damage to the base?" Heero said, and there was a click as Epyon routed him the feed, and the readout started scrolling across one of his console screens. It didn't look good, but there was still at least one working fuel depot.

"Here's what we're going to do. We're landing at Sparta. I don't think we can have much hope for maintenance, but we can refuel. Then we're heading for space."

"L3," Wufei said. Not a question. Heero nodded.

"And you are not going to do anything stupid again, or I'm leaving you behind."

Wufei raised his head, and Heero stared into those dark eyes, matching anger for anger, and Wufei finally smiled a small smile, though something behind it chilled him.

"I am Chinese," Wufei said. "You couldn't hope to understand her. Not at all."

"I know," Heero replied. "But even though I don't understand her, nor do I know her now, I know you and I'd like to think I understand you, somewhat. I told you once before, that I am glad it was you that I have had the privilege to know. And I want to have that privilege for a long time to come."

He knew Epyon was hovering in the air at his side, silent, waiting, and Zechs was listening also, but strangely, it did not bother him that other people were listening to what should have by all means been a private conversation. They had the right. They all carried scars, all carried ghosts, and they all knew what it was like to be haunted and unable to let go.

"What shall I do, Heero?" Wufei said, and the tension inside of him eased. At least for the moment, the danger had passed.

"You'll stay here at Sparta with us," he said. "If you want to see Sally again. Your Gundam is repaired for space combat?"

"She's fine," Wufei murmured. "Nataku will be all right."

"But I'm not staying, Yuy."

He narrowed his eyes at the white Taurus. "What are you talking about?"

"There's something I have to do," Zechs said, and Relena said "Oniisama!" and he laughed.

"Epyon, both of you are coming with me. Unless you have any objections?"

"None here," Hilde said, sounding curious, just as Relena demanded, "What are you up to, Oniisama?"

"I'll wish you luck, Heero."

"Not till you tell me where you're going."

Zechs laughed again, a curiously lighthearted laugh that sounded almost sacrilegious in the red light and smoke of the burning buildings below and the three Gundams still locked in a twisted embrace in the air above.

"I'm going to Kashmir," he said. "Don't worry about me. Perhaps this may not work, but it's not us you should be thinking about." He leaned on the screen and caught Heero's gaze, held it. "Two years ago, we fought each other in a duel that was supposed to end all wars on this earth and restore peace to mankind. But that didn't happen. Maybe this is why. Maybe it's because you, Heero Yuy, are the true hope of mankind, and you were destined to live."

"Zechs-"

"Don't let me down, Heero. You're all we've got."

The white Taurus turned, and he saw Epyon turn and follow, knew that Relena was in there but Hilde and Zechs were there too, and she would be as safe as she could be right now. Hoped that Zechs knew what he was doing, in this battle that might be the last battle.

He slipped Wing Zero's arms away from Shenlong, and saw Wufei look up at him from the screen, but Shenlong did not attempt to follow.

"It's time," Wufei said.

His fingers tightened on the controls. "Preventers, this is Marauder Leader. We're descending to Sparta, coordinates A-five-twenty-nine, for hot pit refueling. Get in, get gas, get out. We're going to be as quick about it as possible."

"Lieutenant Jeong here," a voice responded. "Preventers forces commander. I estimate about 40 troops with me, so we shouldn't take long. What's the battle plan after refueling?"

Wing Zero shifted around him, transforming into the bird again, great wings straining against the sky, wanting to fly higher, faster, break through the clouds until all they could see was the blackness and stillness of space around them, the burning of a thousand suns.

"And then," Heero said, "we are going to the stars."

* * *

**Scene VIII: Deus ex Machina**

_"Centuries of learning on computer screens  
The information age is on  
Splitting the atom the power to end all life  
Blending of cells gives life reborn_

_Striving to become creators of the perfect race  
The blending of pure strain carbon life  
Are we becoming the masters of our own race?  
Or racing blindly into the night?"_

_- Jag Panzer, The Age of Mystery_

Getting - no, more like swimming - to the place to which Masumune had directed her took longer than Dorothy would have liked. It wasn't simply about just wishing herself there, like the net had been in a kinder, gentler time. But rather it was almost a battle in itself, about weaving through the layers of encryption and security Aidoru had left behind him, making sure she didn't follow any dead ends or make any mistakes that would end up with her falling into a loop, all the while knowing that the very fabric of the computer structure she wove through was about to come undone. Masumune had been vague about where The Nesting Place was, merely telling her to follow the information, and eventually she'd find it.

"Haven't you ever been there?" she'd countered.

"I'm not crazy," he told her. "There comes a point when you know exactly where to stop, if you're smart. And if I go there, I'll lose that instinct."

"What's there?" she demanded. "Aside from pure data?"

He had laughed. "You still don't understand, do you? It's power, Valkyrie, nothing but power. And the reason the net is shaking like it is because the very foundation on which it's built is being shifted at the whims of a madman."

"It's like being near the root of a tree," she mused. "You can poison the leaves, eventually, if you go about it in the right way."

"Think of it more as the source of a river. There's other sources, but the one the Nesting Place is located near is one of the oldest and strongest. It has a lot of control over the currents."

"And if Aidoru can divert something from there, it's like being upstream. Even if you build a dam down lower, there's nothing you can do without the water," Dorothy had mused. "Why haven't you tried it, if it's such a wonderful place to work from?"

"Let's stick with our water metaphor. I'm a good, strong swimmer, but even with the best equipment, I'd be swept away if I tried to swim during a tsunami. The force of the information is that intense...being able to think while being surrounded with that much stimulation is too much for most people."

"Not for me," she had replied. She had expected him to sniff, to point out that no one had done it and that as far as he knew, it couldn't be done. But he had simply fallen silent and looked at her with a considering look in his eyes.

Dorothy mused, as she took leave of him, that his silence had been more of an acknowledgement to her chances of success than any verbal platitudes would have been. She supposed that would have made her feel better about the whole ordeal if it had been any physical battle. But this was different. This was not like piloting the mobile dolls, or storming the headquarters on A007.

When she let her mind drift, for just a minute, there would always be the fireball glow of Noin's exploding mobile suit, the blank shock she felt as her own mobile suit hit the ground with Milliard's cries over the intercom.

This wasn't just for herself. It was for him, for Noin, for Relena and Catherine and Sylvia, for Une and the Preventers, all of the former enemies who she finally realized had been friends all along.

_Milliard...the true battle begins here!_

She had begun to swim upstream after exiting Masamune's sanctuary, trying to find the information's source. There were several places of origin and more than one supercomputer in action, but here was where she used her head and realized that the shifts would actually help her.

When the information chains began to move for what seemed like the millionth time, she braced herself, waiting for the storm to settle, and keeping an eye on where the point of origin was. Some of the chains seemed almost tied down, and if she could trace them...

It took far longer than she would have liked, and she ducked into one of the holes once to let herself rest, but she realized that she was getting closer when she saw the cords of knowledge become so thick she had to squeeze through, feeling them cut into her fake body. The violent waves that were shaking the net began to grow more intense as she pushed through until they seemed to be striking every thirty seconds or so.

She couldn't tell which way was up or down. But it didn't matter. No matter what, the Zero assured her, she was moving forward, always forward.

Finally she came to a place where it seemed there would be no passing - wires corded so that there were would be no way of getting working her way through. She hammered on them experimentally, but her pounding did not even move the massive structures, did not even make a sound. She was stuck.

When things came to a point like this, Dorothy firmly believed that a little judicious destruction could be applied. She drew the sword that her mind had given her and expertly began to hack through. The sword did make a sound - a ringing, bell-like tone that reminded her faintly of music boxes. As the first pillar-wire shattered, she felt the shards explode outward and ducked just in time, squeezing her eyes shut and feeling little pieces of data burying into her back. She wondered if she was bleeding in the outside world.

It had always been a possibility that she might die, but she had never really considered that, at the core of the virtual world, at its very heart, the information streams were powerful enough to completely wipe her mind, leaving her body intact. Everyone had heard the stories of the hackers who had plowed too deep and were now reduced to living life as vegetables.

What would her mother say if that happened? she wondered, hacking her way through another pillar, leaping out of the way as it toppled with a crack, crashing to the spot where she had just stood moments before. What would Une think? Milliard? What if...Quatre was dead already?

_I am Valkyrie._

Her arms were growing tired. With every pillar she cut down, it seemed like the next one had grown some new defense mechanism, and she, the analytical part of her mind that was Dorothy Catalonia, knew what was happening. The system was detecting her as a virus, tracking her movements, gathering data to delete her from the system.

Getting thrown out while this deep would make her fears a reality...life in a nursing home, a mental institution, on life support. That was no future for her. She glared at the code fiercely, and then the Zero acted for her.

The security was good; Zero was better. Zero saw through to the core of the fiber, and seemed to slow down the information flow so she could actually make sense of it, and in turn manipulate the cords to her own bidding.

There were several places where the data flow was impenetrable now, so thick that even her enhanced visualization of the sword did nothing to help her. She bit her lip, very glad that the net at least was not conducive to the ugly visualization of sweating, and tried to think. Quatre was in there already, she was sure. Whether he was dead or alive was hard to say, but he had no idea what he was getting into there. She had no doubt that he had simply cut a straight line all the way to The Nesting Place, not bothering to test the currents or to see how the land lay. His simple naivety would someday, if not now, be his undoing. If Aidoru was anything like Masamune had said, he would be manipulating the raw data on its own, simply reaching out and grasping it with bare hands, something that even advanced net hackers called forbidden for fear of their own lives.

That was why he was called the master hacker. And if Quatre did not know that, he would be wiped out before he could utter a word of his no-doubt carefully thought out defense to bring Aidoru back to the world of good and reason.

There were some people, Dorothy firmly believed, that could not be convinced with words, no matter what you said. Quinze had been one of them. The man who killed Noin had been one of them. Sally Po was one of them. And Aidoru was one of them.

_That's why I'm here_, she thought wryly, and then the plan came to her, so simple in its execution, but so utterly brilliant at the same time. She stared at the data lines a little longer, enhanced vision digging deeper into the mess of lines that lay within, seeing the traps there and the massive amounts of pure energy flow that could kill her in a mere nanosecond if she was not careful of where she treaded. Yes, the plan could work.

She gauged her distance very precisely, constructed the image in her mind exactly of what she wanted. She felt the Zero system struggling to keep up with her calculations, as her brain raced through infinite possibilities, choosing some and discarding the others. It was a few nanoseconds before the Zero system registered what she was trying to accomplish - a negligible amount of time in the outside world, but here in the net, it was valuable time lost.

_Do you understand?_ she asked it, and she felt it gathering, forming into a tight ball of roiling golden energy just behind her eyes, all of the power and all of the terror that had caused countless pilots to go mad concentrated into her mind ready to do her bidding. The rush of power was enough to drive any sane woman out of her mind, but Dorothy was no ordinary sane woman.

She was Valkyrie.

"Wish me luck, Milliard," she said, and for a moment she could almost hear his voice in her ears.

_You can do it, Dorothy. We're counting on you._

She took a deep breath, raised her sword behind her head, focused, gritted her teeth, and _swung_.

Aidoru was strong, Quatre realized, and it wasn't till the hacker launched his first real attack that he discovered how woefully he was outmatched, even with the Zero System. He didn't know what he had expected; a blazing firestorm of power, maybe, or a total redirection of the data flows that would turn his world upside down, like in the movies. But as the currents of the Nesting Place gibbered in his ears, Aidoru simply reached out two fingers with a sardonic smile, and twisted.

Quatre cried out at the pain of it, a fiery, searing pain that he could not remember having experienced before, not in any battle - and he had been in many battles, some even to the point of death. But all those wounds had been bodily wounds. This was different, a burning brand thrust into his very brain, frying nerve endings, withering cells. He screamed.

Aidoru laughed.

"Why are you doing this?" Quatre rasped, fumbling for a handhold, anything. His legs felt like jelly, like he had been strapped into his G-suit for hours in the cockpit of his Gundam with the intense crushing pressure bearing down on them. Except, of course, there was nothing there but the flickering golden visualization of the Zero system.

"What business is that of yours?" Aidoru sneered, twisting again. Quatre saw it coming this time and tried to dodge. He failed.

As he collapsed onto the ground again, he heard the clicking of footsteps on the floor that didn't exist, a mercury-colored foot coming over to probe his side experimentally. He reached out one hand weakly to push it away...it was all he could do...

- and everything changed.

It was not Aidoru's doing. He could tell that when the foot suddenly removed itself from his line of vision, by the snarling grunt of surprise from the hacker. The floor he was lying on now was made of marble, cool and smooth and soothing to the feeling of fire creeping up his nerves. Quatre took a deep breath and sat up.

And gasped.

The surrounding visualization of The Nesting Place - pure energy, raw data pulsing by in lighted streams - had completely disappeared. Instead, the place was now a hushed sanctuary of high vaulted ceilings, fresco paintings on the walls, stained-glass windows through which he could see what looked like lightning but what was, he realized, simply the outside of The Nesting Place and the ferocious data streams still there, like mighty thunderstorms.

Quatre had the split-second thought that the place looked familiar before reality set in, and he gaped, stunned. Not only was it familiar, but he had spent most of his waking hours in this place for the last few weeks, wondering if he would emerge a dead man or a live one. He swept his eyes unbelievably over the forbidding jury stand at the far end of the hall, at the eerily empty spectator stands.

It was the Geneva Courtroom.

"You are dead, woman," Aidoru spat, and for the first time, Quatre saw the figure standing tall behind the judge's podium where President Alderman would have been, glowing with the same golden glow that pulsed around him. She was clad in a blinding net visualization - rippling armor, holding a long broadsword in both hands with ease - but he would have known her anywhere, even without the golden aura of the Zero system surrounding her. She looked like a goddess.

"Dorothy?" he whispered.

"Let me make one thing clear, Aidoru," Dorothy Catalonia said, a sneer twisting her beautiful Valkyrie's face. "I'm not here for Winner, and I'm definitely not in this for the World Nation. I don't give a damn whether either of them lives or dies. That's not my problem."

Quatre craned his aching neck, searching for a trace of emotion on Aidoru's previously volatile face, but Dorothy's statement seemed to have wiped every trace of feeling from the hacker's expression. "Then why are you here?" he said, flatly.

Dorothy's mouth quirked in a small smile again. "Because," she said. "Because I need to know that I am better than you."

Her attack was a whirlwind, the broadsword moving like lightning, so much faster than even Quatre's Zero-system enhanced eyes could follow. He rolled out of the way as she leapt from the stage, flung the weapon down, cut into Aidoru's shoulder. The cybernetic master howled. The sound of the sword moving through digitally rendered flesh was a high-pitched splintering, tearing sound, like screaming.

The only thing Quatre could think of as he dragged himself across the marble floor, away from the combatants, was _How did she get so good?_

It was oddly humbling. He had never been arrogant, but he had accepted that he had been one of the better pilots in terms of intelligence. Heero and Duo had more raw skill, but Quatre Raberba Winner was still, in all of their minds, the de facto leader. Or at least, had been two years ago. His mind dredged up memories of that uncomfortable meeting at the base with all five of them, and he realized that things had indeed changed.

Now, Wufei was the leader, and he was just a man besieged by his own successes, and Dorothy Catalonia was showing him the truth of that.

He gripped one of the side rails, trying to pull himself to his feet, but he couldn't feel his legs. Were they broken in the real world? he wondered. If he woke up in the chair after this was over, would he even still have the use of his legs? Petty things to worry about at a time like this, but it would have been comforting to know.

The Valkyrie sword shrieked again, and Aidoru's grunt echoed through the high ceiling. Quatre raised his eyes to the stained-glass windows, seeing the light flashing there, and that was when he realized what Dorothy had actually done.

This courtoom was not merely another visualization, a false "reality," of The Nesting Place. Instead, Dorothy had taken the data lines, shoved them out of the way, and constructed, in essence, a Hole within a Hole, a blank space within the tightly entwined data lines. Outside the windows, energy rushed ferociously on in waves of electric power, but inside here nothing could touch them.

The idea was brilliantly stunning and frightening at the same time. Here, Aidoru could not keep manipulating data to his will, because there were no active data lines inside the Hole. At the same time, Quatre did not know how much Aidoru had already programmed the outside data. If the Nesting Place was about to self-destruct, it would take this Hole with it.

He had no doubt that Aidoru already knew that. Having no data in here to manipulate would prevent the hacker from attacking Dorothy like he had attacked Quatre, but he had no doubt that it was only a minor setback.

His legs trembled as he clutched the railing with all his might, willing them to move, to twitch, to do something. Feeling was starting to come back into his left leg, and he relaxed it a bit, letting the Zero system to speed up the process, casting an anxious eye over Dorothy, who was now standing frozen on the marble floor of this strange duel arena, facing the master hacker with her sword out in front of her. She was holding it like a fencer, Quatre realized. He wondered how much the sword actually weighed, if it was really just a fencing foil in disguise.

The fact that there were no data lines here was apparently confusing Quatre's version of the Zero system, and it gibbered futilely at him. Dorothy had thought ahead and brought a sword, but he had thought to beat Aidoru with the hacker's own code. But the air was empty here, empty, crisp, pure...and useless.

He felt frustration creeping in, forced himself to relax and take several deep breaths, eyes fixed on the motionless combatants in the center of the arena, hearing Instructor H's voice in his mind.

_In battle, you are as calm as the center of the earth, as brilliant as the sun. The breath of Allah is your voice, and the strength of your fathers, your weapon._

_Calm as the center of the earth._

He had no doubt Dorothy had a plan, as he straightened and let go of the railing warily. His legs seemed to hold. But the problem was knowing what that plan was, or even if she was willing to tell him. He thought back to their fencing-foil duel in the bowels of the Libra during the war, and the wrath and rage in her eyes. Dorothy was definitely capable of defeating an ordinary mortal by herself, but against Aidoru, it might not be enough.

_Dorothy_, he called, reaching out through the Zero system, knowing that even here, it could work just like a regular mobile suit comm device, but he had no idea if she could hear him. Was she even listening? The sword twitched above her head, slightly, just slightly, and Aidoru smiled. Quatre knew what he was thinking: that Dorothy was getting tired, that her arms were bowed down with the strain of holding the sword. But Quatre knew differently. The expression on Dorothy's face was the one she wore when she was about to do something dangerous, and the twitch of the sword was a test of the air.

Oh yes, Dorothy had a plan.

_Dorothy!_ he snapped. _What are you doing?_

"You can't beat me," Aidoru smirked.

Dorothy smiled unpleasantly, raising her eyes above Aidoru's head, and acknowledging Quatre with her eyes for the first time. _I have a plan. Are you sure you want to know?_ she said, and the Zero system trembled.

He stood with his hands loose beside him, feet in en-guard position, feeling the invisible weight of a fencing foil in his hands. _Fencing partners_, he replied, and felt her smile. Outside, the Nesting Place roiled and raged against the thing that had been forced into its midst, and the Valkyrie sword sparkled with the lights of millions of data streams all racing together, closer and closer.

"Watch out, Aidoru," she said. "This is Valkyrie's revenge."

* * *

**Scene IX: The Last Electrical Storm**

_"What will my redeemer be like? I wonder.  
Will he be bull or man?   
Could he possibly be a bull with the face of a man?  
Or will he be like me?"  
- Jorge Luis Borges, The House of Asterion_

There were explosions on the scope even before they were fully into L1's orbiting radius. Duo was the first to notice and he didn't say much, but Helena could tell that he was tense. She wanted to reach over and give him a hug, but the shuttle's cockpit was a tight fit, and even she realized that this was not the best time for a hug.

Her first time in space, and instead of gazing with wide-eyed rapture at the vast blackness around her, instead of immersing herself in the experience, she was fighting down a feeling of nausea, wondering if she would live to see tomorrow. If any of them would.

"That is not L1," Shinobu said with an air of finality, toying with the scope. "It is too far away...look, the distances aren't matching."

Helena expected the other two other boys to breathe a sigh of relief, but instead, Duo looked grimmer. "You're right," he said. "It's not. Guess what it is?"

She glanced at him warily. "I don't know. What?"

"It's L3," he said. "Sally's hacker is destroying their defense system. Even I could tell you that when a defense system for something as big as a colony starts falling apart, the results aren't pretty. L3'll be burning for weeks." He clenched his hands so tight that the blue veins on the back stood out with startling clarity, like blue ridges of flesh. "If it's not one colony, then it's another. Dammit, Sally! Why are you doing this?"

Darkflight said something in Japanese and Duo narrowed his eyes. "Bitch," he said.

Helena tapped him. "What did he say?"

Duo sighed. "Darkflight said something to the effect that she doesn't care who she runs over as long as she gets her point across." His eyes were dark. "It's true, you know? I never really realized this during the war, because she was on our side, but it's very true. Sally's not a considerate person."

Helena turned her head to the side to avoid answering, because something in Duo's tone of voice warned her that he wouldn't be quite happy with any explanation she gave. Something caught her attention as it flashed past the viewscreen and she wondered if it was an asteroid. "Duo-" she began, and then another one flashed, a speck of white. "Duo, what's that?"

He didn't even look around. "Civilian shuttles," he said shortly. "People fleeing the colony...making for some other colony, maybe, or Earth. They don't want to be here when those things hit."

"But I thought we-" Helena began, and Shinobu interrupted her softly.

"We are going to help as many people as we can," he said. "Most of L1's citizens cannot afford a shuttle ticket. The shuttles you see - they are government officials, perhaps, or rich people." He glanced at Darkflight and said something in Japanese, and the dark-skinned boy spat something back, to which Shinbou nodded in confirmation. Helena didn't need a translation to recognize the contempt in the assassin's tone.

"Ilene's father could afford it," she murmured softly to the wall. "Chris...all our friends at Cliffside." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "Why, Duo? What is it that makes people so...unequal? Why is it so unfair?"

Duo touched her lightly on the shoulder, just a soft brush, but it was comforting. "I wish I could tell you, babe. I asked that all the time when I was growing up, and I couldn't find the answer either. I'm on the other side now, and I still don't think there's an answer. It's just the way the world works."

"And some of us would rather not have been born there," Shinobu added. Helena bit her lip and looked down. She had forgotten, for a moment, about Shinobu's heritage. The Japanese boy laughed softly and squeezed her arm. "It is all right, Helena. We are going now to help people who those in power have called unworthy. Perhaps we will only make a small difference, but that is still good, I think."

Darkflight stiffened as another explosion appeared on the scope, and said something to Duo rapidly under his breath. Helena could see the dark mass that was L1 approaching on the screen now. Everything looked intact to her untrained eye, except for the mass of civilian shuttles escaping from hatches at random intervals, making the colony look somewhat like a metallic beehive.

"A beehive," she mused, "except the bees are leaving the nest."

Duo caught onto her train of thought, as she knew he would. "The queen will die, then," he said.

Shinobu looked confused, frowning at her as he obviously tried to decipher the English phrases, but she simply smiled at him, making no move to touch him, hoping that her face showed a comfort she did not feel, because if she had put a hand to his arm, he would have felt the nervous clamminess of her palms.

It wasn't that she was afraid, exactly. She was already prepared for the fact that she might die - Ilene had already died, after all, and Chris had almost died. Death was no longer a foreign concept to her. But it was the prospect of torture, of pain before death, that frightened her.

"You can't use Deathscythe here," Shinobu said to Duo in English. Duo blinked, and then his face hardened.

"I know."

"What do you mean?" she demanded immediately, her nervousness heightening her anxiety. "Don't say things like that, Shin! Isn't that why we came in the first place? That Duo could-"

"Helena," Duo snapped, and she clamped her mouth shut, sitting on her hands to hide the fact that they were shaking.

"I-"

"What do you think would happen," Duo said patiently, "if we landed and I took a Gundam out into the city?"

Helena swallowed. "I don't-"

"There'd be riots," Duo said. "People are scared to death right now, thinking the world is going to explode around them. The last thing they need is a symbol of that destruction standing in the middle of their city."

"But we're going to help them!"

"They do not know that yet." Shinobu's voice was soothing. "We must first convince them that we are on their side. And then, when they believe us, Duo's Gundam will be useful. Right now, it would only cause panic."

"L3's not looking too good either," Duo murmured uneasily. "Looks like the security system is still holding up for now, but only because it seems like the de-construction process has been halted. I wonder what for. Sally surely can't be getting soft in her old age."

Darkflight said something else, and Shinobu looked surprised, then concerned. Duo made some control adjustments and leaned back in the seat, his Japanese easygoing and nonchalant. The sound of it should have been soothing to Helena's ears, but she couldn't relax.

"We were just remarking that it was odd we haven't been hailed yet. Usually by this time when you're this close into orbit, they pull you up on the screen and ask what you're doing here."

"They don't care?" Helena wondered, and Duo shook his head.

"My guess is that there isn't anyone there to man the tower. No one in their right mind would want to be coming into the colony right now, not when the way to save your hide is to figure out the best way to get off the damn place before it blows."

She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. "I want to go home."

"Too late, babe," Duo said grimly. "You're in for the ride." He threw a lever forward and the shuttle whined, seeming to gather itself for a final charge. Two more civilian crafts flashed past the windshield. Helena could see one of the open hangar ports growing wider as they drifted closer, and even to her, who had never been in space before much less on a colony, the inside of it looked eerily empty.

"Don't worry, Helena," Shinobu said, and when she glanced at him, she was surprised to find that something about him seemed changed. He looked taller, maybe, or more mature. Maybe it was just his voice. This wasn't the Cliffside Heights student she had gone to school with. The man sitting beside her was colony royalty, one who had power at his fingertips and knew how to use it.

She wasn't sure if she liked that.

"Prepare for landing," Duo said, throwing another lever. "We're about to do some serious damage. Get ready to run as soon as she hits the ground."

Her plan was easy, almost too easy. It was so absurdly simple that Dorothy couldn't believe that Aidoru hadn't already thought of it in the first place.

But apparently, he hadn't.

Quatre understood, of course, as soon as she had even started to give him an inkling of what she had intended to do. He stood his ground, slightly behind Aidoru and to the hacker's left. It took less than three nanoseconds for the information flow to transfer from her Zero system to his, and all the indication he gave was a slight, almost unnoticeable nod of the head. Still, in the world of the net, three nanoseconds was almost an eternity.

"Are you going to stand there all day, little girl?" the hacker challenged. "Or are you afraid?"

"The only thing I'm afraid of is not getting home in time tonight for dinner," Dorothy retorted. "You're defenseless here. You've got nothing to work with, and you know it."

"Don't be so sure," Aidoru countered. Dorothy searched the hacker's expression, trying to find some sense of weakness, some indication that he was breaking, but there was nothing. The visualization was completely probe-proof. He must have sensed her trying to dig, and laughed.

"Everything I've wanted to do has already been set in motion. Even if I die here, nothing is going to stop the L3 security shields from falling. Do your worst, Valkyrie."

"Don't be so sure," she muttered, hefting the sword behind her, and then Quatre said, _wait_.

_Wait?_

It took all the willpower she had not to narrow her eyes at him, but looking back there would be futile, would only alert Aidoru's attention to his other combatant. She was sure Aidoru hadn't forgotten about Quatre, but right now, she was the more direct threat, and the hacker obviously had no idea how tough the Winner heir was.

She had also underestimated Quatre once. She would never do so again.

_What are you thinking?_ she said to him.

_Your plan is fine_, he said. _It's a good plan. But what's to make sure it will work like you want it to?_

_I don't see why it shouldn't_, she huffed, trying to suppress her own unease, and she felt Quatre smile.

_It's not that I don't trust you. It's just that I think a guarantee would make everything more efficient. Quicker._

_More humane, you mean_, she said, grasping his idea, and trying not to toss it in his face with scorn. _Quatre, people like Aidoru don't deserve to be treated humanely. He's killed hundreds of people before getting to his own goals, and if he finds a way to get those data threads back, he'll fry us like a bunch of shrimp in oil._

_Do you trust me?_ Quatre said.

She felt the sword waver again, light as a feather in her hands, but suddenly her muscles were tight. _I trust you with my life_, she said. _I trust you to tell me if my plan is simply something made up by my Zero system-high mind, which apparently it is not. I don't guarantee it will work, but it's worth a try. And what's the loss, if all three of us die here?_

_Nothing_, he protested. _But-_

Aidoru was narrowing his eyes at her now. "What's going on?" he demanded. One of his feet twitched, and she knew that any moment he was going to jump at her, power or no power, and break the stalemate.

_Quatre, I-_

Aidoru leapt forward and she barely had time to bring the sword down before he was on top of her, twisting one of her arms behind her. She grunted, slamming her elbow into his rib cage and catching his body armor full-on. Pain was no stranger to her, but even without his data flows to manipulate, Aidoru was strong. It had to be pure human strength - no net visualization, no matter how good, could mimic the power of human muscle and bone in hand to hand combat.

She lashed out blindly, struck something with the side of her fist. As pain lanced through her hand into her upper arm, there was a clang. The headset around Aidoru's eyes fell to the ground, shattering in two. Dorothy dared to flick her gaze to his face as she jabbed the sword forward, meeting a bloodless, colorless pair of alien-looking eyes.

Aidoru twisted. The sword fell from her hand. She lunged for it, but it skittered out of reach into a corner of the marble hall, and she rolled to the ground, narrowly dodging the hacker's foot. Aidoru fought like a trained martial artist, she realized, and for the millionth time, she wondered who he really was. A fist punched into her left jaw. She heard something crack. Blood in her mouth.

"It's almost time," Aidoru whispered, those pale, mad eyes staring through her into a distance she could not fathom. She dove at him, aiming for his throat, knowing before she did so that it was useless. One killed hackers with the net or one did not kill them at all. This was merely foreplay, the sparring before the battle.

She was so tired.

_Dorothy_, said a voice in her mind, and she looked up, startled, before Aidoru's fist caught her square in the nose and then both of his hands were around her throat. Quatre was standing at the speaker's podium, the Zero glow a hazy mist around him.

He was holding her sword.

"Quatre!" she screamed hoarsely, struggling to break free of Aidoru's death grip. The hands around her neck loosened slightly as the hacker turned, startled. Dorothy felt a surge of triumph. Against all odds, he'd forgotten that Quatre was even there.

"What are you-" Aidoru snarled, but Dorothy beat him to the punch line.

"Quatre!" she shouted. "NOW!"

He could hardly distinguish which one was Dorothy and which one was Sally's hacker as both of them desperately grappled for the upper hand in a weird conglomeration of hand-to-hand fighting that could only be described as street fighting. He had taken martial arts, and while he was not the best, he could tell that this contest had quickly degenerated from formal sparring match to battle to the death by whatever means necessary.

Dorothy's sword lay where it had fallen, next to the courtroom podium, and he had hesitated at first, then walked over and gingerly picked it up. The eerie silence of the great hall, penetrated only by small scuffling sounds from the two combatants that somehow even seemed muffled, burned in his ears. The sword was light in his hands, and true to his earlier hunch, looked like a broadsword but felt like a fencing foil.

Would Dorothy's plan work?

He wanted to throw the sword back to her, tell her that it was time, but how could he do that if she could not even get free?

Quatre swallowed, gripped the sword with both hands, then turned and ascended the steps to the podium, one step by slow step. Looking out onto the empty floor, up to the stands, he could see the seats that he and Yaminah and Jaffa had occupied during the endless days of questioning. Where Relena and Sylvia and Dorothy had sat patiently waiting. Where Fatima had steepled her fingers and smiled, catlike, sure that she would win. And it was here, in front of this very podium in the waking world, where Une had drawn her sword and held it to his own throat, vowing to kill him if that was what it took.

He made his choice.

_Dorothy_, he called, and through the flash of metal on metal, he saw her eyes dart up to meet his.

"Quatre!"

He readied the sword, held it high in both hands. It would be a broadsword, he told the Zero, not a fencing foil. A broadsword of immense weight, heavy iron bearing down on him, crushing the bones of his hands as he fought to hold it aloft. He felt Dorothy's efforts adding to his, felt the muscles in his arms waver as the true sword materialized, stabilized into an actual entity. His knees wobbled. He gritted his teeth.

Outside the stained glass windows, the lightning flashed.

"Quatre!" Dorothy cried. "NOW!"

He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, thought of Jaffa and Reeshya and Une and Trowa and all the people he was fighting to save, and with every last ounce of strength in his body, he threw.

The sword left his hands like a bird of prey, soaring through the false air of the false hall, whistling as it passed over Dorothy's head and then Aidoru's. He felt, rather than saw the hacker turn, tense, raise one hand in an aborted attempt to stop the speeding weapon. The sword's flight took only half a nanosecond, perhaps faster than that, faster than even the computing power of the world's fastest computer, but to him it seemed like an eternity.

With a shriek and a splintering of glass that was not there, the sword shattered one of the hall windows.

And the tidal waves of data rushed in.

Quatre was ready when it slammed into him, and he reached for the comforting presence that was Dorothy's Zero system, found it, and latched on. _Dorothy!_ he shouted. _Hold on!_

_I'm trying!_ she sent back, and he reached out both hands, knew she was reaching out hers too, as the raw information surged over them like an angry ocean. Cut power lines writhed like snakes, spewing out gigabytes, terabytes, of pure data, poisonously sharp like fragments of metal or glass. There was the smell of ozone, of burning metal, of burning human flesh. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to scream. He wanted to die.

_Quatre!_

_Hold...on..._ he gasped, and gritted his teeth as the second wave slammed into him. Aidoru's work, coming undone strand by strand, cable by cable, and nothing in the world would be able to stop it. He wanted to open his eyes, to look for the hacker, but it was all he could do to keep from wailing out loud at the pain. Fire. Everything was fire. His mind was on fire. Even the Zero system was screaming at him, _no more, no more, stop this or you will die!_

Something smashed into his stomach and he grunted, felt himself thrown clear across the ocean of surging data currents and electric waves, felt himself land. He couldn't get up. He couldn't even move, but he found he could open his eyes, that it no longer hurt. Perhaps his pain centers had gone numb, or perhaps he was really dying. There was no longer the jungle of cables and wires that had been the center of the internet...all that was washing away in vivid rainbow colors that his addled brain found quite beautiful. Instead, it looked as if everything was melting.

Melting...melting like liquid metal...

_Quatre_, said Dorothy, a little dazedly, and he was startled to find that he could still hear her. But yes, there she was, hobbling towards him knee deep in the rainbow surf that was all that was left of what had once been The Nesting Place. She didn't look like Valkyrie anymore, he realized. She looked simply like Dorothy.

He realized that even the melting had stopped, and all that remained was a slow dripping and a soft grinding. Drip, drip. Grind. Drip. Drip.

The Nesting Place, and Aidoru's carefully laid plans, were gone.

_We made it_, he said softly. _Dorothy...we made it._

_But someone else didn't._

He tried to turn his head in the direction her wobbly finger was pointing. Failed. She reached him, dropped down beside him, and turned it for him with gentle hands. He almost cried out at the pain, but when he saw what she was pointing at, all that fell away.

There was a tangle of what looked like old metal scraps a few paces away, poles leaning together in a tangled mess, jagged edges where their tops had been cut away raggedly. It took Quatre three tries to realize that they were the remains of what had once been The Nesting Place's supercomputer, and six tries to realize that the dark object impaled on the poles was not old rags or someone's laundry.

It was a body.

No, more than that. It was still alive.

"That's..." he whispered brokenly, sickened, and Dorothy nodded. She looked a bit nauseous herself, glancing only once more at it before turning away.

"We're done," she said. "Let's get out of here."

But he held up a hand. "Wait," he said.

"Wait?" she sounded incredulous. "The Nesting Place is going to collapse, Quatre! We've got about a minute before it all goes to hell, and you want to wait?"

"Wait," he said again, and he did not know how, but he pushed himself to his feet, limped over toward the figure still twitching on those long metal poles. He had gone about fifteen steps when he realized that the ground was shaking, and that the poles were standing in the middle of a wide lake of what looked like steaming molten metal. He stopped.

"Quatre-"

He held up a hand, willing the Zero system to work. It creaked and groaned and gave him little puffs of steam in protest.

_No. Don't give up now. I need you._

One final burst of energy, and for a split second, he saw what he needed to see. It was enough. He turned away, not sure whether to feel sorry or just feel sick.

"What was that, Quatre?" Dorothy said, coming up behind him painfully.

"Can't you see it?" he said, pointing out at the lake, at the poles, at the body. It spasmed, seeming to hiccup upon itself, but he stood his ground. It was just a shell, he reminded himself. The mind that had inhabited it had not, for all its brilliance, anticipated the sheer simplicity of Dorothy's attack. And that had been its undoing.

Aidoru's heart still beat and Aidoru's blood still flowed, but Aidoru as the world had known him, was dead. If "him" could even still be used.

"Aidoru...was a woman," Dorothy breathed, sounding stunned. "Wait a second, Quat...Oh my God. That's Major Li. That's _Une's aide_." She swallowed convulsively. "She was _Aidoru?_"

He drew a deep breath. "I can't believe we didn't realize it. All this time, right under our very noses. Even me, and I was in trial most of the time I was at Geneva. I should have noticed something."

The ground shifted again, and this time everything slid noticeably ten meters to the left. Or maybe it was to the right. He couldn't really tell. The metal poles shook too, and Li's head lolled towards the ground, her long hair straggling over one shoulder. Dorothy grabbed his hand. "Stop looking. We're leaving, Quat. We've done what we came to do. L3's techs know what to do from here. The place is about to blow."

Quatre cast one last look at Li, pinned to the very machine which had once proclaimed her a god, trapped forever inside her own mind. He tried to feel sad, tried to feel something, but all he felt was very, very tired.

"We're leaving," he said, and the Zero system swelled inside him, almost as intoxicating as the very first time he had experienced its power, and took him away.


	46. Soaring to the Future 3

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2005 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

**SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT XII, PART III**

** Mou shinjinai Mou aisanai  
Sonna kotoba de jibun o sutete  
Nigeru na yo**

**Saa mou ichido saa hajimeyou  
Wasurerarenai yume no tsuzuki o mitsukeyou**

**Kimi no hitomi ga yume o mitsukete  
Itsuka kagayaku  
** ** I can't believe, I can't love  
Throw away the one who says these words  
Don't run away**

**Once more, for the first time  
We'll look for the continuing dream**

**Your eyes are searching for the dream  
And someday they will shine  
**

**--Gundam Wing, _Ore Dake no Kotoba de_  
_In My Own Words_, Heero Yuy image song**

**Scene X: A Hundred Million Suns Will Fall**

_"First with the head, then with the heart."  
-- Bryce Courtenay, The Power of One_

He felt the thrumming of the Taurus' engines beneath him like the blood pulsing through his veins, piercing into his bones and muscle and the very core of himself. He hadn't felt this alive in a long time. It was like coming back from the dead, he thought, and a tired amusement crept up from the core of him, wondering what Noin would have thought of all this.

"Reading Kashmir missile defenses, still dormant," the hard-edged, no-nonsense voice said, the voice that was Hilde Schbeiker's but reminded him very much of Noin. "If we keep our present course and speed, we'll be waking them up before too long. What do you want to do?"

Zechs almost smiled. Not _what are your orders, sir_, or _what would you prefer to do, sir?_ But equals speaking as equals. He'd seen her work in Epyon earlier at Sparta - it was fair enough to say that Hilde was the pilot that Noin had been in her Academy days. He'd heard of Hilde through hearsay only - the friend of a friend of a friend, so to speak, but all he'd heard about her had been good. Relena had spoken highly of her, back in Cinq.

In Cinq...

"What are we doing, Oniisama?"

_You shouldn't be here_, he almost said in response to her tremulous query, but he held his tongue. The fear in her voice was very real, but there was something else that sat on the edge of his soldier's blood, and he wondered if Relena also had both in her - the far-flung ideals of their father and the unceasing yearning of the warrior. Even a year ago he would not have acknowledged he had it too, the Peacecraft legacy of war and peace, both longing after the other like the scorpion and the eagle.

"Trowa Barton is not dead," he said.

There was a long pause after that, and Zechs sat and let them think about that for a minute. The Taurus hummed around him and he unconsciously adjusted the throttle controls, holding back, saying not yet, not yet. The seat of the machine was comfortable now, familiar. He felt he had been sitting at the controls of Noin's old mobile suit for as long as he had lived. Epyon was dark evening on black in the rearview screens, and he watched it out of the corner of his eye.

"So we're going to rescue him," Hilde said flatly. He couldn't tell what the other girl was feeling at all from the timbre of her voice, and laughed.

"The Federation trained you well."

"Look here-"

He flipped the screen to let them see him on the cameras, and held up his hands in a parody of surrender. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude." There was a slight pause, a blink, and the two girls flashed onto the monitors at the bottom right hand side. They were skimming the treetops now, the Indian jungles rising weird and twisting and foreign under them, and he let the Taurus glide lower and waited for Epyon to catch up to him. The monster's eyes were shining amethysts in the light of the rising sun.

"Explain," Hilde said at last, folding her arms under her breasts and glaring at him with those fierce eyes.

Zechs paused. He hadn't even really stopped to think about it, only that Trowa Barton was alive, because he was, well, Trowa Barton. "I'm not sure how to explain it," he said finally. "I don't think Sally would have killed Trowa. Not out of friendship, certainly, because Sally does know how to get her way and won't hesitate to kill to do so. We've seen that. But...something else."

"Trowa would certainly be a good bargaining chip," Relena said dubiously, but Zechs shook his head.

"Good thought, but Sally's past the bargaining stage. No, I think that there is something inside Sally that she might not even understand. Something that won't let her kill Trowa."

Relena looked thoughtful. "I think, Oniisama...underneath everything, Sally is a good person."

Zechs arched an eyebrow. "Is that the Peacecraft in you talking?"

She gave him a wan smile. "What do you think?"

Hilde looked from one to the other, but it was one of those sibling things, Zechs supposed, even though it was rather odd to think of Relena as his sister once again. He found that he liked it. "It's not about friendship," he said again. "Even Treize understood that in the end, friendship might not be enough."

"Sally doesn't believe in Treize's world," Relena said automatically.

"I know. But Trowa does. And someone with a vision like that...it's hard for someone as idealistic as Sally, I think, to just eliminate that in one blow. She's someone who admires strong enemies." He reflected. "Treize was like that too. A little frightening, if you think about the similarities between the two of them."

Relena frowned. "But Treize...he at least understood that war was wrong."

"Did he?" Zechs said, and Relena chewed her lip, staring at him.

"Well," Hilde said, blowing out her breath in one long whoosh, breaking the uneasy silence. "Then what are we going to do about it? Surely you're not crazy enough to just think we can take the base by storm. Even with Epyon."

"If Trowa is in there," Zechs said, "which I believe he is, he'll be held in high custody. It's been a while since I've actually gone anywhere around Kashmir besides the visitor's quarters and command post. We might have to do some sneaking."

Relena looked alarmed, but Hilde's face brightened, and for a moment she looked almost devilish. "That sounds fine to me," she said. "I like sneaking."

"The safest place for anyone to go right now is off the center of the colony into one of the clusters!" Shinobu slammed his hand into his fist. "Surely you can see that!"

"No use, boy," the balding Japanese official said wearily, waving one hand in a parting gesture, like an overweight man trying to swat a very large fly. "Too many people. It's a stampede."

Shinobu seethed, and Duo stood to one side, trying very hard not to lose his own temper, glancing at the doors of the large hangar and hearing someone with a bullhorn outside shouting at what sounded like a very large, very angry crowd of citizens. Helena stood to one side, Darkflight to the other. The former assassin's face was unreadable, but anyone would have recognized Helena's darting eyes and nervous hand-wringing as she stood in Duo's shadow, trying to make herself very small. He would have put an arm around her, but he had a feeling she would have flung it away.

They'd landed to utter chaos outside the very empty hangars, cavernous ceilings and bare concrete, scorched-marked floors the only thing testifying to the number of shuttles that had once been parked here. Gone, and, Duo was willing to bet, holding only a few of the colony's richest citizens and high officials. Those shuttles were certified to hold up to a hundred passengers, and most of them likely only held one or two, or three at the most.

It was colony politics, and Duo had never liked it. But he had never believed it would come to this.

With the shuttles gone and no feasible way for the people to get off the colony, the next safest place they could go was off the main core cluster and into one of the outer clusters orbiting the central government complexes. Most of those were industrial, some which were used to manufacture explosives or petroleum, and some which housed nuclear reactors. But there were just as many others that held very little or had not yet been developed, that faced away from the earth, and would at least offer some protection when the missiles hit.

There was, Darkflight had muttered, very little hope even there. But someone had to try.

The police officers and colonial militia who had been mobilized to deal with the evacuation were not that someone. This was the third man they had been referred to in the chain of command, a man who called himself a squadron leader, who stood there, mopping the sweat off his brow, fingering his gun nervously, and told them that they should just go home to Earth.

"L1's done for," he said, and Duo could see him eyeing one of the police cruisers behind where they had landed their shuttle. He wondered why the man didn't at least recognize one of the "wanted" Gundam Pilots, but decided that his brainpower would be better used for other matters at the moment. "You kids might as well go home where you came from. Don't know why you'd want to come back to the colony at a time like this. Don't know why..."

Shinobu turned away in disgust as the officer trundled off, still wiping his forehead. Duo tugged on his braid.

"Duo," Helena said in a small voice. "What...is going on?"

Belatedly, he realized that she didn't understand a word of Japanese, that no one involved had even given her a second glance or the luxury of at least a running commentary, if not interpretation. One more reason he shouldn't have let her come. Besides the fact she'd never been off the planet surface before, when it came down to it, there was no time to be acting as interpreter.

"Fucking bastard," Shinobu said under his breath and Darkflight scowled. "They're all the same. Overpaid, fat, stupid, old men."

A faint explosion rocked the colony. He waited for it to pass, but the floor swayed under their feet and there was something else - a faint humming sound that set his teeth on edge. Everything was vibrating, he realized after a split second, from the steel of the ceiling to the concrete under their shoes. The roar of the crowd outside intensified into an angry screaming. Helena looked at Duo, her big eyes frightened.

"Not us," he said firmly, though his heart sank. "But something's happened to L3."

"Sally?" she whispered.

"No way to be sure," he responded, but he knew in his bones that the answer was yes. And tremors this large in scale could only mean the worst.

Shinobu closed his eyes in desperation. "We're next," he said softly. "If no one does anything...everyone is going to die."

"Pull yourself together!" Duo snapped. "No one is going to die...not unless you keep standing there and feeling sorry for yourself!"

"I'd like to see you do something!" Shinobu shot back. "Why don't you go out there and tell those people that the ones supposed to be saving them are too scared to save their own skins?"

"In the end, Seki," Duo said coldly, his brain a whirl of tightly wound emotions, the words jumping off his tongue like sparks of electricity, "you're just a coward like all the rest of them."

"Fuck you, Duo Maxwell."

Darkflight looked from one to the other, unable to come up with a comment for either side of the argument, and in the back of his mind, Duo knew that there was nothing to argue about - that they had lost and they might as well just get off the colony and come back the way they came.

Duo Maxwell was not used to giving up.

"Instead of standing there like a fucking idiot-" Duo shot back - and then something alerted him, maybe something out of the corner of his eye, maybe just years of fine-honed instincts from life on the streets. But even before Darkflight sprang into action, racing toward the hangar doors yelling epithets in Japanese, he realized what Helena had done.

Her honey-blond hair was the only thing visible from the far side of the hangar, and he knew Darkflight would never catch her in time. Shinobu swore next to him and braced to start running, but Duo grabbed his arm. "You're too far away," he said.

The cartel heir looked at him with haunted, frightened eyes. "You know what happened to Chris during the attack on the base?" he demanded. "Chris was doing the same thing! He stood there and told assassins they had no right to do what they were doing! And he would have been killed - should have been killed! Helena-"

"I know," Duo said hoarsely, fighting back tears, realizing that for all his bold words and the experience he had under his belt in warfighting, he still was not prepared for any of his friends to die. He'd already lost Ilene.

"She thinks she can save them. Just like Chris thought he could save them. They're the same, the both of them - they don't know what war is!"

Darkflight skidded to a stop at the hangar doors that Helena had slipped through, looking back with dark eyes that shone even in the dim light, like a wolf's, and Duo shook his head stiffly. "No, I don't think you're right, Shin," he said softly. "I think Helena is very very aware of what war is. But I think..."

Shinobu looked at him sharply.

"I think," Duo continued, "she knows what L1 means to you. And she's willing to do anything for you to have that back."

"I won't have her die for me!"

"She doesn't see it that way." But of course. Everything was very clear to him now, for some reason. He felt like the world had come to a halt, that everyone - Sally, Une, Heero, the two of them standing in that empty hangar - were statues staring across a vast expanse of beautiful undiscovered territory. "Don't you see, Shin? Helena doesn't care if she dies or not. And honestly, she knows you're willing to give her up if that's what it takes. Isn't that right?"

The Japanese boy looked like he was going to protest, and then the lines of his face shifted into something heartbreakingly like agreement. Duo wanted to hug him, but now wasn't the time or place. "But she's ok with that. She didn't come here for you, really, or for me, or for Chris. Helena just wants to make a difference. If she dies doing that, she'll be the happiest girl in the world."

"I can't-" Shinobu began, his voice choked. This time, Duo did touch him, only briefly on the shoulder.

"Come on," he said. "It's not over yet." The roar of the crowd was deafening through the walls, but his sharp ears caught a new sound on the bullhorn - the sound of a girl's voice. "Let's go help her...us...get through this."

They landed in a rice paddy about five kilometers from the base. While not Zechs' first choice of landing spot, the paddies provided sufficient coverage for their machines that someone just walking along the dirt path leading to the nearest village would not spot anything out of place. There were various tropical foliages and leaves that were handy for a canopy of sorts, and Zechs discovered firsthand that Hilde was better at this than he had thought.

"All in a day's work," she said when he questioned. "The Federation trained me well." Arching an eyebrow at him, and he had to laugh.

He had worried about Relena, if she would still be as willing to accompany them after the impact of what they were about to do hit her. She could die, he told her firmly after she had stumped over to the Taurus, wading through the paddy in ill-suited civilian clothes and boots. She'd looked him firmly in the eye and responded, _Oniisama, we could all die. Heero's up there maybe dying right now_.

He had no response to that.

They set out, the three of them, armed with only the pistols on their belts. They must look rather ridiculous, he thought to himself, and that almost made him smile. He wondered what Treize would say if he knew what Zechs was doing now - wading through a rice paddy with his sister and an ex-OZ pilot in tow, headed toward a base that, even though damaged, was still one of the most heavily fortified in the world, to rescue a boy who, technically, he had sworn to kill two years ago.

For some reason, he thought Treize would approve.

They reached the end of the rice paddy, and he waited a moment for Hilde to help Relena up and show her how to drain the water from her boots. Pilots' boots, though comfortable in flight, were not waterproof, and he gave credit to his sister for watching Hilde carefully and doing exactly as the other girl said, without a sour look on her face, without a word of complaint. Peacecraft Queen. The words came unbidden to his mind.

When she nodded that she was ready, Zechs nodded back silently and motioned them onward. His feet, still used to the combat environment of A007, found their way with little trouble through the short grass, and Hilde's OZ-trained survival skills should have enabled her to keep up. Relena, however, was slowing them down, as Zechs expected. Hilde hung back with her, talking to her in a low, steady voice in which Zechs could not make out the words. He wondered how exactly Relena had persuaded Hilde to help her in the first place, then decided that it didn't matter.

It was things like that, small things, which were why she had ascended to the throne of Cinq and he had not. He looked back at her, face screwed up fiercely in concentration as she put one careful foot in front of the other, over tree roots and tangled vines, sweat dripping down her face, a scratch on one cheek, and almost smiled. _That's my sister_, he wanted to say. _Father, look at her. You would be proud._

The foliage that had almost crept up around them as they pushed their way nearer to the base ended suddenly at the edge of a vast clearing. Zechs stopped short with some surprise, kneeling abruptly, and the two girls stood back silently, watching as he rolled bits of scattered dried grass through his hands. The traces of fire were faint - perhaps a week, perhaps a little more. It rained so much here that it was hard to tell, but the signs of controlled burning were there for anyone who looked closely enough. He raised his head, putting a hand to his eyes to shade them from the sun scattering through the clouds in little spears of brilliance, and thought he could very hazily make out the base's east gate.

Fumbling in one suit pocket, he rescued a pair of binoculars from their leather pouch and shoved them up to his eyes. Yes, there it was, the Kashmir East Gate. Half of it was missing, the other half singed black, and there were trucks with unfamiliar markings going in and out, but it was the east gate. He had miscalculated, after all, trusting that his visits here of a few months ago would suffice for intelligence.

"What's wrong?" Hilde whispered sharply from behind, and he put the binoculars down abruptly and turned.

"There used to be jungle almost right up to the gate," he said, and handed her the binoculars. He heard the click-click-click as she focused them, heard her stop and knew she was focusing on the gate. "At least, there was five months ago when I last came here to check on some supply issues. I wasn't aware that they'd burned down most of the vegetation around here. Makes sense though."

"Terrorists?" Relena said, and he shook his head.

"Wild animals. Too much roadkill. You might laugh, but it was a huge problem - the last time I came here, there had just been an entire supply convoy carrying generator parts from the nearby city that had been wrecked when a herd of wild goats ran between the tires. Cost us almost 45 million rupees to replace all those parts. In the end I suppose it was easier to burn down the forest around it than to risk that happening again."

Relena was silent for a minute, staring out at the short grass plain that had once been forest. "It's ugly," she said finally.

Zechs stood, then put one hand on her shoulder, lightly. "War is ugly," he said.

"What you're saying, then," Hilde said, her rough whisper a contrast to Relena's barely-there sigh, "is that we can't just walk in."

"I wasn't planning on just walking in," Zechs said. "Unlike the last war, I would, as much as possible, like to come out of this one alive."

"So do you have a plan?"

"Not really," he admitted. "I was hoping you would."

Big blue-violet eyes regarded him for a thoughtful moment. "You suck."

"Thank you," he said with some amusement.

"It would be suicide for you or Relena to come anywhere near the base," Hilde declared after some thought. "You'd be recognized in a heartbeat."

"You can't be suggesting that you go in alone and leave the two of us out here to wait."

Hilde's eyebrows went up. "Why, that's precisely what I'm suggesting. Forgive me, Zechs, you're sharper than I thought."

"That's crazy," Relena said abruptly. "I'm not letting you go in alone and get killed."

"Begging your pardon," Hilde said. Her voice was hard now, none of the bantering tone she had been using only seconds ago. "I fail to see how you coming with me will increase my chances of survival." She stared at Relena and Relena stared back, blue versus blue, a battle of wills.

Zechs waited.

It seemed an eternity but was in all likelihood not even more than five seconds before Relena dropped her eyes and folded her hands in front of her. It was all the gesture Zechs needed, and he looked at Hilde, saw the knowledge of what she was about to do written in her eyes, saw her cast another look at Relena's bent head, this one full of an emotion he could not name. Sorrow, maybe, or longing.

"What exactly do you have in mind?" he said.

She was used to public speaking, but that was in small forums - at the town council, in the Cliffside auditorium to the student body, dressed as some other character for a city play. It shouldn't be her up here, she thought as her sweaty hands grasped the bullhorn tightly. It should be someone like Ilene. Or any of Ilene's friends, or Chris, or Shin, or Duo or Heero Yuy. Any of them would know what to say to the sea of upraised fists and chanting voices and eyes that sparkled so fiercely in the blazing electric lights that they looked like a sea of glinting dark waves.

Helena Rosenbaum had never been so frightened in her entire life.

It took her brain several tries to process that what her ears were hearing was not just mindless screaming, but a chant, something in Japanese that she could not make out but that sounded very foreign and very very angry. The anger was thick in the air, congealing like tar, dripping from the very rafters of the hangar and falling in steaming droplets onto her skin. She felt like she would drown in her own sweat, choke on her own saliva.

But she was up here now, on the stage to which she had pounded across the empty hangar in one sheer moment of desperate bravery, leaving the man she had trusted for so long and the man who she loved. To do...what? To do something. To help, because she had seen the look in Duo's eyes, and Darkflight's and even in Shin's, though he didn't know it, which meant that she should not have come.

"Listen!" she tried to say through the bullhorn, but her voice failed her and all that came out was a whisper drowned under the rushing tidal wave of the crowd's hollow chant. She knew why, now, everyone she knew described Japanese as an ancient language, not just in age but as a language that sounded as old as the earth and as forbidding as mountain roots. The sound of it sent chills down her spine.

"Listen!" she tried again, but no one paid her any heed. Those gleaming eyes were staring at her now, a crowd of them, and she could feel their angry focus. _You foreigner_, they seemed to say. _This is our colony. Get off the stage_. Cold sweat trickled down her neck.

The hapless police officer from whom she'd grabbed the horn hadn't struggled or tried to stop her. He had been all too glad to escape, leaving her standing there with the bullhorn in one limp hand. The crowd, which had suddenly fallen silent at the sight her, had begun murmuring, and then the chant had begun again in full force, twice as loud as it had been before. All the platitudes and rousing speeches that came to mind would, she realized, do nothing to move this crowd. They were colonists and she was from Earth, soil-bound, trapped inside the cage of atmosphere.

She remembered that once, her father had come home one day from work silent and angry, refusing to speak to either of them, and she had cried herself to sleep that night. But the next night when he came home, he sat them down on the couch and gave them an apology. Helena had been thirteen then, Cliffside bound, ready to take on the world, but the sight of her father's face tight, drawn, looking like he had not slept in days, frightened her.

"I shouldn't have acted the way I did," he said. "But I was angry. The colonial representatives have called off the peace conference that we've been working on for months."

She had been furious for her father's sake. "Why?" she demanded. "They know how important this is to us. To the world!"

"It's very hard to be a colonist, Helena," he had answered. "Last night I couldn't fathom it either. Then I thought about it and realized that they're following human instinct. What is it like to be a colonist? I couldn't tell you, but I can say that if I were one, I would be scared all the time, knowing that my home, my family, my way of life could be taken away at any minute. They see Earth as cold, unfeeling, a heartless parent punishing its stepchildren for a crime they didn't commit. That's why they're doing what they do. They're scared. And they have a right to be."

Helena had never dreamed she would be witnessing her father's words firsthand, but as she gazed out over the sea of eyes, she suddenly realized that these people were angry only because they were scared. She imagined her average two-story house on her average suburban street in her average city just like any of the other cities around the world, and then tried to imagine it bursting into flames, burning down around her. That was what these colonists were facing now - the loss of everything, all the life that they'd ever known.

But there were so many of them. And they were so angry.

The chill of fear wrapped its coils around her and squeezed, and the lights swam before her eyes, and she reached up to her neck and pinched herself. Hard. Almost yelping at the lancing pain that caused, her head snapped up and her eyes refocused, though watering with involuntary tears. Her hand which held the bullhorn was shaking almost uncontrollably, and with a sound that was almost a snarl, she took hold of it with her other hand, bringing it up to her mouth.

This was Shin's home. And Darkflight's. And Heero Yuy, Duo's friend.

"People of L1!" she shouted desperately, focusing not on the glittering eyes but on the darkness beyond, imagining faces of people she loved. Her parents. Her teachers at Cliffside. Her friends. "Listen to me!"

And then she was aware of three more forms climbing on to the stage beside her, familiar forms, people who she would have wept with joy to see if she had the courage to turn and look. But she could not, because if she turned then her strength would fail her and she would falter, stop. She couldn't afford that. "People of L1! Listen!" she screamed through the bullhorn, feeling her vocal chords ache with the effort, and suddenly there was a second voice from beside her, a male voice.

"_L1 no mina-san!_" he cried, the timbre of his words strong, commanding, echoing throughout the hall. "_Kiite kudasai!_"

_That's Shinobu_, her brain registered in shock, recognizing even through her poor command of Japanese that he was translating her words. _He's...here. He's...helping me._

"Go on, Helena," someone whispered behind her. Duo.

She took a deep breath. "People of L1, I know this is a frightening and horribly unthinkable time for you. Your homes and families and very lives are threatened by an enemy that has just revealed its face. You must be thinking that there's nothing you can do to save yourselves. That no one cares about you, and they've left you to die."

The roar of the crowd intensified as Shinobu translated, then diminished, and she was aware of a ringing in her ears as it died down, as if the aftermath of the noise was more terrible than it ever had been. She gaped, at a loss for words, clung onto the bullhorn with all her might, as if it would save her. I can't do this, she wanted to say, wanted to throw it down and run.

There was a soft touch on her shoulder, a cool hand grasping her arm, supporting her. She expected to see Duo, but it was not Duo.

Darkflight.

Suddenly Helena realized exactly how much he had to lose - more than Duo and Shin put together. Shinobu had power at his fingertips, and L1 was not Duo's colony. But Darkflight was a nobody, bound to the slums that he had lived in all his life and would most likely die in, and now even that was being taken away from him.

"It is going to be difficult," she said into the bullhorn. The crowd was murmuring now, but the chanting had stopped. "We are here to try and help you, but we cannot save you with our strength alone. You must help each other. I and my three friends...some are from L1, but some of us are just here because we didn't want to stand by and do nothing. We didn't want Earth to be remembered as cold, unfeeling, punishing her stepchildren for crimes they didn't commit." The words of her father echoed in her ears as she paused, let Shinobu translate. The crowd's murmur rose and fell, swelling like the ocean surf on the shore, then drawing back like the tide.

Helena had no idea if they were listening, if they believed her words, but she at least had their undivided attention. Most of the eyes staring at her were Asian, some Western, some Middle-Eastern, but they all had that same hardness, a steel that she had never seen in any Earth dweller's eyes. It was the same look that Duo had, she realized, something that even in the beginning had set him apart from all his other classmates except Shinobu, who had it too.

"Will you let us help you?" she asked softly. Darkflight's hand tightened on her shoulder and she glanced at Shinobu and then Duo, reading the approval and desperate hope in their eyes.

Then a man stepped forward out of the crowd, staring up at her with hands on his hips. He was dressed only in a shirt and long slacks, and his bald head glimmered faintly in the cold hangar lights, but he wore authority over him like a rich cloak, as if by the way he set his feet he was saying, _I lead these people; they are mine and I am theirs_. Helena met his gaze squarely, and he held it for a second, then snapped his gaze to Shinbou and fired off a rapid question in Japanese.

"He recognizes Duo," Shinobu said to her, but she'd seen the narrowing of Duo's eyes as the question was asked, knew that the former Gundam pilot had been preparing for this. "He wants to know why we should trust a band of children allied with a wanted man."

Duo strode to the edge of the stage, looking down on the man with no fear in his stance, but no arrogance either. His shoulders were set, squared. It was how he used to look in classes before giving a presentation or a speech - poised, cool, calm, almost like a fluid statue. He answered back in clipped Japanese that was somehow still gentle, the short reply rolling off his tongue effortlessly. Helena held her breath.

Shinobu bent to her ear. "Duo says that if he is going to be sentenced to death, he would rather die like a colonist."

The crowd was completely silent now, waiting for their leader to respond. The man stared at Duo for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed.

Helena jumped, but only from surprise, because it was a laugh of welcome, or acceptance. Instantly, the atmosphere of the room changed, and the four on the stage glanced at each other with obvious relief. She looked over at Shin, expecting him to address the man with instructions, but instead, the big man turned to her.

"My name is Kazuma Yamazaki," he said. His English accent was almost perfect, and Helena blinked at him in confusion for a second, her brain spinning with the language change, as well as with the sudden knowledge that he was treating her no longer as simply the small group's speaker, but also their leader. "I am the president of the Common Council and now speak for the people here of L1. When our colony leadership, all who were rich enough to afford a shuttle off the colony, deserted us, I led the people here."

"I am Helena Rosenbaum, from the United States, on Earth," she said gravely. Her heart seemed to be acting more normally now - the moment of panic had subsided. It was just like school, she told herself firmly. Like she was speaking in front of the student council, like she was giving one of her friends a project, like she was introducing herself to an important guest. "These are my friends Darkflight and Shinobu Matsuura, and the Gundam pilot Duo Maxwell of L2." Kazuma nodded briefly to Duo, but did not blink at the two other names. Of course, she thought. He wouldn't recognize Shinobu's false name, and Darkflight probably had another alias he had gone by.

Another series of small shocks rocked the hangar, and the crowd began muttering again. Kazuma turned, and they quieted, but the look of calm had vanished from his face as he turned back to her. "The tremors. What are they?"

"Sally Po is attempting to destroy L3's shield system so she can take over the Preventers base there," Duo said from beside her. "We don't have much time."

"We only have a little equipment," Helena said. "A shuttle and Duo's Gundam. But we'll do what we can."

Kazuma's eyes crinkled in a small smile. "In that case," he said, "it is still a start. I am honored that you have decided to meet the end with us, whatever that end may be."

Two hours and forty minutes later, in the bottom of a garbage truck headed into Kashmir to pick up rubble and twisted metal parts from the attack, Zechs wondered if he had finally gone insane.

It was a good plan, he admitted grudgingly to himself, and he was getting soft. He hated to admit it, but two years of command and paperwork had almost turned him into one of those office-bound commanders he had always scorned. Even Treize couldn't escape it, he remembered, and Zechs had once vowed to his friend that he would never set foot in an office of his own free will. But that had been before the end of the war.

Hilde had been as good as her word. Instead of trying to sneak inside the base to cough up some sort of transportation, she'd declared that all she needed to do was wait by the roadside for a little bit. When she emerged through the brush two hours after that, covered in grass and dirt and looking pleased with herself, Zechs did not ask too many questions. The drivers had not been killed, simply tied and gagged and knocked unconscious.

Relena lay pressed up against him, and he could feel her heart beating fast, her breathing coming in barely audible gasps as she tried to stifle it, tried to hide her nervousness. He reached over and grasped her hand as best as he could without disturbing the pile of dirt next to him, and she glanced up at him, the movement of her head almost invisible in the dark, but even if it had been pitch-black, he thought he would still have been able to feel it.

"Oniisama?" she whispered.

"We're not going to lose," he said hoarsely, as much for himself as for her. "We've got too much at stake."

A silence. "I'm sorry...about Noin," she offered finally. He closed his eyes.

"Thank you."

"I wanted to come to your wedding."

Hearing his sister talk about the woman he had loved should have made his chest constrict and his eyes burn and his brain curl up into a shadow of itself. But oddly, he felt himself relax at the sound of her voice. "I don't think either of us was thinking that far," he confessed, letting her face enter his thoughts for the first time in what seemed like ages. "But I think she would have liked that."

She squeezed his hand. "I'm glad you had her. I...really don't know what to say to..."

The truck bumped over some gravel and Zechs pulled her closer into the crook of his arm. "It doesn't matter," he said at last. "Noin was...well, I loved her, but I think she and I both knew that happily ever after was never really an option for us. We both had too much of the soldier in us, you see. I told her once that all good soldiers die young. Noin was the best soldier she could ever be, and she proved it on A007."

"What about you?" Relena whispered.

_What about me?_ He heard the demons flit around his head for a moment, bringing old doubts back, old fears, the sound of Treize's voice, and then dismissed them. This was a new war, a new age. Time to leave the ghosts behind.

"I haven't been a very good soldier," he said. "But I don't think it's quite time for me to die yet."

The truck stopped.

There was a slight scuffling of footsteps, the sound of a door opening and closing, and Hilde's muffled voice. They lay rigid and silent as she spoke for a moment, then heard a male voice responding. Footsteps toward the back, then a squeak as someone opened the small egress door in the back. Sunlight poured in.

Zechs held his sister tightly, staring at the patch of sun on the far wall, knowing that they were well hidden by the strategic mounds of dirt and sludge that they'd shoveled in before crawling into the truck, but there was always the off chance. He had been on plenty of espionage expeditions, and twice he'd gotten caught. They'd escaped, of course, but he still remembered, almost ten years later, the smell of fear rising off the soldiers around him. He didn't think he had ever been afraid, because back then he had nothing to lose.

Tightening his arms around the girl he held, he realized that now, he did have something to lose.

The door slammed shut, and he felt Relena sag against him. "It's all right now," he said. "We've passed the checkpoint."

"Trowa has to be alive," her muffled voice came against his muddy flightsuit. "He has to be."

The truck began to move again, a slow creaking that seemed to rattle and jar his very bones, and he wondered if the bolts that held the thing together might even now be unwinding themselves and falling in little piles to the ground. He'd given Hilde general directions around the base, but he had no idea what the gate guard had said to her, and she would have to at least pretend to go to the place he had directed her in order to not appear too suspicious.

After what seemed like far too long, the truck ground to a halt. The hiss of the air brake reached his ears, and he pushed himself up stiffly, muscles tense and alert. Relena started to struggle up, too, and he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Wait," he said.

She didn't argue but simply lay back down. With a creaking, the egress door opened again and a familiar form poked her head inside.

"I think I confused 'em," Hilde said with glee, "but you better hurry up. I don't know how good security is here."

Zechs helped Relena up and passed her along to Hilde before making his own way to the door. "Where are we?" he asked.

"According to your map, we're as near the high-security prisons as we can get without appearing weird. I tried to maneuver it so that we wouldn't have to walk too far. There's a row of what I think are petroleum tanks blocking us from any view, but we'll have to go quick."

A scan of the immediate area told him that Hilde had done her job well. The petroleum tanks stretched in two straight rows almost to the edge of the fence that separated the main base from the prison, and there was a high sand and mud embankment beyond the tanks. They crept, single-file, alternately running and pausing, as Zechs tried to work out in his mind the best way to enter the facility.

The plan that finally came to his mind was risky, and it would probably give them less than half an hour at most to find Trowa Barton, but it was better than nothing.

"This will be very very dangerous," he told them as they came to the end of the tanks, to a security door set into the fence. "It'll buy us about twenty minutes of time. Not because of any alarm, because this should be foolproof. But any idiot who looks into the computer is going to figure it out. I am betting they do security checks every twenty minutes."

"Why any idiot?" Relena said.

He reached into one muddy pocket and pulled out a flat piece of plastic. "This is my Preventers identification card. I've been granted access to all security levels of any Preventers base - which means that unless they've completely deconstructed this system and built a new one from scratch in a day, I'll be able to use my card to get through the gate. However, the computer system's built so that it logs name and ID number of anyone coming through."

Understanding in both their faces. "So in other words," Hilde finished for him. "When they do their regular security checks they'll see Zechs Merquise logged in."

"Milliard Peacecraft," he corrected. The name sounded strange on his tongue. "But yes. You're right."

"Got it," Hilde said grimly. "It's better than nothing. Can all three of us get in?"

"That's the catch. The gate will only let one person in at a time. The two of you will have to stay here and wait till I get back. It's safe enough here, and I don't think anyone will see you."

Hilde's eyes flashed. "I'm not staying behind. Two's better than one in there. You'll be killed."

"It's-" he began, then stopped as his sister touched him on the arm. The expression on her face was set, determined. He recognized the hardness of her blue eyes - the look of a woman, of a queen, who would let nothing get in her way.

Hilde noticed it too. "You have something," she said quietly. Not a question.

Relena held out her hand, and even before he saw that she was grasping something flat, white, and plastic between her fingers, he already knew what she was going to do, mentally cursing himself for not remembering that she was the Queen of Cinq, under Une's protection, and a key civilian with top-level clearance to work on the Winner trial...and so therefore would have been granted all-access security.

But it was no longer his choice to stop her. She'd proved that much to him already by coming after him.

"Here's my ID card," Relena said steadily. "Hilde, use this. I'll wait, and you two go in together."

* * *

**Scene XI: The Art of War**

_"We're going to fly away...  
We're going to heaven, two heaven birds."  
-- Core of Soul, Two Heaven Birds_

_Without harmony in the state, no military expedition can be undertaken; without harmony in the army, no battle army can be formed._

The words of Sun Tzu pounded themselves into Sally Po's mind as Heavyarms screamed around her, rising into the heavens like the avenging angel she had always imagined herself to be, soaring up above this world she had worked so hard to create. Hers was a world about which men the likes of Treize had only dreamed - all Treize Khushrenada had had to work with was a world of warring states, colonies that harbored no hopes of peace, only war. But Treize had been a nobleman, content with the upper-class' view of the world, seeing people and cities and lives as something to be played with, like a chessboard.

Sally Po was one of the people.

"We're still being pursued," her wingman crackled over the radio. Sally clucked her tongue impatiently.

"No surprise there."

"Shall I tell B company to hang back for a diversion?"

She considered it briefly, then shook her head to the negative. "No. That would buy us only a few seconds precious time." Her wingman started to object, and she held up one free hand. "Don't argue with me, Rogers. I know how Heero Yuy fights, and he won't be stopped by a mere diversion. No, I intend to face him, like adults, on the real battlefield."

"Yes ma'am," he said, disappointment evident in his voice. Sally gave him points for bravery, but he was young and inexperienced. He'd told her when he first joined that he had trained for years as an OZ pilot at the Academy, had graduated with top honors, had been selected as a training instructor for one of OZ's top colony schools, and had ended up watching the final battle and the spectacular destruction of the Libra from the screen of his Taurus, still hovering in formation, waiting for orders to strike.

_Whose side were you on then?_ she had asked, and he had shaken his head.

_To be honest with you, ma'am, I'm not sure. People will give you different answers, but as far as myself and my company, we were on whichever side was the winning side_. That was the problem, he had continued. That none of the several sides appeared to be winning. And so he had sat out the final battle, but assured her he had no intention of doing so again.

Sally knew that right now, he was very firmly on her side.

The red blips on her screen came no closer, moved no farther away as her formation surged farther up into the thinning atmosphere, and it was obvious that Heero was content to let her go. He was always too noble for his own good, but then again, so was she. It was inevitable, the clash among the stars. Treize had wanted to end his days that way also. She had no doubt he had never intended to leave the battlefield alive, but that was just another one of his dramatic schemes. You did no one any good if you were dead.

"Ma'am, I-"

"Stow it, Rogers. Heero Yuy can pursue us all the way to L1 if he likes. I don't care at the moment. All personnel still present and accounted for?"

A slight cough, a hurriedly bit-off exclamation that Sally knew would have been a sharp-edged retort. But Rogers, though hot-headed, had a bit of sense in him. "All hundred and thirty mobile suits still on track to target," he said heavily. Heavyarms shuddered a bit as the first zero-gravity hit, adjusting engines and cockpit pressure. She let it think for a minute, then keyed in full life support, feeling the familiar hiss of artificially pumped air enter the cockpit. All the soldiers around her in their mobile suits should be doing the same at the moment - few of them had actually been in zero-g combat, but she'd trained them well.

A ping on the comm system sounded, and she started a bit, noting absently that the last wisps of atmosphere were fading away on the screens surrounding her, that the true blackness of space was at once warmer and colder than she remembered. Her heart gave a little jump and there were goose bumps crawling across her flesh at the vast darkness around her, unmarred by starlight. She'd forgotten how lonely true space was.

The ping was Commander Albairat, the hard lines of his face looking even more rigid in the harsh cockpit lights, his obvious impatience concealing the ease with which he moved his hands over the controls of his mobile suit. "Just checking to confirm," he said, "Plan A is still in action."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't waste your breath over the comm," she said. "I didn't ask for comm silence, but you of all people should know not to call if not necessary."

The corners of his eyes crinkled a bit, and she saw him relax. "Accept my apologies, ma'am," he said. "The other part of my transmission was to wish you good luck, and to tell that no matter what happens, you will have my loyalty till I die."

For a moment, Sally couldn't think of anything to say, then realized that a simple smile was all that was needed. He held his for a moment, longer, then snapped the rigid glare back to his face, his eyes growing cold. "Albariat out," he said, and broke the connection. She stared at the dark screen for a long time, wondering what exactly the future held in store for all of these men and women, following her into a battleground that was apt to be almost as fierce as the last battle two years ago.

Sally was no Treize Khushrenada, and her dreams did not aspire to such glorious and overblown dramatic heights. Treize's and Milliard Peacecraft's grandiose starships, their innate nobleman's silver tongues and honeyed speech were not her weapons, and even if she had tried, she would fall flat on her face, be hailed as a laughingstock for trying to pretend to be what she was not. No, she was simply a common middle-class Chinese girl, raised as a civilian, trained as a doctor, and born to be a soldier.

The vaunted Plan A was really no plan at all - not as much a plan as just more waiting. Sally had already calculated down to the millisecond when the shields of L3 would give way to Li's prying, and the instant they did so, half her fleet would veer in that direction to take out what was left of L3's garrison. She had made sure several months ago that the mobile suits which had made up most of the colony base's forces had been transferred to Sparta. Ironic that fully a fifth of the suits which her pilots had stolen had originally belonged to the colonies in the first place.

She glanced at her scope again, saw the strings of green dots, saw the much farther red dots keeping pace. It was a game of cat and mouse, she thought. Heero Yuy was no fool, and neither was Wufei. The thought of her former friend made her frown as she keyed the buttons to check Heavyarm's shields, thinking of both Wufei and Trowa and then Quatre in quick succession.

Quatre she had tried to convince the world to burn at the stake, and that had failed because of Une. Wufei she'd tried to win over with words and then by force, and that had failed because of the still nameless soldier who'd died saving him there on the beaches of Greece. Trowa Barton she'd confronted in the tiny room on the fields of Kashmir, and found that she couldn't kill him. Before him, she would have been willing to say that the legend of the pilots' immortality was based sheerly on the fact that they had loyal friends in times of danger. But that didn't explain Trowa.

There had been something in the way his eyes met hers, the anguish and despair there that no child should ever have to know, and the knowledge he had imparted to her in that split second of silent communication was that he had been born a soldier and he would die a soldier. And some part of her, perhaps the part that had saved Wufei from OZ and the Federation all those years ago, did not want to accept that the hand he died by would be hers.

Sally Po did not want to be called a murderer.

The clock ticked down. Thirty seconds till L3's shields blew. They'd already seen traces of the colony's instability: shuttles fleeing the collapsing shields, small explosions within the nuclear reactors of the colony themselves. The L3 shields were projected in clusters along the outer perimeters of the base, forming bubbles that enclosed the different spheres of the colony, and in order to take down all of them, each bubble-generating reactor's computer would have to be attacked. Li had not balked at the task, and she did not doubt Li's word, because Li was the best.

Sally keyed the comm. "Attention all units. Jade and Dragon units, prepare to deploy when the L3 shield goes down. All others stay with me on course for L1."

The acknowledgements were trickling in when she sensed that there was something out of place. At first she thought it might be a hole in the formation, or that Heero and Wufei were finally closing the gap. But no, the dots on the screen were in place as they had been for as long as they had been climbing through space, and she could see the first faint glimmer of L1's signal on the scope as well.

But there was still something off.

Slowly, she cycled through targets, checking each one in turn. L1 sat still and silent, a few shuttles darting out from its bulbous docks like tiny fish from behind an anemone, trapped and desperate to flee. She let them go. She had no quarrel with the people of L1 themselves - only with the government that kept them under its thumb. She could see nothing besides them. It was silent, with the ominous silence of something pressing down on her, something that she should see but didn't. Something was wrong.

"Albairat," she snapped, her fingers grinding down on the comm button as if it were the thing that had wronged her. "Do you sense anything fishy?"

His grating voice came back at once. "It's been more than thirty seconds, hasn't it?"

The world stretched long and empty in those few milliseconds that it took for his words to go from her ears to her brain to her eyes, and then she saw why it seemed so quiet. Because it was. Because the explsions that they had been monitoring from L3's shield system had suddenly stopped, and the readout showed shield levels holding steady at 75, and slowly climbing. Because she would have sent her two best units out to take down a base that was still more than capable of holding its own. Because that meant that the computer systems had not been breached, and that meant Li had failed.

But Aidoru could not fail. That was absurd.

"Shit," she hissed.

The comm crackled, and before she even reached over to slap the button, to turn on the second screen and see the grim expression on her wingman's face, the scope told her what she was about to hear.

"The Preventers are coming," he said.

_In war, then, let your great object be victory, not lengthy campaigns. Thus it may be known that the leader of armies is the arbiter of the people's fate._

As she watched the red blips begin to close the gap between her forces and theirs, Sally gave herself a mental shake. Li had failed. There was no use denying it. Perhaps Heero Yuy had grown tired of waiting, and perhaps Li's failure had emboldened him. If they wanted a fight; she would give it to them. She was no coward.

Heero had come wanting one last battle, but she would show him that the war was just beginning.

Etille had almost begun to think they would not come for him.

Not that he considered himself nearly important enough to have Une send reinforcements to get him out. No, Une would not risk the lives of her troops to bail out an old soldier who had fought in so many engagements that it was almost laughable he was still alive. But he had thought surely she would try to save Trowa.

He wasn't sure why. Une wasn't the soft type, nor was she a fool. If he had been in command, he told himself, staring out the barred window of his cell into the empty, metallic, echoing hallway of high-level Kashmir security, he would have left Trowa here to die. L1 or Trowa Barton? The choice was clear.

Wasn't it?

The guards had thrown him back in his cell with very little preamble, and Etille hadn't tried to resist, instead looking serenely around him at the gray stone walls, at the gray floor, anywhere but the face of the guard who was trying to address him.

"You're never getting out of here," the man said, and Etille almost couldn't stop himself, had to bite his tongue to keep the reply between his lips, because he was surely getting softer as he grew older. The young Etille would have never risen to the bait in the guard's sneering voice.

_That's what you think_, he wanted to say, seeing Trowa's face rising up before him, the haunted face of the boy he'd seen in the hallway of the Kashmir hospital. The thought of it made something cold and hard ball up in his chest. It shouldn't have to end this way.

_The truth hurts, Sally...but sometimes you must learn to accept it._

He wondered if sometimes, Treize had stopped believing in himself. It was hard to believe in something you could not see, could not touch. What exactly had Treize Khushrenada set his faith in? Friends? It did not seem too possible that as hated a man as him had had many friends. Definitely not religion of any sort, he would think. Perhaps he had only the belief that in the end, what he was doing was the right thing. Etille pressed his chin into his hands, thinking, studying the wall idly and wondering what Dorothy was doing. Doubtless she was out there still, trying to win the war with her will alone. Alicia had been like that too.

They'd left him his watch even as they stripped him of his weapons. Doubtless to prolong the agony, to make sure he would know the very hour and minute that the missiles would explode from their silos on their way to annihilate L1. Five hours, twenty-seven minutes.

Fidgeting, he got up and began pacing. The minutes ticked by. From his few interrogations with Sally and his narrow non-escape, he knew from experience that the hallway outside opened only to another hallway, and another hallway after that - windowless and almost endless. He missed the sunlight. He missed the sound of voices, even of footsteps. There were no sentries, no guards; only the ever present cameras. He hated cameras.

_C-Block 251_, he recited to himself, craning his neck to stare out the barred window again, willing someone, anyone, to come for him. He tried to imagine Trowa alone in his own cell, could not. It was like imagining the son he did not have in the hands of captors who would stop at nothing to gain control of the knowledge he held, because in Sally's eyes, Trowa Barton was only a tool. The back of his mind whispered to him that Trowa was a Gundam pilot, had doubtless been captured before and probably was functioning as well, if not better, than he was at the very moment, but the well of emotions that had been opened there was very deep.

A tool. Not a person. Only a tool.

That, he realized with a flash, was why he wanted to believe in Treize. Sally spoke of freedom, of self-government, of the will of the people, but the people who she championed were the same people she now threatened to destroy. If all revolutionaries were like her, then the world's greatest heroes would be nothing but hollow shells of words.

_But Treize was different_, Etille wanted to say. Treize had not been right, but neither had he been wrong, and unlike Sally, Treize had known that. He wanted to see Trowa again to tell him that he finally understood. That he saw that the world was really the place of beauty and potential Treize had wanted it to be, and even now, they could make it that way again.

Somewhere not too far away, a door creaked open.

Instantly, he was on his feet, peering through the bars. Someone was coming. He could hear footsteps, soft, faint, but definitely shoes tapping against the floor of the passage. Quickly, he considered his plan of attack, drawing back from the bars and wedging himself into the far wall opposite the door so that he would have a moment of surprise advantage before he struck.

Waited.

The footsteps neared his door, stopped as he hoped they would. Good.

The door creaked open.

He did not peer into the shadows that surrounded the movement as it slid back from its frame, did not bother to glance at the face of the person moving cautiously into his cell. He simply let the old instincts take over, pouncing from behind the door without a sound, bearing the intruder to the floor and raising both handcuffed fists to smash the hapless guard's face into the concrete floor.

"Etille?"

He froze, fists inches from the man's face, boot in the middle of the other's back. Slowly, he drew back, getting a good look at his visitor, who was grimacing at him in shock through blond bangs that had gone a little too long uncut, one cheek smeared with grease and mud and the other bleeding from where he had hit the ground.

It was Milliard Peacecraft.

The lift shafts and tram cars were still working. Otherwise, Darkflight had no idea what they would have done. Perhaps they could have rigged something together with the shuttle and the Gundam, but the shuttle could only carry twenty people at most, and the crowd that was gathered in the hangar was only a small fraction of the frightened L1 residents swarming at the gates of the space terminal, frantic to be saved.

He wasn't sure what he had expected. He'd had little love for L1 when he had left, and it certainly didn't make him ecstatic to be back where he'd started. But yet if his experience with Wing had taught him anything, it was that L1 was a part of him that he couldn't deny, just as it was a part of Wing, a part of Heero Yuy, and it would be foolish to try and deny that.

Even the Breaks would always be a part of him.

Duo had swung into swift action, directing Darkflight and Shinobu this way and that, with the de facto leader Yamazaki taking charge of the bands of citizens clutching bags, backpacks, small children, boxes of precious possessions. Darkflight had looked at Shinobu when the big man had started issuing orders to the citizens, and Shinobu had looked away. Darkflight hadn't pursued the matter. He recognized Yamazaki, and he was sure Shin did too, though the other would have definitely denied it. Whether Yamazaki would recognize them was an entirely different matter, because he'd never seen Darkflight's face, and Shin might have been too young at the time. But the leader of one of the most powerful assassin's gangs in the Breaks was not a man Darkflight would have easily forgotten.

Strange, he reflected, as he methodically helped each passenger up onto the train car, cramming as many people onto one car as possible, that war could make such equals out of the rich and the poor, the hunter and the hunted.

Duo's plan was simple. Keep 'em moving, he said, keep them believing that one place was safer than the next. In truth, the colony cluster to where they were evacuating their passengers was scarcely safer than the space docks they stood at, but it was worth a try. According to Duo, who had evidently taken great pains to study maps of L1 at some point in his life, this particular destination was protected by a pseudo gravity-well generator as well as three other clusters, none of which held nuclear reactors.

_I hope you know what you're doing_, Darkflight had told him simply after their hurried consultation. _Cause I sure as hell don't._

Duo had smiled the cocky smile that Darkflight had begun to realize was his trademark, but his eyes told a different story. He had grudgingly admitted to himself that the reason Duo Maxwell seemed familiar was because the set of his jaw, the hardness of his eyes was the same as Wing's when they would set out before a mission.

The first train was full, and Darkflight signaled to Shinobu, who released it with a crank of a lever. They'd reprogrammed the train system, setting all of them to run a two-way course there and back from their safe haven, and Duo estimated it would take them at least nine hours to evacuate the entire crowd that was waiting patiently for their rides to safety. Darkflight scanned them again, trying to locate familiar faces, but found none. Something was odd, however, though he couldn't say what.

He scanned the faces again, then realized what was bothering him. There were few elderly people in the crowd. There were young mothers carrying babies, small children being towed by older brothers, fathers with families lined up behind them, all carrying packs of belongings. But no elderly, no lined faces. The oldest faces he could spot couldn't be more than forty years old.

Shinobu saw his look, slipping from his post at the lever for a brief moment. Yamazaki took his place and the cartel heir glided to his side with the grace of a trained assassin.

"You realize that there aren't any old people here," Darkflight whispered. "Why?"

Shinobu's face took on a set look, and his voice was clipped. "I know. I wasn't about to ask, but Yamazaki told me."

Darkflight knew the answer before the other boy spoke. "They didn't want to leave, did they?"

"Damn fools," Shinobu said, his voice thick. "They're like the people of the Breaks, in a way. You notice there aren't many of those here either. You can tell Breaks people when you see them, and I guess most of them didn't want to leave either."

"That's where we should be," Darkflight mumbled, trying to sound convincing.

Shinobu's fierce eyes regarded him. "Do you really believe that?"

He wanted to, he told himself, but that would just be lying. "A month ago, that might have been true," he muttered. "No, not even then, really. I don't love the Breaks, but it's all I've ever known, and I thought I just wanted to know I had something to go back to. But..." he glanced up at Shinobu.

"You've seen the world through the eyes of a Gundam pilot," the other told him softly. "That changes everything." He smiled ruefully. "I can't go back either, you know."

Babies were crying above the roar of the trains, and it was very hot. It was inevitable, he supposed, that Wing would outgrow the Breaks. Darkflight hadn't expected that they would outgrow them together. He wondered what Atsuki would think, then decided that she would have been proud of them.

The sea of humanity surged around them, voices babbling in Japanese and the occasional foreign tongue. He thought he heard a dog bark, once, above the cry of children's voices and the hiss of machinery. Yamazaki shouted something and Darkflight crammed the last person into the train and pulled the door shut. The car creaked as it shot off down the tracks. Shinobu shook his head grimly.

"It's been an hour, and we've barely gotten any of these people away. We don't have enough time."

The crowd was beginning to move restlessly, and Darkflight glanced over their heads, meeting Duo's eyes, wondering if the Gundam pilot had another plan, knowing the answer even as he thought of the question.

_No_, Duo's face said, _I have nothing else._

And with a sickening realization, Darkflight saw that no matter their efforts, the outcome would be the same. People were going to die.

_What did we come here for, then?_ he cried out silently, appealing to the blank, harsh, nothingness of Duo's eyes, blurring flat like lines on a television screen, the fierceness of his emotions startling him to the point of tears. _Why did I come back home, if just to watch my friends die?_

And the part of him that had always jolted him to reality when he had been Darkflight, Breaks assassin, said: _you've never had a home._

But that was wrong, Darkflight knew. As much as he had hated the Breaks, hated his life and hated the choices he had to make to stay alive...there was still something there.

"I never thought," Shinobu whispered softly, "that it would come to this."

They stood there together as the flood of humanity crowded past them into the straining doors of the tram cars, panicked men and women raising their voices as the timer ticked down, the second hand crawling by on the clock, never slowing because one could not stop time, not even if one was a Gundam pilot. The heat haze of air was heavy on his skin, the pain of thousands of combined minds reaching out to embrace their condemned colony one last time, and he couldn't help it, wanted to reach out his hands and take hold of that, to pull it to him and make it his own too. Because in the end, L1 was still his colony.

"Maybe it was never a home," he said out loud to the stifling air, barely conscious that Shinobu was still standing there frozen, "but it was...a place to return to."

The cartel heir's face contorted in a curious mass of emotions, and he could see the effort it cost Shinobu to straighten, to square his shoulders, to pretend that he was supremely in control. "Stop it," Darkflight said. "It doesn't suit you."

"What?" Shinobu sounded surprised, a little pained.

"The lying," Darkflight said shortly. "Just because your grandfather did it doesn't mean you have to do it." The words came out rougher than he had intended, but it was the only thing he knew how to say.

Shinobu looked at him, and those dark eyes sparkled with something he couldn't identify, something powerful, something like life. He would have never known what life was, if not for Heero Yuy.

"Out of everyone," Shinobu said, "I think I needed to hear that from you." A moment of heavy silence that seemed to blanket even the milling crowd, and the rising sense of panic dimmed just a bit, but it was enough. "Thank you."

Darkflight glanced at him curiously. Yamazaki threw the lever and another train car shot off down the rails, and Shinobu turned with a suddenness that surprised even Darkflight, clamping his hands down on his shoulders urgently.

"How heavy is one hangar?" His voice was burningly feverish, as were his eyes. "Can you find out?"

Darkflight stared at him before the shocking flash of an idea crossed his mind. "You can't mean-"

"We have a Gundam," Shinobu said. "I suggest we use it."

"Where is Trowa?" Zechs demanded, as soon as Etille removed his boot from his back and he could roll, grimacing somewhat, into a hurried seated position with one leg curled under him because it hurt too much to move it. "Has anyone ever told you you've got a very deadly tackle move?"

"He's down two floors," Etille said without preamble, offering both hands, encased in flimsy-looked handcuffs, to help him back up. Zechs grasped the outstretched hands and jerked himself to his feet. His leg was asleep. Damn. "How on earth did you know I was here?"

Zechs flashed the ID card and saw that Etille understood. "We've got to get moving immediately," he said. "We've only got ten minutes left, more or less. I've got someone standing guard there in the hall, but even if they haven't spotted us in the security cameras by now, it's only a matter of time." He produced a knife from one flightsuit pocket, and with a few quick, practiced twists, had the handcuffs clicking open.

"Who's your friend?" Etille wondered, glancing quickly around the cell as Zechs jerked his head towards the door.

"An acquaintance of Duo Maxwell's. You might know her. Hilde Schbeiker? She's an ex-Federation pilot."

Etille raised one eyebrow. "You're traveling in strange companies these days, Peacecraft."

"I have a feeling Une would approve," Zechs returned in a sharp whisper, "if I had her permission. Where's Trowa? Two floors down, you said."

"I managed to locate him in the computer on one of my...planned excursions cut short. They've got his data masked well. I assume you looked for him and found me instead?"

"Affirmative." He looked around for Hilde but didn't expect to see her where he'd left her. She was no fool - staying in one position for too long in enemy territory raised the odds of being found exponentially. Briefly, he wished they had radios, then motioned Etille to follow him into another hallway.

"There's no use ducking and hiding, Peacecraft," the other man said calmly, as composed as Zechs remembered him from their brief acquaintance. "You know there's security cameras installed all over the place. You might as well save your energy and stop looking like an idiot."

He considered rebutting that statement, because it seemed just plain wrong to be moving slowly in a potentially dangerous environment, but knew that Etille was right and settled rather grudgingly into a fast walk. The former rebel second-in-command kept pace, looking unfazed by his rapid rescue; aside from days-worth of stubble and an awkward cast on his left foot and swaths of bandages around his shoulders, he looked more alert than he ever had been on A007. "You don't look too worse for wear," Zechs said instead. "Sally feeding you well?"

"She tried to worm some Preventers information out of me," Etille said. "I assume by that sheer fact that Une had some secrets of her own, secrets that she didn't even trust Sally to keep." His voice went odd on the last few words of the sentence, and Zechs looked sideways at him. "In hindsight, I'm sure she's glad she did so."

They turned the corner and Zechs had a feeling Hilde would be around the bend of the next turn. "Une's smarter than most people give her credit for," he said. Etille seemed different somehow, though he wasn't sure how, exactly. Lighter was the word, maybe, or less burdened. "She didn't become Treize's second-in-command for nothing."

"Treize," Etille intoned softly. Zechs frowned.

"What about Treize?"

Etille made a noise deep in his throat. "I think," he mused, "that I would have liked Trieze Khushrenada."

Before Zechs could question that peculiar statement, there was a flash of brown hair, a rustle of clothing, and Hilde stepped out from behind the left hand wall ahead, where two hallways met in a T-junction of a crossroads with a gun in her hand. "You're late," she accused. "And that's not Trowa."

"No," Zechs said. He looked at Etille. "You know your way around?"

"Not as well as you, I'm sure," the general said quietly. "Where do you want me?"

Zechs looked at Hilde and she stared back at him with a hint of challenge in her eyes, but only a hint. _I won't be left behind_, those eyes said, and Zechs answered back with his own gaze, _don't worry, you won't be._

"Tell me where they're keeping the last Gundam pilot," he said. "Hilde and I will go get him. Etille, I need you to find a way to get out of this place - there's someone very important out there who needs your help."

It was refreshing up here in space, calmer and cooler and serene, with nothing but the invisible sunlight and the whine of Nataku's engines purring against him, and Wufei remembered the last few hours as if they had been a dream.

He did not need to apologize to Heero, he knew. The other pilot would forgive him anything - had already forgiven him everything, because war was like that. It drove people mad. Whether Zechs Merquise would ever trust him again was another matter, but he didn't really care what the man thought.

"Heero?"

His voice was a little rusty, as he hadn't used it since they'd landed at Sparta to refuel, but almost at once, the left screen flashed and a picture of the Japanese boy appeared, as emotionless as he remembered him. Almost. The flesh of the scar was a little more puckered than usual, and on second glance he saw that Heero was frowning.

"Are you all right?"

"I had a moment," Wufei said. "I'm not sure what got into me."

Heero almost smiled. "I don't blame you. Can I trust you not to turn psycho on me again?"

"You can." He shifted in his seat, brought up the targeting scope. "Do you mind letting me in on your plans?"

"I told Jeong," Heero said, "that if you didn't snap out of it by the time we were up beyond orbit, that I would hand over command of the second squadron to him. But I also told him not to count on it. That you were more stable than you looked."

"Thank you," Wufei said warily. Was that a compliment? Shenlong's life support system coughed a bit as it kicked in, and he looked at the altimeter, knowing that meant they'd passed above the threshold of 50,000 meters, the last wisps of atmosphere floating past them like ghostly clouds. "One group to pursue Sally and the other to...?"

"I don't think I am mistaken," Heero said flatly, "when I say that Sally will split into two groups. We know that she's after two targets, the biggest of those being L3. But with L3's shields being taken down, a few mobile suits should be able to do the job. The garrison on L3 is small and I don't see them putting up too much of a fight."

"No," Wufei murmured. "So she splits her command into two, with one headed to L3 and the other to L1?"

"Not quite L1. She's not after L1. If I were her, I'd try to get as far away from L1 as possible before it blows, because only a madman would want to be there when the missiles hit."

Wufei heard the dead stop at the end of the last sentence and raised one eyebrow. "But?"

"But," Heero said, "Gundam pilots are known for being insane."

Shenlong's computer whirred for a second, calculating the raw data he had entered and spit out something back at him. "Fifteen minutes," Wufei said, "till we pass through the atmosphere at current speed and trajectory. Ten till you estimate the L3 shields are scheduled to blow. Shall I take group one, then, and attempt to stop her from gaining control of the L3 garrison?"

Heero hesitated, and again Wufei was struck by how different this Heero was from the old. The new Heero voiced thoughts where the old Heero would not have, hesitated before making decisions where the old Heero would have rushed into without a second thought, looked you in the eye when he was speaking not because he considered you a potential foe, but because he valued your opinion as a friend. "I thought," Heero said, "I'd lead group one. I thought you might want to see Sally again, on your own terms."

A shiver of goosebumps crept down his arms and he shuddered, an involuntary shaking that ran down from the top of his head to his toes which curled up on themselves in his boots. _The death of the heart is the saddest thing that can happen to you_. "I'd like that," he said at last, barely managing to say it in more than a raspy whisper.

"Get as close as you can to L1," Heero said, "without killing yourself. I'd like you to come back in one piece. If possible, I'd like Sally to come back in one piece too, but I don't think the thought of death will stop her." He scowled a bit. "She's too much like Treize for her own good."

Wufei scrolled through the list of bright red target blips blinking at him from his targeting scope, noticing that Jeong was adjusting his speed automatically to match the enemy's, and that the rest of the squadron was doing the same off his lead. Jeong would be a good commander someday. "She wouldn't like to hear you say that," he replied, one lip curling up in a small smile. "Treize, to her, was nothing but an imposter, a poser pretending to be an altruist."

"That's the catch, don't you think?"

"You mean, that it was really how he was?"

Heero considered. "Not exactly. Treize hid a lot of secrets, and in the end I think he saw things too much through the guise of a galactic opera. But through it there was still something. You'd know better, I'm sure."

Strangely enough, thinking of Treize's death did not jerk his mind back to that horrible last battle, the image of Tallgeese exploding in front of him, the long seconds of eternity in which he wished he had died with Treize. "People like Sally who don't understand Treize now will never understand him," he said. "I don't quite understand him myself. But it's how you look at the world, if you see the world as some place to be controlled or liberated or destroyed, or if you see the world as a living entity, made up of people."

"I don't think I catch your meaning," Heero said, and Wufei smiled.

"Treize wanted to bring peace by destroying all soldiers. Obviously, he failed. But Treize also realized that the road to peace lay not only through the death of the soldier, but through the hearts of the people."

Heero opened his mouth, and the scope pinged.

"She's moving," Wufei said tersely. "Looks like L3's about to blow."

"There's a transmission from Jeong," Heero said. "Hang on." He punched several buttons in rapid succession and the Korean man's drawn face flickered onto the screen.

"Something strange is happening, sir," he said. "See for yourself...are you on channel? I'm having one of my communications officers monitoring the energy spikes from the colony shields, and they're not behaving like we expected them to."

"How long till they're down, then?" Wufei asked.

Jeong shook his head. "That's the problem, sir." He glanced to the side for a moment, and Wufei saw the mobile suits behind him begin to rearrange themselves into classic battle formation. "They don't seem to be going down."

Wufei frowned. "How is that possible?"

"The energy spiking's frozen," Heero said. "I'm sending you the readout. Look." The data that flashed onto his right hand screen was a messy jumble of raw code, but it was not hard to decipher if one knew what one was looking for. Heero and Jeong were right, he realized. The spiking should have reached critical point some five minutes ago and then disintegrated into random electronic signals, indicating that the shield had been fragmented enough for base security to be ineffective. But instead, it held.

"Malfunction?"

"Of the shield?" Jeong looked confused. "I would say this is anything but a malfunction, sir. The shield seems to be doing its job nicely."

"No, of Sally's...whatever she's using."

Jeong looked unsure. "It might be. But look, sir, the energy levels are going back up. The shield's recharging."

Battle formation was complete, he saw, and suddenly he saw the red blips change, too, their engines powering up, their formation beginning to split and regroup. "I don't know what it is," he said harshly, "but this doesn't look good. They seem to be speeding up."

"Preventers, this is Marauder leader. Increase engine power to 90," Heero instructed. "Looks like the enemy is going to attempt the classic evade method. Prepare to surround and engage on my command."

"Are you sure this is wise, sir?"

"It's not a matter of wisdom, Jeong." Heero stared through the screen at both of them, but Wufei felt that those hard blue eyes were staring mostly at him. "Sally's lost her chance, and we're not going to let her get it back. We need to move her as close to L1 as possible, so if she really intends to fire those missiles, she's going to have to be prepared to go down along with them."

"That's crazy!"

For a moment, there was the Heero Yuy he had once known - cold, emotionless, a deadly efficient killing machine - and then something in his face changed imperceptibly and he became human again. "We're hoping that it won't come to that. Hoping that she'll change her mind."

_But_, Wufei added silently, hearing the words that Heero could not say to Jeong, who for all his loyalty to the Preventers and standing in the ranks, was only a mere child after all, _if it does, we will be there till the end._

"It's your performance, Wufei," Heero said instead. "The final act."

His hands moving of their own accord to open the comm channel, muscle memory fueling each cell, each nerve synapse, and he felt the world collapse and then expand around him as if everything was rushing in at the same time, felt Shenlong shift around him as Nataku ignited the beam lance one last time. He saw Tallgeese exploding again and heard Treize's calm words in his ears.

_Zechs, I'll go ahead of you._

"Sally!" he cried. "Stop!"

* * *

**Scene XII: In My Own Words**

_"A life is too precious to be replaceable.  
It is only when facing an enemy and risking one's own precious life that,  
amidst all the sorrow, a warrior's soul will shine with nobility."  
--Treize Khushrenada, Gundam Wing_

She was huddled in a crouch when she heard the footsteps approaching stealthily from someone where her left, beyond the far row of petroleum tanks. The Kashmir sun's rays, hot on her already sweaty skin with the unmercilessness of summer, prickled where they burned steadily against the thick cloth of her jacket, filtering through the curtain of her hair. She could swear even the ground was smoking.

Thud. Thud.

Hunkering down in what remained of the shadows surrounding the nearest tank, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to hold her breath. It was just a patrol, she told her herself. She would just remain very quiet and still, and they would pass.

Thud. Thud.

They were coming this way. Frantically, she tried to remember the rudimentary basics of operating the military-issue pistol that Hilde had loaned her, then realized with a stricken start that she didn't have it anymore. Hilde had taken it back because she would need it more where she was going.

This was not looking good.

The crunching on the gravel was definitely headed her way. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, feeling her nerves quivering. Closer. Closer. Then a pause, where she wasn't sure if the thudding she heard were the feet running or if it was just the pounding of her heartbeat in her own ears.

The footsteps stopped.

"Relena?"

She jerked her head up, an involuntary reaction from hearing her name on someone else's lips, and almost fell backward with the shock.

"I'd love to stop and chat," Dermand Etille said, "but I'm here with a mission from your brother. You feeling well enough to go on a hike?"

"Where are we going?" Relena asked breathlessly, her head still whirling. Shaken, she stared up at the tall man standing over her, his shadow a welcome breather from the pounding of Kashmir's sun. From somewhere close by, she heard an engine start, and then a shrill siren so loud it seemed to split the cardboard-flimsy air in two. Etille heard it too, throwing a glance over his shoulder urgently.

"They've spotted your brother. Let's hope he gets to Trowa before they do."

"We're going to rescue Trowa?"

"No," Etille said, reaching a hand down and almost dragging her to her feet. "No, I've acquired the emergency reprogram code to those missiles. We're going to see if we can't do something with it."

Zechs was already pounding at a flying sprint down the hallway, Hilde right behind him, when the sirens went off.

It was no surprise to him; he'd calculated almost to the minute when the guards would check, and he was right. Twenty minutes, he had said, and looking at his watch, it had been twenty minutes and fifty seven seconds. Sally's people were good, he had to admit. It remained to be seen whether they were better than he was.

"Turn right," Hilde snapped, and he didn't question her, simply dove into the hallway opening that appeared on his right. The cell numbers were increasing. C123. Further. C140. Almost there.

"It should be the second one on your next turn on the left," she called from behind him, "judging from the way these numbers are going up. Check - right ahead of you. Look, there!"

He stopped in his tracks, panting slightly and fingering his pistol, senses kicked into overdrive just in case. C251, the metallic panel slightly above eye level read, set into the frame of the door with a grim precision that showcased the unforgiving air of the place. There were no windows. The entire complex reminded him of Treize's underground hangar, where he'd built Epyon.

"There's no lock on the door," Hilde said, and Zechs smiled tightly.

"Yes, there is." Feeling in his pocket for a minute, his fingers touched the rectangle of plastic, and pulling it out, he stood silently for a second, gauging the length and width of the door. It would be about where his hand was hovering now, he thought, maybe to the left. Yes, there was a small line. To any untrained eye, it would be a crack in the metal, but to Zechs, it was simply one of the state-of-the-art scanning systems that all Preventers high security prisons were fitted with.

He waved the card in front of the line, hoping that they still had a few minutes remaining.

The door beeped, and then it clicked open.

Zechs was not surprised to find Trowa Barton standing there, facing the door waiting for them to enter. Barton had always been like that, Zechs knew, even though the two of them had never truly met - calm, unfazable, deadly and efficient to the very end. The descriptions he'd been given of the former Heavyarms pilot did little justice to the wiry boy who stood in front of him now. There was no trace of teenage awkwardness in his obviously still-growing frame, no hint of the indecision that had plagued him as Sally Po's forces demanded him to surrender the missiles. Trowa's eyes flicked to Zechs' face, and then to Hilde's behind him, and Zechs read approval there.

"Hello, Trowa Barton," he said.

"I must be important still," the boy said, stepping toward him and holding his handcuffed hands out. Zechs produced his knife and jimmied the lock as efficiently as he had Etille's. "Une's sending the entire chain of command out for me."

"Oh no," Zechs said, before Hilde could open her mouth, raising his voice above the sirens were still wailing outside in the hall. "Don't thank Une."

"Then-"

"No time for questions," Hilde cut him off urgently. "The enemy'll be here any second, and we've gotta leave now if we want to catch Etille."

Trowa went very still. "Etille?"

Zechs smiled. "We thought his cell was yours, but it turned out to be a good thing. He's got the new code to the missile silo." He slammed the door behind him, heard the automatic lock click. Shame that there were so many cameras installed in the hallway; if not for that, Trowa Barton would still be in his cell, as far as anyone knew. "Let's get moving. It's quite a walk."

There should have been reports piling high on her desk, aides running frantically in and out, giant voices from the loudspeakers booming down the hallway of launches and sorties. That was what Une was used to during a war, what years under Treize's tutelage had taught her to expect.

But it was silent.

Her television had been on for the better part of the day before she had finally gotten sick of it and jabbed the off button on the remote with a vehemence that probably would have been better saved for shouting insults at Fatima bint Narish, or telling the entire World Nation emergency council that they were a bunch of fools who couldn't touch their butts with both hands.

Or something along those lines.

Instead, she was reduced to sitting here at her desk, staring out the window of her office and wondering what the world was up to. The sky was blue, slightly cloudy, but clear enough that shafts of mid-afternoon sunshine slanted down through the puffy clouds to fall in golden puddles on the floor. Her coffee was cold, the computer was overheating, and it was time for her usual snack but she wasn't hungry even though she hadn't had anything to eat in the last 36 hours.

The clock on the corner of her desk read 1646. Less than two hours till Sally pulled the trigger, and no matter what the doubters at the World Nation said, Une believed that Sally would not hesitate to carry out her threat. Sally was always too good at keeping promises.

A knock on the door.

Instantly, she was on her feet, whirling around as if God himself was here in person to deliver a message.

"Come in!"

But it was only Lopez, looking too tired and haggard after another sleepless night. He carried nothing in his hands, no papers or briefcase, but all the same, in his tired face was the look of someone who was bringing important news.

"What?" she snapped, not bothering to apologize for her tone, knowing that he would understand.

"Winner and Dorothy Catalonia are back," he said. "L3's shields are still holding."

She felt something pass over her eyes then, a shadow like a gray cloud, and she blinked several times, steadying herself on the back of her chair. "What? When? How are they?"

"Catalonia seems to be fine. She's showing signs of minor trauma, but most of her symptoms seem to stem from dehydration and exhaustion. Winner, on the other hand..." he trailed off.

"Winner _what?_" Une demanded. She wanted to shake him.

"He opened his eyes for about two seconds and then went unconscious, apparently. I wasn't there when they came out of the Zero, but he's having a hard time. They rushed him to the hospital right away. I think the last report we heard was he's in shock, some danger of going into a coma. I think it's just data overload on the senses. I don't doubt he'll be fine." Lopez's voice held an almost spiritual note of conviction. "He's a Gundam pilot, after all."

"They're not invincible," Une murmured, then took a deep breath, let it out. The sunlight was still falling in graceful folds to the floor, and she allowed herself to look out the window, to feel its warmth and admire the golden glow instead of trying to see through to space beyond.

"Ma'am?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Keep me updated on his status when you get any word."

"Yes, ma'am."

"What about Heero? Duo?"

Lopez looked crestfallen. "Nothing on either of those fronts, ma'am. We do have reports that Sally Po has left Earth's atmosphere, presumably headed for L3. I'm not sure what she'll do once she realizes that those shields are still up."

"If Heero knows what's good for him, he'll set her on course for L1," Une said. "I would bet that's what he's got his mind set on doing right now." She clenched one fist, staring up at the sky and those clouds, knowing that maybe if she left her office and went down to Intel they could give her better information, but not wanting to cling to false hope.

What would Treize have done? She tried to imagine his face in her mind, to recall some of the gems of wisdom he'd bestowed on her when she was still a headstrong young officer intent on making the world his, and found that she couldn't quite remember what his voice sounded like.

"Lopez-"

Her phone rang.

She let the words drop, moved to her desk and picked up the phone with hands suddenly gone cold. "General Une."

"Ma'am," the voice at the other end said, "we've got more information regarding Major Li."

She frowned. "Li?"

Lopez fidgeted and she glanced sharply at him. There was something in his face she didn't like. "Call me back in five minutes," she said, slamming the phone down before the man could answer her, and turned to face her aide. "All right, Lopez. Spill it."

He took a deep breath. "Two hours ago, right before Winner and Catalonia exited the Zero system, we heard something from Major Li's office that sounded like a desk or bookshelf or something had collapsed on itself."

An unpleasant suspicion crossed Une's mind and she dismissed it. There it was, one of Treize's proverbs: _Jumping to conclusions is nothing more than not respecting what your subordinates have to say._ "Go on," she said instead.

"We'd assumed Li was gone on some mission for you to Forteleza. She'd sent us the orders herself a few days ago, signed by you. So you can imagine it was a little hectic when we forced open the door and saw her sitting in her chair."

"I never signed any orders," Une said grimly. "I haven't had time to sit down, much less sign anything." Another enemy right before her eyes, practically in her own bedroom, and she had missed the mark again, too busy with Quatre's trial and thoughts of Sally to realize that Li had been missing for at least two days. Treize would have called her dull and stupid, and she would have deserved it. "I think I know where you're going with this."

Lopez nodded stiffly. "I knew that Major Li was a genius with computers. But...I never realized she was this good. The goggles and wires were still hanging off her eyes when we entered, but she was laying backward on the floor. She'd fallen out of her chair. The crash we heard was the chair smashing into a bookcase filled with data disks and glass. The glass broke, of course, and some of it was embedded fairly deep into her skin. If we hadn't been there, she would have been dead."

Une took a breath. "Well that's good."

"Not necessarily," Lopez said. "I don't know how Winner and Catalonia managed to defeat Aidoru, but...the result isn't pretty. The doctors told me worse case, brain death in a matter of hours, best case she would be a vegetable for the rest of her life. It would have been better, I think, if Li had died."

_Li was Aidoru._

She knew she should be feeling something - shock, maybe, or disbelief. Grief at Li's medical condition, anger at being betrayed. But instead, she looked out the window again, noting distractedly that the sunlight was a little less bright than it had been before, that the clouds were tinted with the faintest hint of sunset rose, and that meant that evening was coming and Sally's countdown clock was running out.

"What do you do, Lopez, when everything as you've known it is coming to an end, and you can't do anything to stop it?"

He hesitated for a second, perhaps wondering if it was a trick question, but she could see the bright spheres of his mind working behind the bland face. It was a shame, she thought, that Treize had never met Enrico Lopez. Trieze could have harnessed the burning potential she still saw in him, could have drawn it out of him like a fire out of the coals and made it into something great.

"Honestly, ma'am," he said, "I don't really know." He took a deep breath, staring at his shoes, then bringing his gaze up to meet hers. "I honestly don't even have the credentials to tell you. You've been through it once already, with Treize...I would imagine it would be almost too sad for you now to go through it again."

A great feeling of sorrow welled through her at the mention of his name from someone else's lips, like a burst of fireworks exploding and melting away, and she almost reached out one hand to him. "No," she said, "I think I'm just beginning to realize that today isn't the end at all."

"I don't think I understand," Lopez said, a hint of frustration in his voice.

"Maybe I've been a fool in trying to hold onto Treize for two years, even when I knew he would have just liked to be laid to rest. Maybe that's the point Sally is trying to prove to me right now. You can't cling to memories - you have to learn to rise above that."

"Memories aren't bad things," Lopez hazarded. "Not all of them."

Une shook her head. "No. They're not. But they can blind you to the truth." She rubbed her eyes, allowing herself a brief moment of weakness, then squared her shoulders. "Lopez, take me to the hospital to see Winner and Catalonia, and then I want to go down to Intelligence. In a few hours, we'll have our ending."

Lopez nodded, lips curving into a sudden smile. "No, ma'am," he said. "Not an ending. You just said so yourself. Maybe instead, it will be a beginning."

He tried to imagine that not everything was resting on his shoulders, and that after this, he could hop down from Deathscythe's cockpit and grin and pretend that everything was still all right. But Duo knew that if this failed, then everything they'd come to L1 to accomplish would be for nothing.

That was always the cincher, he thought wearily as he threw power to engines, easing the Gundam out of its cramped position beside the shuttle in the hangar that was a little too small and a little too empty. There was always something that only he could do, always something that depended solely on his shoulders, and if he failed, people would die or colonies would be destroyed, and when it came down to it, he had always failed.

The image of Ilene beat against his eyes still, even when he told himself that her ghost was laid to rest, and that there had been nothing Trowa could have done.

_It doesn't matter_, he decided, releasing the gravity brake with a hiss of hot air, and feeling the Gundam rise as if on dark wings. The hangar door was a black square through the blazing hangar lights, and he shot through it into the void of space, letting Deathscythe bear him up silently, closing his eyes and imagining that nothing had changed, that Treize was still alive and if he opened his eyes he would be able to see the Libra there like a mythical monster, hovering.

He thought, as he opened his eyes to the empty reality before him, that he might have even preferred that to what he had gotten himself into now.

"Duo? You there?"

"I'm here," he answered, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat. "Is everything secure?"

A brief scuffle. "Ready as they'll ever be," Shinobu responded over the comm. "I've got five men manning the release, but we'll have to time it exactly, or-"

"I understand," Duo said, cutting him off. It had been almost absurd when Shinobu had approached him with the idea of using the Gundam to push the hangar away from the colony, as if it was just a big box with no strings attached. Duo had wanted to laugh. He could have argued no, it was too large, it was too heavy, there were too many people.

But really when it had come down to it, Shinobu had a point. There were three hours remaining, no time to lose, and all the haste in the world wouldn't be able to deliver all those people to where they had to go. He didn't want any more people to die because of him.

In that moment of indecision, with Shinobu and Darkflight staring at him intently, with Helena and the rest of the colonists still believing that they were guaranteed safety because one of the Gundam pilots, savior of the colonies two years ago, was among them, he had understood how Wufei felt.

"We'll do it," he had said harshly. "Shin, you go find out what it'll take to detach the hangar from supports. There's got to be release handles somewhere holding it down. L2's hangars had them, and I'd think L1's would be the same. Also find out about atmospheric control in here and how long oxygen will last if we have to bring it out of the colony atmosphere. Darkflight, go tell Helena and Yamazaki. I'm going to get Deathscythe."

The words had sounded brave and noble to him then, and maybe to everyone they still were brave and noble. He wished Hilde was here. She would have known what to do.

"All right, Shin, I'm coming in," he said. "Vector three-zero on your starboard."

"Copy," Shinobu said, sounding for all the world like he had been born to space combat. Duo toggled Deathscythe's targeting computer. The hangar wasn't too heavy for one lone Gundam to move, but it would be tricky. One wrong calculation, one wrong twist of the Gundam's arms, and they would all spin out of control.

_You're a better pilot than that_, his brain scolded him, and he replied, _but I haven't piloted in two years. _

The colony loomed against his front viewscreens. He cut engine power. Deathscythe whined in protest. "Get ready to release the levers in three," he said, holding the Gundam steady. He could see the gleaming metal of the support beams flickering out at him. Odd; he'd always imagined colonies as old, rusted. But there was no rusting in space.

"In two-" he said, guiding Deathscythe in on the trajectory, calculated just so that the hangar's center of gravity would be perfectly balanced when the Gundam's arms took hold of it.

"One-"

There was another slight tremor from L3's shields and the readings fuzzed out for a bit, then returned with bits of static.

_I wouldn't be a pilot if I wasn't able to believe in humanity. One day there won't be a need for people like you and me, Duo. I hope we both live to see that day._

"Now!"

Deathscythe was coming up fast, too fast, but he saw the snap of the great metal pincers releasing, the shudder of the massive metal structure untethered, wobbling unsteadily, and before it could begin to drift, Deathscythe had clamped itself around it, metal to metal. He was calm. Well-remembered actions, as if programmed into his fingers. Release shields. Full power to engines. Jamming the lever forward with more force than was needed, as if by the sheer will of his very being, he could force the Gundam to move.

It moved.

Slowly at first, and the hangar was wobbling uncontrollably, and Duo had to stop himself from wishing for at least something to tie it down with, or a slave cable. There was no time for wishes. There as only one Gundam, one pilot, one hangar and thousands of people inside, and this was his mission.

"Shin? You there?"

His scope beeped at him as the other boy responded. "We're here. We're all fine. How long, do you think?"

"It shouldn't be more than twenty minutes, if all goes well." If, Duo reminded himself, then shook his head hard. Regrets never got anyone anywhere. Deathscythe's engines were at full power, and they were still moving agonizingly slow, but they were moving, and that was the important thing. "I've got the center of gravities balanced as well as I can, but if there's a problem, I might have to take emergency measures. As long as you can hear me on the comm, I'd say don't panic."

"All right," Shinobu said, sounding perfectly calm. Duo could hear a baby crying somewhere in the background. "I trust you."

The scope pinged at him again, and he turned sharply in his seat to peer out the targeting pod. "Shit," he said. Deathscythe wasn't going to go any faster, and this did not look good at all. There were at least three squadrons of them, maybe more, and at their head, unless his eyesight was failing him, was Heavyarms.

"Trouble?"

"I'll be willing to bet anything those are Sally's forces. What the hell she's doing out here, I have no idea, but-" He broke off, scrolling through the list of targets rapidly. "Hold on just a second."

"Duo?"

He gave a sudden whoop of delight, already reaching for the frequency channel button as he clenched his hands in sweaty relief. "I might not be the brightest kid around," he said, "but Deathscythe's scope doesn't lie. That's Wing Zero."

"Duo?" the comm crackled, familiar voice sounding faintly startled. "Is that you?"

The forbidding hump of the missile silo was dark, seemingly deserted, doors shut tight against the late afternoon heat wave, and Etille jerked his hand back from the entry panel with a snarl and a muttered curse.

"They've changed the entry code," he said. "Damn my stupidity. I got the missile code but forgot the one to get inside the damn silo."

"Would Milliard know it?" Relena wondered, her eyes wide. He looked at her, mind whirling through a thousand options, wondering how she could be so calm despite having never been in combat before. It must be a Peacecraft thing.

"I doubt it," Etille said. "This one's fluid. We're going to have to improvise here."

Heero had seen the huge hangar detach from its mother colony cluster, but it wasn't till they had closed into within firing distance of L1 that he had seen the Gundam pushing it, dwarfed by the giant metal structure. It was oddly bizarre to see the tiny machine there, engines flaming. They were moving by sheer force of will, Heero realized with some shock, because inside that hangar, there were people.

"You're just in time, boss," Duo's voice said from the comm with its familiar bantering tone, and only someone who knew Duo as well as Heero did could read the relief and fear in there. "Why don't you take care of those pesky enemy suits for me? I've got something I have to do."

"Roger," Heero said. "Wufei, you take second squadron and get as close as you can to that colony as you can. You've got fifty mobile suits at your disposal, and Duo can't push that hangar by himself all day. Use what you've got."

"Understood," Wufei said sharply, and the comm clicked and Heero saw the formation to his right peal off in a flowing maneuver that reminded him of the way Treize had flown, graceful, like a bird.

But there was Heavyarms in front of him, barring the way, and he couldn't let her go without a fight. Not here, not in front of L1, which even through everything, through the experiments and Doctor J and Operation Meteor and the Breaks and Atsuki and the loss of the childhood he'd never had, was still his home.

"First squadron! Do whatever you need to, but your mission is to make sure none of Po's forces get through to that colony. You understand?"

"Roger that, sir," Jeong replied, and Heero gunned his engines, heading straight for the Gundam that should have been a friend, waiting for Sally to say something, to break the eerie radio silence, but she did not. She simply stopped and waited.

Heero had the odd sensation that she was laughing at him. For some reason, that made him more infinitely sad than anything she could have said.

_Our hands are stained with enough blood as it is. And if killing Sally is the only way to stop the cycle, so be it._

"I won't let you destroy my colony," he said softly, and Wing Zero spread its arms like the wings of a bird, and dove in for the final strike.

"We've got a delivery here," the guard said over the viewscreen, and the silo commander frowned for a second, but the credentials on the ID scan were genuine, and the man seemed harmless enough. The helmet covered most of his head, but those green eyes were carefully blank. He seemed somehow familiar, too.

"All right," he said, gesturing one of the controllers to go get the door. "We'll have it open in a second for you. But you'd better be quick."

The guard nodded deferentially. "Yes, sir." The screen went blank.

Not two seconds after that, there was the hiss of the door opening from the tunnel entrance, then a brief yelp, the sound of a body falling to the ground. Silence.

"Castell?" The commander tensed. "Castell?" He turned.

The barrel of a pistol jammed itself against his neck and hard blue eyes met his.

"If you know what's good for you," Zechs Merquise said, "You will keep very, very still."

Sally Po had been waiting for Heero Yuy to say something as he came roaring in on Wing Zero, trying to draw her off in a feint, but she wouldn't be drawn off. Surely he didn't think she was as inexperienced as that.

_Military tactics are like unto water; for water in its natural course runs away from high places and hastens downward._

Sun Tzu was always right, Sally told herself grimly. She swung Heavyarms to follow Wing Zero in a wide arc as the other Gundam swooped behind her in a veil of stars, fired, missed. "Rogers!" she snapped instead to her wingman. "Get away from here. Go stop that hangar!"

"But-"

"Don't argue with me," she hissed. Wing Zero lunged forward, and she whirled to the side. The white Gundam shuddered as it passed, body armor almost brushing. "I don't need your help here! Go!"

_Don't try to stop me, Heero Yuy. You could never hope to understand. _

"Sally," his voice came over the comm at last. "Don't make me do this. Please."

"I'm not making you do anything," she replied softly, lining the white Gundam up in her sights. Wing Zero, an angel floating toward her on wings of destruction, unearthly white against the deep black infinity of space. "You've made your own choices, and so have I. It's too late to change that now."

With the work of fifty more mobile suits, the hangar had been pushed along at a much accelerated pace, rounding the far side of the L1 colony cluster faster than he had hoped, and Wufei stared out at the dark bulk of Duo's Gundam, wondering at the other pilot's sudden silence.

"You should go," Duo said suddenly.

"What?"

The destination cluster was in sight now, a small, bare sheet of metal that looked like a giant helicopter landing pad. There were chambers under the surface, Wufei knew, which most likely housed the evacuees that Duo had told him had been taken there by train before time forced them to take desperate measures. In his eyes had been the knowledge that this protection would not even be enough, but it was the best they could do. They had to try.

"It's Sally. I know how important it is to you to be out there right now." Duo's face appeared on the screen, and Wufei stared at him, hearing the words but not quite understanding them, knowing that Duo was right but not wanting to admit it. Because to admit it would be to throw off the last of his chains and face the fact that maybe Sally couldn't be stopped, and maybe he would have to kill her.

"I don't-"

"Stop arguing with me, man," Duo said. "Look, Wufei-"

Wufei held up one hand. "Don't."

But Duo didn't stop, plowed on, "-you know, I'm grateful for all your help. But this is my fight, not yours. Don't you think that you should be out there with Heero? When it comes down to it, you're the only one who really understands Sally, if only a little bit, and that little bit is all we have."

He shook his head stubbornly. "I'll help you first, then go."

"Stop running, Wufei."

_When does the hurting go away? When do I stop hating myself?_

"In the end," Duo said softly, "your greatest enemy is...just you. There's people out there who need your help."

Nataku shuddered around him and it was as if he heard her voice again, felt her gentle hands on his face and was cradling the warmth of her against him, looking at her as she died, seeing her eyes stare up unseeingly at the sky, but she was still smiling. _You were stronger...than anyone._

What had Treize fought for? Why had he died? He was nowhere nearer to really understanding that than he had been when the last war had ended, Wufei realized, but he saw for the first time that didn't matter. Because now what mattered was Sally, and Sally was someone who did not have to die, someone who he still believed could be saved.

"I know," he said a little huskily, slapping the controls. Nataku pulled away, and as Deathscythe shrunk in his targeting scope, he saw Duo smile. "I know, it's only a little bit. But if that's all we have, then that's what I'll give."

There were no stars in space, he knew, but as Nataku looped in on herself, screaming back toward the way they had come where Heavyarms and Wing Zero were locked in combat, he could almost see those stars Treize had so loved, still burning so brightly that they brought tears to his eyes to even look at them. All those stars, all of them calling to him, igniting his blood like they had the blood of those soldiers who had gone before him, drawing him closer, drawing him home.

There were ten minutes remaining on the clock, ten minutes till the automatic timer reached zero and the missile power-up system activated. Trowa stood silently against the far wall watching Etille kneel by the side of the control panel and painstakingly type in code after code, hoping that these codes would be enough to stop the clock from ticking.

It was odd, he reflected, to be standing in the same room as he had three days ago when he had discovered he did not have what it took to destroy Sally Po after all. The silo was the same as he remembered, blinking lights and glaring plasma screens, dark and cold and deathly still. He looked over at Relena and Hilde, who were hastily conferring in one corner, then at Zechs Merquise standing over Etille, double-checking his work. Strange allies, yet it seemed fitting.

The silo commander and his two underlings had been knocked unconscious and propped against the far wall with bits of cloth binding their hands and feet. Crude, but it did the job, and they had no rope or handcuffs available. Zechs had started to ask Trowa if he wanted to help Etille reprogram the codes, but a look from Etille had stopped him, and he had gone over instead.

And Trowa was alone.

_Catherine_, he thought, _how are you doing? I've wanted to tell you many things that I've been thinking about in the last few days when you haven't been with me._

"No," Zechs said to Etille, jerking a thumb at the panel. "You've got the order wrong. Look-" A beep as another code was entered, another piece of the puzzle put into motion.

_I used to think that the world was just a place in which I had to survive the best as I could until I was killed. There wasn't anything in it for me, and I didn't expect anything to be. That's how I was raised. I wonder if you can understand that, but maybe you can. We're all selfish beings in the end._

The countdown timer's huge red letters were burning themselves into his mind, but he stared at them, watching the numbers tick, shrinking into ever smaller increments. Somewhere over their heads, Zechs had said, Heero and Wufei were even now fighting to save L1, but it might already be too late.

_I grew up on L3 and never really knew what it meant till after the war, when I went home and had no home left to go back to. I tried to be happy with you, but maybe even you realized that I wasn't. It's hard to be a child of war, drifting. You get tired after a while. You just want someone, somewhere, to come back to._

One of the captives twitched and Hilde gave him a sharp look, rising and walking over, her hand on the butt of her gun. Trowa tried to look away from the timer, but it fascinated him, those blood-red letters glowing grotesque like fire, as if saying in five minutes and fifteen seconds and forty-six milliseconds, the end of the world would come.

_Are you still in Geneva? There's no safer place for you in the world right now, I think. You should be all right there. No matter what happens, stay there and I'll come to find you. Then we can go away, the two of us, and..._

And what?

No, his brain said slowly, that wasn't right. Perhaps after the last war that could have been right, but too much had happened, and the world was such a different place than he had imagined. Catherine would tell him that, if she were here, he knew. She would tell him to wake up, to look around him and see how many people there were who were important to him, who needed him.

_When I faced Quatre in the Vayeate, I couldn't think about him, because I would have never had the courage to go through with what I had to do. Was that what Treize felt too, at the last moment when he knew Wufei was going to kill him? Did he simply let go?_

He thought of Catherine's bright smile and the way she smelled, like springtime and summer all rolled into one, and for a moment the red numbers in the timer and the chill of the silo and Hilde's frown and Zechs and Etille's tense conversation faded away. _Let go, Trowa._

_I want to believe in a better world._

A girl's muffled scream. A gunshot.

His eyes flew open and he saw Hilde sprawled on the floor, leg twisted at an unnatural angle, pistol skidding away from her to smash against the far wall of the silo. Relena leapt for it, but the silo commander, not so unconscious now, had grabbed her leg with a vicious baring of teeth, dragging her to the floor.

Trowa gave a wordless yell and sprinted forward, landing with a whoosh of air on the man's back. They pitched forward together, and he saw Zechs out of the corner of his eye diving for the gun.

The clock read 00:10:13

It was too late, Trowa realized as the man raised his fists to knock Etille out of the way. Precious seconds lost as Etille reeled backward to avoid the blow, landing heavily on his side, forehead banging against the glass front of one of the screens, hand flying backward. Something clicked. The lights flickered, and the screens activated.

00:05:47

There had been just one last bit of code, Trowa thought to himself in the part of his mind that was still calm, rational, that had always been like that even in the thick of battle. He hung on grimly to the man's shoulders, trying to gain enough of a foothold to smash his fist into the man's jaw, knowing even as he did so that it was futile.

"Stop this," he begged the man. "_Don't you understand?_"

The man snarled. "I don't need you preaching to me, Gundam pilot! You tried to kill us once, but you won't succeed again!"

"I tried to save you!" he cried, and then the timer's huge numbers flared large and red in his mind, like the giant maw of some unnamed creature from nightmare.

00:00:00 BEGIN FINAL COUNTDOWN

There was another gunshot and the man shuddered, bucking forward and flinging Trowa off in one violent motion. He rolled as he hit the floor, enough to avoid head contact with the ground, came up in a combat crouch and saw Zechs standing over the man's motionless body, pistol smoking.

"We were too late," Zechs said wearily, and Trowa got to his feet painfully, hobbling over to help Etille off the console. "We got most of them, but there's two missiles headed directly for L1."

SILO #1 FIRING

_Whatever happens, Catherine_, he thought, as the tremors began and the air around him gathered itself for the final moment, _I want you to know that I love you._

Sally fought like Duo, Heero had realized with some surprise, if Duo would have ever fought in Heavyarms. He remembered Duo telling him that Sally had obtained a complete readout of his fighting techniques, and he wondered if this was the result of that. She moved much quicker than he had expected Heavyarms to, lightly, like a dancer.

Beside him, one of the enemy Tauruses exploded, and he twisted to the side. Shrapnel pelted Wing Zero's screens.

_You've made your own choices, and so have I._

He threw the Zero into a spin, feeling the familiar golden glow hovering at the edges of his vision. No time for mistakes now, no time to think. The Zero system whispered to him, and he let it take him in, let it surround him with its visions of the past, present, and future, saw himself holding Heavyarms in his grasp, saw himself slicing through the Gundam's heavy armor hull with the beam saber, visions of the battle around him dissolving into nothing as Sally died, and he rejected them.

The Zero system was only a machine, after all. It had no heart, no soul.

Heavyarms fired at him and he avoided the blast easily. The HUD gibbered at him with the mechanical precision of the targeting computer's scopes, and he folded Wing Zero as tight as she could go, screamed through a cloud of fire coming at him from below the Gundam's belly. He had not yet activated the beam cannon, and he did not want to. Not yet, he told himself, not yet.

Sally came at him again, fire raking in from starboard, and Heero was preparing to come in hard around her other side in a feint when she suddenly pulled away, dropping like a stone down under him from starboard to port, and he turned his head to see what she saw.

"Sally," Wufei's voice came hard and flat over the speaker. "Stop this. Or I will stop you."

And before she had even time to respond, Shenlong was there, sweeping in low and fast, a mass of silver and white like the dragon that gave it its name. The dragon's maw was red like fire and the beam lance was green as Wing Zero's eyes, burning eerily brilliant through the nothingness. Heero hit the controls, all power to engines, pulling Wing Zero away, just in time.

Nataku rammed into Heavyarms with the screech of metal against metal, electronics shrieking and crackling and Heero covered his ears as the whine filled the cockpit and yet couldn't block it out, a brilliant fireball blossoming out from where Wufei's Gundam had jammed its free fist into Heavyarms' fuel tank.

"WUFEI!"

Heavyarms shuddered once, twice, and to his horror, Heero saw that the beam lance had cut through one of its legs and part of the other. The severed leg twisted, snapped with a sickening sound of bursting electronic components, and began drifting slowly away from the Gundam. Heavyarms sat motionless.

"Wufei!" he cried. "Get away!"

Almost too late, as Shenlong limped backwards with all the power its crippled engines could muster, a flurry of laser fire shot through the spot where the Gundam had been. Heero drove Wing Zero up, dodging the cloud with singleminded fury, swinging Wing Zero's beam cannon wide, taking a deep breath and knowing that whatever the cost, he had not wanted to do this.

The beam cannon streamed out, bright and white, and he had to turn his face away as Sally's forces crumpled in the pure energy beam, melting away like ice under the sun's rays as if they had never been. They had been people, but it was war, and Sally had shown that she would not listen.

"You've lost, Sally," Wufei said. "Give up."

For a moment, Heero thought that the challenge would go unanswered, and then Sally said, "I thought once, Wufei, that we were friends."

Wufei snarled. "You gave up that right to call me friend when you threatened the lives of the people in that colony over there!"

There was a gathering energy reading coming from somewhere below on the planet surface.

"You don't understand," Sally said, a note of triumph creeping into her voice, and Heero knew she saw what he saw on the scopes. Energy levels this high could mean only one thing: the missile silo at Kashmir had activated. "I'm merely doing what the people want. Have you ever thought about that, Wufei? What about you, Heero Yuy? In fighting your war, was it really for the colonies? You've played into Treize's hands! You're nothing more than pawns!"

"No, Sally," Wufei said. He sounded calm now, no longer angry, and looking up at his screen, Heero saw the Chinese boy staring thoughtfully at his own readouts, watching the energy spike higher and higher. "What the people want more than anything is peace and what you've given them is more war! In fighting for what you think is right, have you been really thinking about the people? What makes you different from Treize?"

"Treize and I fight on entirely different principles! He didn't know what it was like to die for something he loved! He knew nothing about duty!"

"No," came a new but familiar voice. "No, Sally, don't you see? Treize died for what he believed in. But what did that prove? Yes, it takes courage to die for our beliefs... but it takes even more courage to live with the decisions we have made."

Deathscythe rounded the last turn of the colony, coming majestically toward them as if the cloud of enemy fire did not faze it at all, brushing them off like small insects. "The colony is safe as it'll ever be," Duo said. "Do your worst, Sally, but just remember when those missiles hit and the entire colony is eliminated like it never was, that it was your actions and your actions alone that caused the death of hundreds of thousands of innocent people."

"I cannot be responsible for the casualties of war," Sally shot back. Heavyarms' engines fired weakly, but Deathscythe was there behind her, grasping Heavyarm's shoulders with both metallic claws, oblivious to the other Gundam's struggles. Duo shook his head.

"You're wrong, Sally. Don't you see what war is? War is about the fact that no matter how many people die, no matter what new regime gains power and then is overthrown, in the end it still comes down to accepting responsibility to the people. Don't tell me that you are not responsible, Sally. Treize knew that he was responsible, and he accepted that. He understood war, understood that in order to stop a war, you had to responsible for your actions!"

"The missiles have fired," Wufei said urgently.

Heero scanned his console. "Trajectory?"

"They're not heading straight for the colony." He saw Wufei calculating. "Most of them...their courses have been changed." He heard the puzzlement in the other's voice, thought, _Zechs did make it in time._ "But even if one or two hit, the resulting explosion is going to be bad. We need to get out of here."

The enemy mobile suits were pulling back, Heero saw, but too many of them had been grouped around L1 as Jeong and the rest of the Preventers had been luring them in. He had the sudden urge to yell for Jeong, to tell him that he was sorry and that he had hoped it would not end like this, but Jeong already knew. Duty, he would have called it.

"No matter how you struggle, Sally, you've lost." Wufei stared into the screens, his face set. "It's up to you to accept that and to decide how what kind of leader you're going to be for those under your command who are left, because they will have to pay for their crimes. This is your chance to show us that you were different from Treize. Will you leave them alone to face their judgments, as Treize did? Or will you face it with honor, like a true daughter of China?"

"I won't accept that!" Sally cried, a note of desperation creeping into her voice. "None of you understand what we fought for! None!"

_Maybe not_, Heero thought. _But Treize might have._

"Duty," he said suddenly. The missiles looked nothing like he had imagined them, and as they approached, sheathed in white flame like streaks of light, he thought of the Libra and how it had looked as it fell, of the intense heat pressing up against him as he stared up at its shadow and decided that he would not let himself die, not like that, because he had not ever truly lived.

_I will...survive..._

Heavyarms made a violent jerk against Deathscythe's grip, engines igniting suddenly, and Deathscythe fell back just a little, just for a millisecond, but that was enough. Even crippled, Trowa's former Gundam was strong. Too strong, and Heero realized then what Sally was going to do.

"Sally!" Wufei shouted, and Deathscythe sprang into life, racing against time to cut Heavyarms off, to stop Sally from reaching the colony before the missiles did.

Shenlong was there at his side, and he looked into Wufei's face, felt the Chinese eyes, so familiar, gazing back into his own. He wondered if Wufei still saw the ugly scar that marked his face, that set him apart from the Heero Yuy that had come away from the war two years ago. But it was about more than scars - it was about friendship, Wufei had taught him. It was about believing that through everything, people were worth fighting for.

_Heero is the heart of space._

A terrible blinding whiteness was enfolding them like glowing smoke, but through it, Heero could see the bulk of Heavyarms' armor in front of him, rising up before him like an island in the mist. He reached out both Wing Zero's arms, drew Heavyarms to himself, felt the burden ease as Shenlong and Deathscythe took their part of the weight, and then he was moving backward, willing Wing Zero to fly as it had never flown before, faster and faster until they were all like dying shooting stars plunging from all the magic and terror of space toward the Earth and knowing that they were all together like they should be at the end.

There was only a slight pause in the fabric of space and time as the warheads plunged into the colony's superstructure, and then the enormous mass of intertwined metal buckled and breathed and sighed, and then collapsed in upon itself, like a dazzling supernova.

**END SAINAN NO KEKKA ACT XII**


	47. Eternity and Infinity In These Hands

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2002 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

**SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT XIII, PART I**

** Kanashimi mo itami mo  
Furikiru you ni habataku  
Anata ga kureta tsubasa o  
Kono mune ni hirogete**

**Ah hageshiku yureugoku jidai o  
Kedakaku shinayaka ni koete yukitai  
** ** Fluttering on without looking back  
At sadness and pain  
The wings which you gave to me  
Spread wide within my heart**

**Ah I want to cross this violent era  
With nobility and grace  
**

**--Gundam Wing, _White Reflection_  
Endless Waltz**

**Scene I: Tragedy's Consequence**

_"I'm so free  
No black and white in the blue."  
-- Cowboy Bebop, Blue_

Once again, the war was over.

It was ironic, Zechs thought, as he checked the straps of his suitcase one last time and shrugged into the old Preventers uniform jacket, battered and fading and so familiar, that only two weeks after Sally's near-disastrous attack on L1, the world was already forgetting. Already moving on, already engrossed in the World Nation's new tax policy and the latest fad diets and which movie star was checking into drug rehabilitation. Just two weeks ago on a balmy summer night like this one, the residents of L1 were huddled in fear, waiting for the end of life as they'd known it.

It would have been impossible to hear the missile strike from the Kashmir base silo, but he could see their trails on the monitors, had stood with Trowa and Etille watching in horrified silence as the cameras on the two nuclear warheads hurtled through the thinning atmosphere, into the depth of space, toward the colony that on the screen looked even tinier and more defenseless than he remembered from the first war.

When the missiles hit, all they saw was a bright flare, and then static lines, like a broken television screen.

It had been an agonizing ten hours later before they heard someone scuffling at the door. They'd rigged a makeshift splint for Hilde, who had most definitely broken her leg from the fall she'd taken. Relena had only been a little stunned. He'd helped her to one of the silo walls, sitting next to her and making her sip water from his canteen until she could sit up on her own. The two unconscious Liberation Forces troops had been propped up against the opposite wall, stunned again and kept under Etille's watchful eye.

Then they had waited.

He and Relena had said little, with most of the conversation being him asking if she felt dizzy or sick, but Etille and Trowa had sat in complete silence. The ceaseless static lines of the monitors had hummed, grated on Zechs' nerves until Trowa had decided that he had enough too and switched them off. The screens stared, silent, like open dead eyes.

It wasn't that they had failed, Zechs knew, because in the grand scheme of things, they had succeeded beyond anything he had hoped for. They had rescued not one, but two high-profile prisoners of war from Kashmir high security, had broken into the most advanced missile silo in the world, had taken control of the missile control system and managed to either deflect or stop from firing all but two of the weapons which would have turned L1 into a cloud of space dust.

No, they had done more than enough, but it still hurt because in the end, it was two lives saved for perhaps tens of thousands lost.

He'd been dozing when the silo door hissed open, had snapped awake at once and leapt to his feet, pistol out and cocked, pushing Relena behind him. Trowa and Etille had sprung up from their chairs too, Trowa with Hilde's pistol and Etille bare-handed but looking grim, shielding Hilde. He'd known, at that moment, they would all have willingly given their lives before surrendering to capture. As voices and footsteps pattered down the sloping tunnel leading to the silo room, he had thought only that perhaps he would see Noin again very soon.

When he saw the face peering around the corner, gun snaking around the corner, he heard Trowa relax behind him, heard Etille breathe a sigh of relief. Zechs couldn't help it. He began to laugh.

"I'm glad you find your situation amusing," said Heero Yuy.

They'd emerged to a different world - one where Kashmir Command Base was still in ruins, smoking, and bare...but where the Preventers were once more in control. Heero had assessed the situation at once, gotten a stretcher for Hilde and had her rushed to the Kashmir hospital. Etille had gone with her. He had protested, but Zechs had finally convinced him that someone needed to keep an eye on Hilde, and it might as well be the wounded man who should have never have been allowed to leave the hospital in the first place.

To which Etille had replied: "You think I was going to let Sally keep me in there?"

It was over, Heero told them simply. He'd stood there in the pre-dawn light looking very thin and ragged, and when he turned his face and his eyes to meet Zechs', he had been stunned again at how thick and raised and permanent the scar on the boy's face was. The missiles had narrowly missed most of L1's vital centers, and the resulting explosions had thrown the colony to the side, but not so much as to pull it out of the Earth's gravity.

Were there any casualties? Zechs wanted to know, and Heero had shrugged. "There was damage. Most of it was to the lesser-used portions of the colony, but the Breaks-" and here he made an odd face "-also sustained some medium-level damage, and one of the nuclear power facilities was entirely blown away." What was important, he continued, was that the majority of the civilian population, which had been evacuated prior to the attack, had been saved.

"It'll take us at least a few weeks to ascertain how much of the damage was superficial and how much of it is actually going to hurt the colony. We'll see."

"And Sally?"

Heero looked away. "We stopped her. We'd barely managed to stop her forces when the missiles hit. She...tried to fly into the explosion, and Duo and Wufei and I pulled her out, though I don't know if Heavyarms will ever fly after this. She seemed a little stunned. As if she had never thought about the consequences behind what she was doing."

"I'm not surprised," Zechs said. "Warfare in space is different from warfare on the front lines on the ground. In space, you don't see your enemy's face as you die, and to some, it might seem easier. Perhaps it did to Sally at first."

"She's in Preventer custody now, and so are the Liberation troops we managed to round up after the attack. How much it will cost us in long run, I don't know, but I couldn't bring myself to kill her." Heero stopped, and when he spoke again, he sounded almost beseeching. "I hope Une understands. I hope the world understands. I just couldn't bring myself...there's been too much death."

Zechs reached to his own face and drew one finger down diagonally from his forehead, a mimicry of Heero's scar. "You did what you had to," he said, and there was acknowledgement there in the hard blue eyes. _Shall we leave the other things behind us?_ he wondered silently, forcing himself to gaze past the scar into the face of the boy who had grown up.

Heero said, "I know what it's like to die. I don't think Sally needs to know the pain of that. Not yet."

"I never doubted you," Trowa said at last, breaking his self-imposed silence, and Zechs turned to look at him. When he glanced back at Heero, the Wing Gundam pilot had an odd sort of half-smile on his face.

"I never doubted you either, Trowa." A silence, then Heero held out his hand awkwardly, as if it were something unfamiliar to him, and Zechs could read in the boy's normally impassive face how much that gesture cost him. "Friends?"

Trowa smiled slowly and grasped the outstretched hand firmly. "Friends."

The sun was coming up by the time the four of them arrived at the base hospital in Heero's borrowed entourage of Preventers military vehicles. The silo commander's body had been taken away for a proper military funeral (Sally would have wished it, Heero said firmly) and the two captured troops, conscious now, were put in with the rest of the Liberation Forces troops being held hostage in the same high-security facility that had once housed Trowa and Etille. According to one of the Preventer guards, the prisoners were being very well-mannered. Zechs made sure for the duration of the trip that Relena was nestled between him and Trowa in the backseat of the jeep. Her eyes were glassy and she seemed to have a hard time breathing, and she had hardly responded to even Heero's presence.

Exhaustion, the medic pronounced. Exhaustion and dehydration. _Basically, sir, she's been under levels of intense stress in the past few days and her body's finally catching up. With a few days' rest, she should be fine._

When he reported the diagnosis to Heero, the only response he received was a slight fraction of a nod and a slight smile, but it was sufficient. The medic had recommended that both Zechs and his sister stay here at Kashmir or transfer back to the Geneva hospital. No surgery or special procedures were needed, he said; they simply needed bedrest and antibiotics.

In that case, Zechs said, there was no need to stay at any hospital. The medic would kindly give them the medicine needed, and he and his sister would go home.

Where is home? asked Heero, and Zechs replied, Home is the Cinq Kingdom.

Stepping into the doors of his boyhood home was like coming back from the dead all over again, and he had taken the time to take a brief tour of the place after putting Relena to bed and giving the servants instructions on the schedule for her medicine. Relena had still been in the process of remodeling the ancestral palace when he'd left her that first time bound for Geneva and a Preventers commission, and he hadn't been back since.

She'd done a good job. The walls gleamed with freshly painted and papered textures, elegant without being lavish. The receiving hall was as grand and imposing as he remembered, the sitting areas and bedrooms redone in what he supposed was the height of fashion in home decorating - a slightly understated scheme of frescoes, Mediterranean-inspired pieces and paintings, inlays in deep greens and blues and tans that reminded him of a tropical garden.

He had left the gallery for last, knowing that his feet would take him in that direction sooner or later, and purposely letting himself explore the rest of the vast house before finally acknowledging the fact that there was still one room left. He was surprised to enter and find that Relena had hardly touched this room. The old-fashioned columns and polished marble floor in harsh shades of white and gray and black looked odd compared to the rest of the house, but somehow, he found it fitting.

Nathaniel Peacecraft stared out at him from the wall where his portrait had always hung, larger than life with benevolent yet sad eyes. His father, Zechs thought, had never been a big man, but the way the picture had been painted gave him a charisma that he probably had never had, a towering presence that perhaps had been how Nathaniel had wanted to see himself.

Once, he had walked these halls and seen his father like that too. Once, he had stood here and stared at this picture, mask in his hands, vowing that he would come back one day and make his father proud. And now, two years and many lifetimes later, he had finally returned, and this time, Milliard Peacecraft saw, despite the stories that were slowly becoming legends now, that his father had been only human.

"Hello, Father," he said. "I've come back again, but I think this time I might be here to stay. We've made our peace, you and I." Passing a hand in front of his face, reaching up to remove a non-existent mask. "I'd liked you to have been able to meet Lucrezia Noin. She was very special to me, and you would have liked her. You'd have enjoyed having her...as part of your family."

He stopped, swallowed. His father's eyes didn't change - how could they, after all? They were only paint on a canvas. "I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused for you. I've been remarkably selfish, and I hate to think about what you would say to me if you were still here." What to say? His heart was full, but his mind was quite blank of the proper words. For a moment he wished his parents had a proper grave so he could make his way there and sit in the solitude of tree-shade and gentle wind. But there was only this portrait, only the thoughts in his own head.

"I suppose what I'm trying to say is that Milliard Peacecraft, prince of the Cinq Kingdom, wants to look his father in the eye and say thank you."

He left the portrait hall with a clear conscience, as if some heavy burden had been lifted from his heart. The sun was setting and he was suddenly aware of the fact that he had hardly slept in the last three days. Heero had told him there was no need to contact Une; the Preventers would take care of that for him. There was little else to do, Zechs supposed, but to go to bed.

For the next week, all he did was sleep and wake, then sleep again. Pargan brought him meals, which he ate ravenously like a starving man, gulped his medicine with a glass of water, and went back to sleep until the next meal. He did have the presence of mind in one of his lucid periods to send a message to old Demetrios at Treize's estate, informing him that he was still alive and back in Cinq. They received a reply from the old man two days later, in neat, spidery script.

_I am glad you have found your path. Treize's house will always be open to you._

Relena came to visit him at the end of that week, when he had only managed to sleep for half a day and was seriously contemplating getting out of bed. The knock at the door had startled him, but he had assumed it was Pargan and told the old man to enter.

Instead, it was his sister with an armload of flowers, and she marched in without preamble and plopped the bouquet down at the side of his bed. He blinked.

"Are you feeling better?" she said.

Zechs couldn't help but laugh, and after a moment, she joined him, though afterwards they both decided that there hadn't really been anything funny about the situation. It merely felt good to laugh, because they had not laughed in a long time.

Relena stayed until almost dinner time, and they talked of various things, mostly of non importance. About the remodeling of the house, about how the weather in Cinq was much better than the weather in India, about how the three dogs that were allowed the run of the house and the gardens had gotten shaggy in her absence and should probably be given a haircut and a bath as soon as possible. She avoided the topic of the war, and Zechs let her. There was time later to talk about that, he supposed. There was an infectious smile in her voice that had never been there before, and they talked like they had always been brother and sister, as if there had never been a rift between them.

After she left for dinner, he lay there staring out the window at the Cinq sunset and wondering if there were thirty-five tiles on his ceiling or thirty-six. He could have counted more accurately if he had turned on the light, but he did not feel like getting out of bed after all.

"Room service," said a voice at the door, and he was slightly surprised to see Relena again, carrying a silver serving tray which held two steaming dishes.

"Oh, really now-" he began, and she pushed him back down, set up the tray on his bed and produced silverware.

"We need to talk."

He couldn't argue that point, so he simply accepted the knife and fork from her and began cutting his chicken.

"Oniisama."

"I'm glad to see you feeling better," he said softly. "I was worried there, in the silo. I didn't know how much more you could take."

She didn't look at him. "Honestly, you should have worried more about Hilde. I was just...I guess somewhere in there, the memories of the war began coming back. How I was terrified that Libra was going to crash into Earth...how I was afraid that Heero was going to die. How I was afraid he was going to kill you. And then Treize..." she trailed off.

"I think," he said after a long pause interrupted only by the clink of fork against china plate, "that Treize would be proud of us."

Relena smiled, a smile he could hardly see in the fading light of dusk, but neither of them moved to turn the light on. "I would like to think so. I'm not so naive now as to think that you can end war forever just by sacrificing something in a grand burst of heroism. Absolute pacifism...I told Catherine Bloom that pacifism doesn't mean passive. I hope I managed to show the world something of that."

"More than just Treize," he said, "I think Father would be proud."

Zechs saw her shoulders shake and knew she was crying, didn't quite know what to say. "Thank you," she whispered between silent sobs.

"Don't cry," he said. "It's a new world now...I'd like to think of this whole crisis as something like growing pains. We knew we might not have got it quite right when we first started, but slowly, I think we'll learn. It's impossible to be perfect at anything the first time."

"Are you talking about the World Nation," Relena said in a low voice, "or are you talking about us?"

"Both, I guess."

"I-" she began, and he interrupted her gently.

"Thank you for coming after me. Thank you for stealing Epyon and risking your life. Thank you for showing me that there was someone left in this world who still cared what happened to me."

Relena was crying openly now, and he moved the dinner tray away carefully so that she could lean against him and cry on his shoulder. They sat for a long time like that, and he looked out the window at one point to be surprised to see that the moon had risen. How far they had come from OZ, from the destruction of Barge, from the Eve Wars, from Treize's last great sacrifice. Or no, not last. Perhaps it had only been the first sacrifice in a new age.

"When I left you and Cinq," Zechs said, feeling her slip one of her arms around him, and he moved over on the bed so she was sitting next to him, leaning against him and the headboard, "all I wanted to do was get away. Treize had told me, and I'd believed him, that once the war was over, things would just...click back into place. Like a puzzle. And when I came back and things didn't go back to how I thought they should, I became angry. Part of it was because you didn't fit the mold I wanted you to fit into. Another part was that Noin was gone. And of course, there was Treize. When someone's such a huge part of your life like that..."

She spoke finally."I wish he hadn't died. But that's a little stupid, isn't it? Without his death, we would never have moved on."

Zechs nodded. "And he knew that. But I was still foolish enough to believe I could hang onto him after he was gone. I do that a lot, it seems."

She hesitated. "Are you ok? About Noin, I mean."

How could there be an answer for that? he wondered, and he stared out at the moon, wondering what to say.

"You don't have to-"

"No," he told her. "I'm just wondering how to put it into words. So much has happened in the past few months that I don't feel like I've had proper time to grieve for her. I don't know if I can anymore. I spent a black time down in the basement of Treize's old mansion rebuilding Epyon, and all I could think then was that I needed to avenge her." He laughed. "Thankfully, Etille and Une - and you - knocked sense back into my head."

Relena shivered.

"I suppose," he continued, tightening his arm around her, "the answer is I'm ready to step back and take a good hard look at my life and how she fit into it. Because in the end, I don't think she did. I don't think I let her. I took her for granted for far too long, and then when it mattered the most, I was paralyzed and couldn't be what she needed me to be. It was always about me and never about us."

"Noin didn't care about that," Relena said, and he nodded.

"I know she didn't. It amazes me that such a wonderful woman could have loved someone like me."

There was a silence and she shifted against him.

"Oniisama?"

"Yes?"

"What will you do now?"

It was a question he had no answer to, a question that he spent the better part of the next week wondering. Technically, he was still Milliard Peacecraft, Preventers Colonel, and he hadn't heard anything from Une while he had been in Cinq. That could either mean she had given up on him for good, or she was still waiting for him to return and take up his duties again. Of course, there had been precious little information on Une and the Preventers in general, and even Sally's rebellion had been glossed over on the news. The biggest news coverage that the entire affair had gotten was that Quatre Raberba Winner had been acquitted. The world seemed to have lost interest in the whereabouts of the Gundam pilots, and the pictures of Quatre dwindled day by day, and even the tabloids were starting to scale back on the Gundam stories.

Life, it seemed, was getting back to normal.

He saw very little of Relena after that night, because along with life came responsibilities, and she was still queen of the Cinq Kingdom. Zechs had no doubt that in her absence, the paperwork had multiplied and domestic issues had not stopped even with the international crisis. When Pargan came to see him in the middle of the second week, he asked about his sister, to which the old servant answered with a wry tone in his voice: "She is handling the stress. She is, after all, a Peacecraft."

What did being a Peacecraft mean? he wondered after Pargan left. There were so many facets to what should have been just a name. The side of him Treize had seen had been different from what Noin had seen, and the side of him that Une had called to service was completely different from the side that Relena saw. But he remembered again how she had come after him in Epyon, how she had braved Kashmir with him without complaint. He had thought to himself at the time that it was the Peacecraft blood.

Now Relena was taking up the mantle once again, and that meant he had a choice to make.

He was no longer spending all day in bed, and Thursday evening of the second week he went into her office to see her. She seemed glad of the distraction, blowing her bangs out of her eyes and jumping up from her chair, clapping her hands.

"I need to ask you something," Zechs said, when he had finished inquiring about her day and offering not very useful advice on several economic issues.

"What is it?"

"Do you want me here?"

That had cut her off in mid-motion, and she stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. "What?"

"It's not a trick question," he said, seeing the slightly hurt look in her eyes. "I won't abandon you again. But I've been thinking about what you asked me, about what I was going to do now, and I realized I had only two choices."

"I think I know what they are," she said. "But go on."

Zechs smiled. "I could see myself staying here quite easily. If not for the rest of my life, at least for a longer time than I did the first time. I think I did the right thing by giving you the crown, but I didn't do a very good job at being an older brother."

Relena started to speak, but he stopped her. "I won't force you to accept me. If you would like me to stay, I'll gladly be here in whatever capacity you would like me to serve. My other alternative, as you have guessed, is to return to the Preventers." He paused, not knowing quite how to elaborate on that. Return to the Preventers, and then what? "I haven't heard from Une, so things could go either way there."

His sister looked at him for a long moment, then abruptly dropped the piece of paper she was holding, making her way across the plush carpet to where he stood easily, hands relaxed at his sides. She barely came up to his shoulder, he realized, but her presence was powerful, forceful. He did not protest when she reached down and took one his hands in both of hers.

"Oniisama, go back to Geneva."

"I thought that's what you'd say," Zechs said.

"It's not that I don't want you here. If it were left up to me, I'd...I'd keep you here forever. But it's not. You left Cinq to me for a reason, and I don't want you to forget what that reason is. Don't be angry at me for saying this, but I think, if Noin were alive, it would be much easier to choose."

He nodded. "It would. Which is why I think I wanted you to make the decision for me. I don't want to be living for memories any longer. Noin is gone, and as much as I loved her, and as much as she'll always be a part of the life I led, I need to find my own path now."

She brought his hand up to her heart, and they stood there for a long while and he could feel her heartbeat warm against his palm. His sister, he thought with amazement. No longer a girl, but a woman, confident in her own, worthy to be a queen.

"You don't belong here," she whispered. "You belong in a bigger arena now. Go back to Geneva...go back and help the world make Treize's dream into a reality."

"I love you," he said, and she moved to wrap her arms around him.

"I love you too, Oniisama."

That had been two days ago, and now he picked up the packed suitcase from his neatly made bed, feeling its curiously light weight because he had brought very few personal belongings back with him - his dirty flightsuit, a spare change of uniform, his gun and a radio, spare rations. The sun was setting, but the car was already waiting for him outside to take him to the airport, and from there it would be a mere hour and a half to Geneva by fast charter flight.

And then he would be back where he belonged.

Cinq was home, but one could not hide in the shadow of home forever. This, Treize had tried to teach him, and at the end, this much at least he had retained. It was like the legend of Scorpio after all - the eagle, flying higher to a sky the scorpion had never dreamed of, soaring into the light of the sun. It was like destiny. At this moment, as the sun disappeared behind the distant Cinq mountains and the stars gently lit the night sky, Zechs decided that he could afford to believe in destiny again.

"It's not much," he said to the darkened room, "but it's a beginning."

* * *

**Scene II: A Scent Remaining After the Thaw**

_"And every star up in the sky was made for me and you."  
-- Firehouse, Love of a Lifetime_

The long envelope was ivory-colored with a pearlescent finish, slightly rough to the touch with the roughness of expensive paper. Relena held it in her hands, weighing it gently before setting it to rest back on the mahogany of her desk, a rectangle of whiteness amidst a sea of red-brown. There was no return address, just the Preventers' crest sealing it shut.

"Jarod?"

The security chief appeared almost instantly, dark eyes watchful, carrying himself, Relena thought, like a sword. "Yes, my lady?"

"I'll be taking a break for about half an hour or so. If anyone needs me, I'll be in the gardens."

Jarod bowed, and she hesitated, then snatched the envelope from the desk and breezed past the big man toward the door. She saw his eyes follow her movements, knew that he saw but would not ask. She wasn't quite sure what she would have said if he had asked. _A letter from an old friend,_ maybe, or _Just some official mail that I need to think over._

The palace was cool, yet heavy with the air of summer's end and Relena's shoes made little noise on the carpeted passageways. She took the shortest route to the gardens, passing through two of the back storerooms and one of the old sitting rooms that she had always meant to transform into another guestroom, but the plans kept slipping her mind. She would get around to it eventually, she supposed, before Dorothy came to visit this fall.

Cinq was near enough to the equator that summer touched it a little more heavily than it should, but Relena didn't mind. The royal gardens in the back, spanning vast tracts of government land and forest preserves, had been badly burned during the Romefeller occupation, and one of Relena's earliest initiatives was to not only replant all those acres of land, but to give it back to the people. The people of Cinq should walk among those gardens, she said, and not only the people of the royal household. Considering the royal household consisted only of one person at the time, she had thought it was a practical thing to do, but that move had been seen more as a gesture of goodwill toward the kingdom, and Relena found herself in the few days after the bill was signed into law receiving what could be termed fan mail from various citizens.

Could the Queen of the World have fans? she wondered, and laughed aloud at the thought. There was still no answer to that, she supposed, stepping out into the warm sunlight and the humidity, feeling droplets of water condense on her skin, bead on her forehead. It was like stepping into a sauna. She fingered the envelope a little nervously, wondering if it had been a bad idea to bring what was obviously official mail out here in the heat of summer, but it was a little late.

"You Majesty!"

Relena started a bit, then realized it was the head gardener bowing his way toward her. He was a wizened little Cinq man who, like most of the servants here in the palace, had served her parents before the war and had stayed around for her. She found that incredibly moving sometimes.

"It's a little hot to be outside, isn't it?"

She laughed. "I'm just taking a break, Pierre. Air conditioning wears on your nerves after a while."

He looked her over critically. "I must say, going gallomping out in Switzerland did you good. You look twice as healthy as you did before you left."

"Thank you," Relena said gravely, aware that he was trying to pay her a compliment. "I learned a lot of things about governing a country while I was at the World Nation summit, things that I hope I can put into use here."

Pierre leaned against his shovel, eyes going to the envelope she held in her hand. She had a sudden urge to shove it behind her back, out of sight, then decided it was a little too late for that. He opened his mouth, to ask about it, she presumed, trying to formulate a quick, dodgy answer in response, but instead he said, "Too bad your brother went off again."

Relena blinked.

The gardener gave a wheezing chuckle. "Mind you, I wasn't too fond of him, but...my son was in White Fang with him." There was a reverent sound in his voice as he spoke the name White Fang. "He survived the war, came home, and gave me the story."

"The story?" Relena echoed. A bead of sweat rolled down her face and she wiped it away.

"There wasn't much," Pierre confessed. "A lot of confusion, my boy said, a lot of banging on the walls and wondering if they'd live to see the next day fighting an enemy they couldn't seem to touch. But one thing he said stuck with me, and maybe that's why I never doubted you, my lady, because they announced you'd be taking over the kingdom because your brother chose you."

She smiled at him gently. "And what did your son say about my brother?"

"He said, my lady, that whatever else he might have been...Milliard Peacecraft was an honest man."

Before she could even think of a reply to that, he'd sketched her a quick bow and disappeared behind his rose bushes faster than she had ever thought his bowlegged frame could carry him. The envelope felt heavier in her hand than it had before. An honest man. Who would have thought?

But it was true, she thought, wandering back down the path between the trim rose bushes, barely aware of where she was going, just letting her feet carry her. She'd refused to acknowledge it for so long because she had been selfish, petty and jealous, but it was true.

"I suppose," she said aloud, "that means Treize was also an honest man."

Then again, what was the definition of "honest"? Lady Une had been honest, doing what she thought was best for Treize, the man she had loved. Sally Po too had been honest, and here a month after the attack on L1, she was in jail with perhaps an upcoming war crimes trial. That was the latest intelligence she had gotten from Gorniak this morning, straight from Geneva, and Une had confirmed it later in the day with a short electronic message. Apparently, the man in charge of deciding Sally's future was her brother.

Relena stopped abruptly where the path forked between two apple trees, ripened fruit fire-engine red amid the dark leafy green of the foliage. It had been strange, this war that was not a war. She had run away to Geneva to get away from Cinq and the memories of her brother, to help the Preventers fight what seemed to be a losing battle, and to find Heero Yuy. But somehow, even now, she wondered how much of that she had actually accomplished.

Instead, she seemed to have gained a few unusual allies by going in and doing things all the wrong way. Her ministers would have heart attacks if they learned what she had really been up to during the past two months. She'd considered telling them about her theft of Epyon, then decided against it. Milliard wouldn't have cared, but for some reason speaking to people who had not been involved about that memory in particular was like violating something sacred.

Une would understand, she knew. Dorothy and Sylvia and Catherine and the pilots all would. They had gone through fire and come out alive. Scorched and changed and older now, but alive, and it had bonded them.

Heero would understand.

She thought again about the golden-haired girl she had met in the Preventers compound that day, Quatre's sister, who now had become one of Heero's cherished memories without Relena. Two months ago, that thought would have shaken her, would have crowded a host of doubts into her mind, would have made her wonder if Heero would ever look at her the same way again, if he could ever love her.

_Before you...everything was so...clear-cut. It was black and white, life and death. And then you came...I've never known a woman quite like you. Not Atsuki, not anyone._

No, that didn't matter anymore. Atsuki was dead, but here she was back in Cinq without complaint, enjoying her job and the life and the freedom that came with it, and whenever she thought of Heero, it was with a feeling of joy, as if everything that troubled her was erased away with just the mere mention of his name.

In her mind now, Heero's face always bore the scar.

She had only heard once from him, the day after Milliard had departed Cinq for Geneva. It had been early afternoon and she was on her fifth cup of coffee and her twentieth memo, and the phone had been ringing off the hook. When the vidscreen had flashed for an incoming call, she had not even bothered to look up, simply pressing the button and hoping whoever she was about to be disrespectful to had a good sense of humor.

"What?" she said.

There was a short silence, and then an amused, though dry, laugh.

Her head had shot up and she'd seen him on the screen twice as big as life, arms crossed over his chest, the pixels of the screen making his scar look more ugly and twisted than it actually was. She found that she didn't mind.

"Oh," she had said.

"I'm calling to let you know that your brother arrived safely in Geneva last night. He's been in meetings all day, so he couldn't come to the phone."

"Thanks," Relena managed, mind whirling. "Is he doing all right?"

Heero adjusted the collar of his shirt, looking a little ill at ease in his clothes, Relena thought, although it was just a simple white button-down shirt. "He's fine. He checked into the hospital this morning and the medics said he'll be fully recovered in a few days if he takes it easy."

She almost laughed at that. "That won't happen."

Heero's eyes took on a dangerous glint. "It might or it might not. It all depends on Une."

She leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

"There's changes afoot, Relena," he said. "I can't tell you more than that, but the Preventers is changing too. It's Une's brainchild, but...all organizations require change to grow, and there are many people, including Une, who believe that they didn't get it all right the first time."

"Milliard said that too," she murmured. Heero didn't reply to that, and she sat, looking at him. He had trimmed his hair to its pre-war length, she noticed. The only legacy remaining to what he had done in the two years previous was the scar.

He must have seen her looking at it, because he raised one hand rather self-consciously to touch it, and she almost did a double-take at the gesture, because the Heero Yuy she had known in the past had never been self-conscious. "The hospital here said they could get rid of it for me, if I wanted," he said. "Plastic surgery and things like that."

"What did you say?"

"What do you think I said?"

"Stop answering my questions with questions," she shot back at him, and he shook his head with suppressed amusement.

"I'm sorry. In the end, I told them I would wait. I..." he trailed off thoughtfully, and she tried not to squirm under his suddenly intense gaze. "I'd like to keep it with me a bit longer. Until."

"Until?" she wondered, but he did not respond, and she was suddenly reminded of the New Year's Eve after Treize's death, when she had stood before the gathered dignitaries of the World Nation and given an eulogy for a man she had never really known but who had touched her life in so many ways. Treize had been an "after," an ending for a new beginning. But Heero had always been an "until."

Someone said something off to the side of the screen, and Heero turned slightly, listening. "I have to leave, Relena," he said. "I might not talk to you for some time after this." He stopped, as if trying to find the words. "Take care," he said finally, though there was something not quite right in his voice, as if that had not at all been what he wanted to say.

But it was all right. She smiled warmly at him, and was surprised to find she meant it. "You take care too," she said. "It was nice talking to you."

She hadn't expected to hear from him, or any of them, in fact, for at least a month. They had World Nation business to deal with, and that, at least presently, did not include her. For all her influence during Quatre's trial, she was just the queen of a small European kingdom that had too little power to directly drive any of the bigger World Nation policies, like restructuring the Preventers, and she had been fine with that. Some of her ministers had hinted that all she had to do was speak up, but Relena had decided it was time she stopped speaking up and got to work on fixing internal problems before trying to immerse the nation in external problems.

After she'd given the ministers that verdict, several of them had come up to her in private and told her thank you.

Relena raised a hand to her face to wipe away more traces of sweat, glad she had decided not to wear makeup today, then stared at the fork in the path. The left side led to one of the garden courtyards, she knew, where they had just installed a new fountain and planted several peach trees. But the right-hand path, a longer walk, led directly to the river.

She took the right-hand path, clutching the envelope as she made it down to the water's edge at a brisk walk in fifteen minutes. The royal gardens touched upon the banks of the Cinq River for about a kilometer, and she leaned against the railing, watching the boats as she used to do in the first few days she had been here, before the news of the Gundam pilots broke. It was a little cooler here, and the wind was a welcome reprieve.

"What should I do?" she said to the water, but it only gurgled and lapped up on the wooden slats of the high embankment below, and she brought the letter in her hand up, stared at it.

Slowly, she opened the envelope. The seal fell apart easily in her hands, separating the folded-over opening from the skin of the envelope with ease. Within was a single piece of ivory stationary.

She had not wanted to open it when the servant had carried it into her this morning, had wanted to leave it untouched on her desk. It wasn't that she had expected it to be something terrible, nor had it been that she was afraid of it. It just seemed that maybe when she actually opened that envelope and looked inside, she would be shattering some of those memories that she had carefully wrapped into a soft cocoon and placed inside her heart. When she thought of her friends, they were all fiery, beautiful and noble: Hilde, facing the Zero System. Catherine, telling Relena that she was not a tool to be used. Dorothy, a pillar of strength during the trial. Sylvia, light and laughter in dark hours. Une in her OZ uniform holding the sword to Quatre's throat. Her brother in Noin's Taurus over the skies of Sparta.

She didn't want life to go on.

But sooner or later she had to accept that, and this, apparently was the time. Treize would have said so, had he been alive, she knew. Treize would have said a lot of things, but he was not here, and he had died so they _could_ go on.

_Treize was a soldier himself, and he understood them best. He'd look you in the eye and challenge you simply by being himself... he did this to me, once, and I'd like to think I've answered his challenge. I will still answer that challenge._

Relena held the envelope down carefully to pull out the thin, almost tissue-like piece of paper as the breeze picked up a bit, and she waited until the air stopped moving before smoothing it out over the railing. One of the boats on the water sounded its horn, and she gazed up at it until it passed.

The invitation was typed in elegant stationary font. It was only five lines long, with a signature at the bottom.

_The World Nation Preventers Armed Forces  
Request the honorable presence of Her Majesty Relena Darlian Peacecraft of Cinq  
At the change of command ceremony of Lieutenant General Milliard Peacecraft  
To assume the position of Preventers Commander-in-Chief  
Preventers Headquarters, Geneva, September 5, 197 at 1700 hours_

_Changes are afoot_, said Heero, and now she realized why he had not revealed to her exactly what those changes were. She wondered what Une had said or done to make Milliard accept the position, then realized it didn't really matter. It had been a given that Une would not - could not, after what she had done at Quatre's trial - stay as commander in chief, and she had obviously decided to give it to the man she deemed most worthy to succeed her.

Relena found she was crying, wiped away the tears with the back of her hand and tucked the stray wisps of hair behind her ears. There wasn't any RSVP form with the invitation, so she supposed she would have to send an aide to call it in for her.

The signature at the bottom of the invitation was simple, in flowing script, thick black ink. _Heero Yuy, Major, Preventers Special Forces._

No, Relena decided. She would call in her acceptance of the invitation herself. She looked down at the stationary again, at the words on the invitation, at Heero's bold signature, and remembered the time she had given him an invitation of her own, to a party that had turned out to be the prelude to the rest of her life.

She stuffed the paper back into the envelope, stepping back from the railing. She'd go back inside and make the call today. She would ask to speak to Major Yuy and tell him that she'd received his invitation and see the look in his eyes that would mean he understood.

It was only fitting.

* * *

**Scene III: The End of the Day**

_"Hontou ni musubareru darou ka?"  
I wonder, is it ever truly the end?  
-- L'ArcenCiel, Fate_

After making sure there had been no uprising in response to Sally's failure, Une did the one thing she had wanted to ever since she had met Sally at Treize's Memorial, six weeks before L1 was partially destroyed in the confrontation.

She transferred temporary command to Brown, and went to bed.

It was nearly a day before she woke, feeling more drained than she had before she had crashed. She had been pushing herself too hard, the mix of caffeine pills and other stimulants abusing her body. She would probably pay for this later in life, and her personal physician warned her that if she kept doing it, she'd be dead by the time she was forty. Glancing at the clock, she couldn't help but smile sadly at the irony.

It was August 1. It would have been Treize's twenty-sixth birthday.

There had been much to do, sorting out the Preventers and ferreting out the traitors. She had been relieved that Brown had things smoothly in hand, but she knew that the unrest and distrust that met her agents at every turn was ominous. It became apparent to Une within days that her hastily-patched Preventers weren't going to last through the aftermath.

They were calling it "Banks' War", because from the perspective of many people, he had been the one who had started it. That lone reporter, in his urgent drive for truth and unwillingness to leave well enough alone, had cost thousands of lives as the world went through another upheaval - or maybe finished the one that had started back with Heero Yuy's assassination, twenty years ago.

Some people called him a hero for not bowing to the authorities and sticking to his journalistic creed of protecting the truth. Others were painting him as the ultimate villain, for not realizing there were some secrets that were meant to be kept. Journalism ethics classes would debate his actions for decades, and there would be never be conclusive opinion.

Une had finally gotten over her urge to shoot him herself, but she definitely hoped he came to military tribunal - not that it was her concern anymore. There were so many pieces of the puzzle to be dealt with, and Banks, in the scheme of things, was an afterthought.

She realized that she wasn't going to be the one to fit them back together this time. Her last try, sincere as it had been, was misguided and had been doomed to failure right from the start. It hadn't been her fault - there was no way she would have been able to mitigate the underlying resentment Sally and her cohorts had felt - but she hadn't been completely blameless, either.

She had known from the start it would cost her career.

_You and I are going to have our own share of problems as well,_ she had told Sally over the memorial to Treize.

How oddly prophetic she had been. It was just a shame she hadn't realized what would happen, and killed Sally then. Perhaps Noin would still be alive.

There were always those "perhaps." She couldn't dwell on them... otherwise she would drive herself mad. All she could do was be the best soldier she could, and serve her world however they needed her.

It was Lopez who had reminded her of that. About a week after she had awoken, he had been in her office, helping her plan the security precautions for Heavyarms. When Sally had been found, half-alive and still strapped into the carcass of that great machine, Brown had brought it back and set engineers to restoring it.

They were discussing the merits of a retina-based identification system when Lopez had sighed, setting down his pencil. His eyes went to the window, staring at a sunset that seemed a bit more golden than the blood-stained skies of that day.

"I was supposed to get married today," Lopez said, his voice a bit wistful, the nonsequitor somehow not out of place. "We had to postpone the wedding."

A part of her wanted to tell him that it was probably a good thing. She had grown to like Lopez, with his sincerity that was tempered by excellent wits. Fools rush in where angels fear to tread, but there was a wisdom in youth.

"Do you love her?" she asked. It was no business of hers, and definitely overstepping those carefully defined boundaries between commander and subordinate, but the way Lopez seemed to glow whenever he spoke of his fiancee made her heart ache.

The smile that curved his lips made it clear what the answer was. "More than anything."

"Then leave the military." It was another thing she shouldn't say. The Preventers needed Lopez, but for once she could be selfish. Lopez still was untarnished, despite all the darkness and treachery he'd seen. There was still belief in the goodness of mankind reflected in his eyes, and she knew that if he stayed, it would be washed away by the inevitable eagre of politics. She would spare him the pain she had known if possible - to see him tainted would be an unbearable tragedy, and he was so young...

_He is a year older than you, Une..._

His eyes held that faith in humanity she had seen reflected in others, the desire for something better she saw shining back whenever she looked at Trowa or any of the other pilots. She didn't want it to fade, for him to realize that there were cruel people, that Li and Sally and their ilk were barely the tip of the iceberg. She didn't want him to meet the Fatimas of the world, those who fought for their own power, rather than their beliefs.

She wanted someone to walk away unscathed, since she could not.

Lopez didn't deny her request immediately, but instead started to twirl the pencil between his fingers as he thought, using that brilliant brain to piece together the right answer. "I met Jennifer because I joined the Preventers. We never would have met, otherwise, so I have the military to thank for knowing her.

"She and I joined for the same reason - because we believe. We believe in protecting what's important to us - our homes, our families, our freedoms. We believe in working for peace. Neither of us is foolish enough to believe that peace is a concrete thing, but rather it's something we all have to commit to and do our best to promote. It doesn't matter what we have to do - I'd work wherever the Preventers needed my skills. If I left, I wouldn't be the man she loved."

She heard her heartbeat, once, twice, and then knew what she had to do. She took a deep breath, standing on the precipice of a life-changing decision.

"I have a special job for you, then."

He blinked a bit owlishly, but nodded his acceptance.

It had taken only ten days to bring things into place before she called him into her office. Ten days to completely rearrange her world, knowing that she was doing the right thing.

He held his military-issue hat in hand, dressed in a formal uniform which emphasized his trim build. He was still too thin, but she noted another change with satisfaction. His hair was still short, but had been away from a pair of scissors long enough to grow out from the military buzz cut to a more attractive length. Tendrils curled toward his cool blue eyes and against his cheeks, and for a second, she wondered if she was seeing the Lightning Count reborn. Then he smiled, and she saw the pain and determination which had been taught to them all over again in the past few months.

"Milliard Peacecraft, reporting as ordered," he announced.

Une smiled, relieved at the steady tone of his voice. It sounded stronger and more rational than it had since the Eve Was. She could finally believe that he was sane.

"At ease," she said, motioning him to take a chair.

He moved like a panther, all lithe grace and barely bridled strength as he claimed the seat, making it his own. His hat was set neatly on his knee as he folded himself down, the military precision of his bearing inescapable even at rest. "Hello, Une."

Une's glasses were gone, and she was back in the dull uniform of a Preventers general, but her head felt heavy under the weight of the braids she had once again taken to wearing. She didn't smile, instead reaching down to the desk's lowest drawer, the same one that had contained those secret files whose theft had set off the whole chain of events. She produced what looked like an index card, printed on cardstock, and cradled it for a second. "I have your orders for your next station," she announced slowly.

He didn't flinch as he accepted it, though a part of him had to be wondering if he was going to be demoted or assigned to some out-back post where he'd never see civilization again. His performance until recently had been less than stellar, and Une was well within her rights to sweep him under the carpet where he couldn't do any damage.

It only took a brief moment for him to read the assignment, and the slight hitch in his breath as his eyes widened minutely was the only sign of his shock. "You can't be serious," he said shortly, his hand falling into his lap.

"Do I joke about this kind of stuff?" Une asked, arching an eyebrow. She leaned forward in her chair, preparing for a barrage of protests.

He stared down at the paper like it was about to combust and he wasn't sure if he should throw it away before that could happen. "Une, this isn't a good idea. Talk to Brown."

"Milliard-"

"Zechs," he corrected. "I'm Zechs to my friends."

A slight smile tugged on her lips. "Zechs, then. I'm giving you the Preventers because you're the man for the job. Brown doesn't have your abilities - he's amazing as a second, but he doesn't have what's needed to lead." She sighed, shutting her eyes. "Neither do I."

He weighed her carefully with a long look. To his credit, he didn't ask "why me?" but instead phrased things more precisely. "What is your reasoning?"

"I can't stay, not in the long run," Une said. "I've generated too much ill-will through busting bint Narish like that... and I'm bad at this."

"You've coped well," he replied carefully.

"Coped. I haven't thrived. I lack your charisma," she said without bitterness. "I'm an administrator. People do not love me, and that's what makes a real leader."

There was another long pause as he considered the note, then stared into her eyes. "That doesn't mean I'm the right person for the job. I don't always make the wisest decisions."

"That's why I've taken the liberty of suggesting a few members you might want to consider for your main staff." She pulled out a manila file, turning that over as well.

She was relieved when he accepted it. He hadn't turned her down out of hand yet, which led her to believe he was taking the proposal seriously. His expression went blank as he studied it. "Yuy accepted?" he asked quietly.

"I made offers to all of the pilots, of which Winner and Maxwell refused. Chang turned us down for now, but Yuy has hopes he might reconsider in the future. Barton accepted as well; he'll be starting September 1, after he sorts out some private business." She hadn't asked Trowa what he intended to do, and he had seemed grateful for that.

"The ones I would have expected," he murmured softly.

She nodded. "I didn't really expect Quatre to turn down returning to his organization. I think he's going to have to do a lot of work to reclaim his respectability, but he's never turned away when things are difficult."

"I wonder." He didn't elaborate, and Une was tempted to prod him for details, but decided against it. She couldn't afford to be distracted. "Une, what are you planning?"

"Planning?" she echoed.

"You wouldn't turn over the organization you created in Treize's memory without a damn good reason. Even the incident at the World Nation could be overlooked, since you have managed to get control back."

She chuckled then, a sound of wry amusement. "It's scary how well you know me." Pushing her chair back, she waved a hand to indicate that he was to follow her. He rose as well, curiosity leading him onwards.

The small meeting room she led him to was filled with diagrams, with blue prints draped all over the conference table. Lopez, sitting in a corner hammering away at the keyboard, nodded to them briefly. She jerked her head in a subtle request for privacy, which Lopez graciously provided by leaving through the side door.

His attention immediately riveted to the scaled model sitting proudly in the center.

"This... is Noin Academy." She watched him closely for a reaction. His hand reached toward the model, but fell to his side, clenching into a fist. "With Lake Victoria gone, I decided it's time to build a new facility to train our best and brightest," she continued after a moment. "When I resign, I plan on becoming commandant, and overseeing the building process."

She saw the longing in his gaze that was quickly masked by his professionalism. "I'm surprised you didn't name it after Treize," he said softly.

She walked over to stand by the building, smiling down at it like a mother regarding her precious child. Her fingertips ran over the model gently. "The Preventers were for Treize. Noin was a teacher at heart, so it seemed more appropriate."

He nodded, staring at the model. "Une... why?"

"Treize dreamt of a world where soldiers were obsolete, and I hope that someday, that dream will come true. But it's not going to be today or tomorrow, so we owe it to them to prepare them as well as we can."

"They won't love you for this," he said.

"I don't need their love. I had the love of the person who mattered most, and that's all I need." She stepped back from the model. "But he's gone now. All I can do is live my life in a manner he'd be proud of." _What will you do, Zechs Merquise?_

To her surprise, he smiled, then began to chuckle. "Just when I think I have you pinned down," he said, "you surprise me again, Une. I can still remember those OZ days when I wouldn't have dared to speak to you as an equal, for fear of some violent retribution."

Une shook her head in amusement, and then her tone became serious as she turned to look at him. "That's why I'm asking you to take this command," she said. "I'm not the leader the Preventers needs. And I think you are." She let him think about that for a minute, then pulled her final punch, something she wouldn't have said without careful consideration. But she knew as well as he that it was true. "I think Treize would have wanted this."

Zechs Merquise nodded slowly to accept her offer, and she smiled, raising her hand in a salute. _Peace may be an idle dream,_ she thought, _but it's a dream that we're committed to now. _

* * *

**Scene IV: The Show Must Go On**

_"I've learned that life goes on with or without you in my life."  
-- The Spirit Theory, What I've Learned So Far_

"Do you remember about six months ago how we were talking about buying our own circus?" Catherine asked as she sat with her brother, waiting for the show to start. The lights hadn't yet dimmed, and she studied the ring where they had performed not too long ago, imagining how the performances must have changed after losing one of their headline acts.

"I remember," Trowa replied softly. He was looking at her instead of toward the clowns who were performing the pre-show. Catherine couldn't recognize one of their faces, knowing the paint jobs were as distinctive to clowns as a fingerprint. The others were old friends. Marley had been a surrogate uncle as she had grown up; Gregoire had been her first crush.

"It was a nice dream," she said, looking down at her lap where her folded hands lay. "I don't think it would have been so bad."

"No, it wouldn't have," he agreed. "If things were different..."

"But they're not. You don't belong here anymore; I don't know if I do, either," she said just as the lights went down.

He squeezed her knee reassuringly, and then turned to watch the performance.

For performers, watching the show was different than that for a normal audience member. Their trained eyes automatically dissected what was being done, noting when mistakes were made in familiar routines, or how some had been altered to become more thrilling for the audience. There were no knife-throwers now, but a husband and wife team neither had met had taken over their pole routine. Catherine was relieved, with selfish satisfaction, that she and Trowa had been better.

The cheers and applause didn't seem to take note of that, though. For a second she heard the crowd around her hold its breath as the wife flew toward her husband, arms outstretched for him to catch her. Shutting her eyes, she imagined it was still her and she was reaching toward her brother, safe in the surety that he would never let her fall.

Trowa watched with clinical interest through the first act, and when the lights rose, sat still as people began to file out onto the midway. Catherine remained beside him, enjoying the momentary lull in activity.

"Do you want something to eat?" he asked after the initial rush passed.

She didn't, not really. She knew exactly how the food was prepared, and the thought of the grease made her ill. "If you're getting something."

"I'll be right back." His smile was understanding as he departed, hands in his pockets. He melted into the few people milling around flawlessly, and within seconds she lost track of him.

Trowa had always been like that, she thought, leaning forward to prop her arms on her knees so she could support her chin in her hands. She heard a child start to cry as a balloon escaped her grasp to race to the roof of the tent. The girl's mother offered comfort, but didn't make any mention of replacing what had been lost. Perhaps they didn't have enough money, or maybe she was teaching her a lesson in responsibility. It had to be painful for the mother to see her daughter's tear-stained face, but after a bit, she managed to calm her enough, and in another minute the child was giggling.

It was such a pity that all loss in life couldn't be dealt with as easily.

The circus was smaller than she remembered, but a part of her ached to jump into the ring and perform. She had loved making people happy through her skill, but now the circus didn't seem like it could be large enough to contain her. She, the sister of a Gundam pilot, should have more in her future. She should be an activist, she should be an educator, she should do something with the incredible fame she'd attracted during the crisis.

But she wanted to be selfish.

She lost track of how much time passed, and nearly jumped when a hand thrust itself into her line of sight. Trowa, with a slightly amused smile curving his lips, waved a hand back and forth in front of her face, trying to get her attention. "Earth to Catherine Bloom," he said before handing her a stick covered in long, sticky strands of cotton candy. She has rarely indulged in the treat before, despite a weakness for the spun sugar, because of her need to maintain a good weight.

Apparently Trowa remembered her fondness, and he chuckled as she greedily snatched it out of his hand, then used her fingers to tear a piece of blue-colored candy off. "Thanks," she said, before shutting her eyes to enjoy the sweetness that assaulted her tastebuds.

She heard the slight rustle of fabric as he settled in beside her. Smiling slighting, she leaned over so she could rest her head on his shoulder. "This... is happiness," she said softly. "The taste of home, a good show, and perfect company."

He wrapped an arm around her, running a hand through her hair reassuringly. "It's nice."

"A part of me is tempted to drag you back here with me, and forget about everything that's happened. We could talk to the ringmaster and get our old jobs back, and travel around the world. There's still plenty of places we haven't seen."

He was silent, and he pulled her closer.

"Do you know what you're going to do?" she asked him instead of continuing with her fantasy scenario.

"Une's made me an offer," The long pause he left made her want to turn around and shake him, but Trowa had never been the type who spoke without thinking. "I'll probably accept it."

She wisely let the matter drop, pulling away from him so she could look into his face. His hand remained on her shoulder and she savored the warmth, knowing it might be a while before she felt it again. Around them, the crowd was returning for the second act. "We can't go back again," she said.

"I wouldn't want to," Trowa said. "Things change, and change hurts, but there's always something to replace what is lost."

What could replace Trowa? She wondered. For so long she had lived to protect him, her main goal to try to make him smile and forget about the pain he'd known. She felt lost without that.

"No matter what, you will always be my sister," he said. "Blood doesn't matter."

"No, it doesn't," she agreed. She still hadn't told him he was Triton. She wished that she had the courage to but knew it could be seen as an attempt to bind Trowa tighter to her, rather than let him go. She knew it was time to say goodbye. She could tell him later - they had their entire lives in front of them.

The lights fell again, and they let themselves enjoy the second act. To Catherine, it passed in a blur of color and sound, with Trowa's arm comfortingly around her. She saw Karen come out with the lions and felt Trowa's fingers twitch. He'd missed the large animals. In response, she reached up to squeeze his hand reassuringly. "Something is lost for everything we gain," she told him, echoing his words of a minute before.

When the lights rose, he moved away from her, and they studied each other, unsure what to say. "Cat, what are you going to do?"

It had been a question she'd been avoiding. She knew what she _should_ do, but that didn't match with what she _wanted_ to do. Relena had made her an offer to help lead relief efforts for those still suffering from the results of the war.

It had been about a week after Sally Po had been captured. It had been quiet for her, since Trowa was tied up in the aftermath, reporting to the Preventers exactly what had happened in that silo. Dorothy's accommodations had been extended to her indefinitely, but she saw little of her hostess, and appearances by Relena Darlian Peacecraft had been even rarer. She'd heard through Dorothy that the queen had returned to Cinq. It wasn't any wonder she had been slightly surprised to come down for breakfast that day to see Dorothy and Relena sharing donuts and a fruit platter.

She lingered in the doorway in surprise, staring at the two. What was Relena doing here?

Dorothy still looked a touch pale from a rather daunting encounter with the Zero System, but that didn't keep her from teasing Relena, who had completely ignored the fruit and had two frosted donuts on her plate. She was waving a spoon in Relena's face chidingly.

"Young lady! Do you really expect to be able to function to your fullest capabilities on this kind of diet? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day!" The words were delivered in a slightly deep, mocking tone.

Relena rolled her eyes, and picked up one of the donuts and took and overly large bite out of it challengingly. It gave her chipmunk cheeks as she chewed slowly, her eyes never leaving Dorothy's face. After several long moments, she swallowed, and picked up a napkin to daintily dab at her lips. "I'm sorry, I was too busy enjoying my food to hear you."

"Mark my words, your majesty, your hips will regret your impenitence one day. When you can't fit on your throne, I'll have the last laugh."

"Right. One word for you: chocoholic."

Dorothy glared, then leaned back to flip her hair over her shoulder in a haughty gesture. "Chocolate doesn't make you gain weight. It's a necessary part of the human diet."

Catherine couldn't prevent a snort of laughter from escaping, covering her mouth with her hand in a vain attempt. Relena and Dorothy looked up at the intrusion, and Relena broke into a warm smile. Dorothy just nodded a bit, then gestured at a third place setting Catherine hadn't paid attention to. "Join us?" she asked.

Claws of uncertainty tracked across Catherine's spine. There was a watchfulness in the way they were looking at her, as though weighing her on some scale she couldn't see. Instead of worrying about it, she merely smiled and took the proffered position, grabbing a slice of melon and filling a teacup with orange pekoe tea, Dorothy's favorite. "What are you doing here, Relena?" she asked curiously.

"Meetings. The World Nation is considering what action, if any, should be taken on a global level in response to the recent hostilities." Relena sounded a bit frustrated. "I'll sit all day in the Senate as delegates express their outrage, and in the end we'll reach no conclusions."

"Sylvia and I will be there, too," Dorothy said consolingly. "Did you download those games onto your cell I told you about?"

"But of course." Relena's smile was mischievous. "I'm going to beat your score today."

"Not hardly," Dorothy replied. "You have such clumsy fingers."

"I haven't seen you beating Sylvia yet." Relena's voice was almost saccharine in its sweetness.

"She cheats."

There was something kind of troubling about hearing two of the foremost politicians of the age talking about playing video games during a session of the senate. She tried to not show it, but Relena noticed and smiled.

"It's okay, Catherine. A democracy is an inefficient form of government in some respects, but it gives people a voice. We just don't have to listen to them," Relena said.

That sounded even worse. "You're supposed to."

"The Senate is very much like real life. There's people who know what the hell is going on, and then the other ninety-nine percent of the world," Dorothy said, stabbing her grapefruit rather vicously. "It's human nature."

Catherine knew she wasn't going to win but she never had been able to resist speaking up. "Maybe we should improve that nature instead of succumbing to it."

Relena laughed at the sour look on Dorothy's face. "Maybe we should," she agreed. She looked over at Dorothy, who gave a slight nod of permission. "We'd like you to help with that."

"What?"

"There's a group of activists I'm organizing who are speaking to leaders, schools and in public assemblies about what happened. It's going to be a series of interactive forums as we reflect on the most recent war, and try to come up with solutions to keep it from happening again. Most of all, we're going to listen to and address complaints about the World Nation. It's planned to span the whole year, but if it is well received, we might just continue it."

"...an activist?"

"Mediator, really. Who better?" Relena asked. She started to tick points off on her fingers. "You're the sister of a Gundam pilot, have seen a Gundam attack, yet aren't affiliated with any major political party. You're ideal. People know your name, and can relate to you."

_ If you make them something less then human, something evil, it's easier to hate them. So we're going to change things- we're going to show people that the pilots are people._

"I..." Catherine started to protest, but then caught herself. "Let me think on it?"

"Of course. Sylvia has already agreed, and I think she'd appreciate some help organizing the series if you decide you want to." Relena was so smooth, and Catherine tried not to squirm. The Queen of Cinq must have realized what she was thinking, because she had leaned over and taken Catherine's hand. "I've learned my lesson from you, Catherine. I'm not pushing you to any sort of decision, and take all the time you need. I just think that with all you've done for us...for the Preventers and the World Nation during this past crisis, you have a lot of potential to offer. And I would love to keep working with you."

She had thought on it, long and hard, after returning. Dorothy would probably join Relena and Sylvia. She did miss the other three girls, and the past month had been a time when all titles had been tossed aside and they had simply just been her friends. But in the end, she just couldn't see herself playing that part forever. They had been born to it. But...she had not.

Trowa was waiting as she sorted out her thoughts. "I... want to see if they'll have me back. I'm not as good an act by myself, but this is home." It was. The early hours and odd jobs, strange friends and endless traveling and hard work were all part of her. She didn't want to let it go.

He didn't criticize. He had probably already expected what she planned. "I'm glad," he said.

"What?" She had expected him to be supportive, but this was unexpected.

"You're doing an important job here," he said, glancing around at the nearly empty tent. "It's as important as anything the Preventers or the politicians do."

"Don't be condescending," she snapped slightly. "It's just a circus."

"There's nothing wrong with that. In fact, you're important. The world needs laughter and smiles." His smile reminded her of the clown mask he had worn for so long, sorrow mixed in with laughter. "I want to say goodbye to the lions," Trowa said. "Come with me?"

No one stopped them as they made their way back to the restricted area. It was like being a shadow; no cheerful calls of greeting or questions where they had been. She felt off-balance and out of sync with the world. They arrived at the lion cage, and she saw Trowa's eyes darken with affection as he reached through the bars to touch the largest male's head. The lion nudged his hand, encouraging a caress.

She watched him with intent eyes, intent on committing the image to her memory. This was how she wanted to remember him, with a slight smile of happiness and no signs of war hanging around him. When he turned his head to smile at her, she nearly cried.

"Karen's waiting for you," he said. The wind brushed against his hair, pushing it away from his face. "I caught her during the intermission."

He had known all along what she wanted. It was probably why he had brought her to the show in the first place. "I..."

"Cat, be happy. I won't forget about you, but it's time for us to go our own ways." He visibly braced himself, waiting for an argument.

The tears did fall then, but she brushed them away. She hated to say goodbye. Her hand dug into her purse blindly, fumbling against lipstick and tissue before she found what she wanted. "I was going to give this to you later, but..." She held out a cell phone.

He took it curiously, examining it carefully before raising an eyebrow.

"It's got my number programmed in. I couldn't find one for anyone else, but I left spaces for you to fill those in. It's so you don't have an excuse not to call." She pulled out her own phone, selected a number, and let it dial.

His phone rang with the first two measures of _Ballade pour Adeline._ It was amazingly tacky, but it surprised a smile from Trowa's lips. "Thank you."

The tears stopped, and she smiled at him almost shyly. "I don't want to lose you."

"You won't," he promised. "No matter how far apart we are, you'll always be my sister."

That was all she needed to hear.


	48. Eternity and Infinity In These Hands 2

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2002 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

**SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT XIII, PART II**

** I feel your love reflection  
Atsuku yume o kasanete  
Ayamachi osorezu ni  
Motomeau seishun**

**Ah kakegaenai ai no kodou o  
Setsunaku kuruoshiku kanjite itai  
** ** I feel your love reflection  
Uniting our dreams with passion  
Without being afraid of mistakes  
Youthful hearts searching for each other**

**Ah the beat of this one and only love  
Painfully, maddeningly, I want to feel it  
**

**--Gundam Wing, _White Reflection_  
Endless Waltz**

**Scene V: The Glittering Shards of Broken Dreams**

_"There are some defeats more triumphant than victories."  
-- Francis Bacon_

She was in a cell, which was probably where she was going to spend the rest of her life.

Maybe a part of her had always known that it would end up this way, because she felt remarkably calm about the situation. The 8' by 12' space contained a bed, a toilet and a sink, but no other luxuries were allowed. The walls were painted a dull white, a color which she was heartily sick of. White was the color of death in China, and she wondered if some sadistic person had thought of that before tossing her in.

She had been placed in protective isolation, away from the other prisoners. She had no privacy, with camera set to monitor her every action, and guard coming through to check on her every four hours. The guards weren't kind, but neither were they cruel. Perhaps their careful indifference could be seen as insulting, but Sally didn't really pay attention to them. Her thoughts were turning ever-inward, and a sense of peace was starting to emerge. She had done what she had to; the consequences were beyond her control.

She had a lot of time to think.

Her memories of her childhood, that ideal time she had tried to protect for other children, besieged her mind. She remembered watching her grandmother cook, watching as she cut the garlic for a Beijing style meal. The older woman moved slowly, her joints swollen from arthritis, but that hadn't stopped her from dispensing wisdom in small, sharp spurts.

"A fall into a ditch makes you wiser," she had told Sally once, after cutting herself with a knife. Sally had panicked on seeing the blood, but her grandmother's face had been smooth, with few lines marring it as she sucked delicately at her wounded finger, no pain visible. It scarred, but not horribly, and Sally remembered the old lady's serenity. It had been something she had tried to embrace, but her passionate nature had never let her truly take that peace into herself.

She understood now. In retrospect, she could see her mistakes.

She should have convinced Wufei to join her side beforehand, secured his promise before making her grand statement. The stress of the situation had taken his calm away, and he had replied with passion instead of logic. She wondered if he regretted, now, sealing the final nail in China's fate. She would never forgive him, but she doubted he would forgive her, either. There was too much death between them.

She hadn't given Une enough credit for her sheer chutzpah, hadn't imagined Relena and Dorothy would manage to guilt trip the World Nation in line that quickly. She had believed she had firmly taken Quatre out of the picture, a mistake which cost her L3. She hadn't known Zechs would snap out of his confusion, hadn't imaged Etille was anything but a burnt-out soldier. She should have killed both Trowa and him right away.

There were so many variables she had discarded. No plan survives the first five minutes of engagement, and hers had gone wrong nearly from the start.

She should have sought out Heero Yuy, instead of assuming the specter of his power had faded the same night Treize's star had vanished. She should have accounted for Heero. In the end, it was always Heero Yuy.

She'd taken to braiding and undoing small strands of her hair in sheer boredom, giving herself a horrible case of split ends on the pieces close to her face. As she wove, she imagined those she had left behind.

She had heard what had happened to Li, and a very small part of her was relieved. She had never completely trusted the hacker, and the idea of Li able to continue doing what she wanted was nightmarish. It was wrong to see any satisfaction in someone's maiming, but Sally had come far beyond the basic concepts of right and wrong. Li never would have been contained otherwise.

Gils-Reve, though, she honestly mourned. He had been bright and loyal, his sincerity and devotion to the cause blazing in his youth. He had been smart, but even he couldn't fight the explosion that had destroyed the ship. He hadn't deserved to die. She supposed that was the way war was. Her mistakes were myriad, made of pride and her overconfidence. Her belief had been sincere, but the cost of decisions was something that would be hard to bear.

As she unwound her braid, she thought of Riley. They had never caught the clever old man, and she was glad. Wufei had turned over copies of the conversation they had right after her initial rebellion for evidence, but none of them had figured out the old man was whom she had been referring to. She would die before betraying him.

There was no torture, but the interrogation techniques the Preventers had used were still uncomfortable. Itchy blankets, thin clothes, being woken at odd and irregular hours - they had filled her first month of confinement. She hadn't broken, though. She had meditated, her strength of will seeing her through.

She would not let them break her.

She had lost track of days, the days merging into an endless cycle of monotone. She imagined that about six weeks had gone by, but she wasn't sure. There was no way she could know. It was disconcerting to watch time slip away from her, but she was starting not to care.

When she slept, she dreamt of Wufei screaming her name, a desperate sound of friendship and despair. She heard Duo contradicting her as she imagined the faces of those who had died when the missile struck L1. The true punishment, she decided, wasn't the loss of her freedom so much as being left to her thoughts.

Occasionally she would rise to her feet, stretching slowly as she worked out in her cramped living area. The twenty minutes of "leisure" she was allotted was an uncomfortable thing, caged in a narrow courtyard barely twice the size of her cell. Usually she'd just stare up through the chicken-wire, dreaming of the blue sky she could see just beyond it. She knew, intellectually, that she should move her body to remain fit and avoid the depression of the institutionalized, but she couldn't bring herself to find the energy.

There was the sound of two sets of footsteps coming down the hall, and she wondered which inmate was being sought. It was too late for lunch and too early for dinner, and they all had already had their outside time earlier that day. Perhaps a lawyer or a lover was stopping in.

She was mildly interested when they stopped in front of her cell, and she heard the sound of the gate opening. A female guard dressed in the crisp uniform of an enlisted person stepped into her cage.

"You have a visitor," a she told her. Sally hadn't bothered to learn her name, since the guards rotated out of prison duty frequently. Guarding military prisoners was a boring job, with days spent watching screens of people doing nothing.

"Oh?" Sally raised her eyebrow, but the guard didn't reply, merely holding out a pair of handcuffs. No matter where she went, the handcuffs would remain. She found it silly, since they'd already implanted a tracker into her skull. If she ever dared to escape, all it would take was a push of the button, and the small detonator would take care of any ambition she might possess.

She obediently let herself be chained, prepared to take the walk to the visitor's room. Her representative had seen her the day before yesterday; he wasn't supposed to return for a week yet. She wondered if this would be another interrogation. She'd gotten used to staring at the wall as people alternately cajoled her or shrieked at her about whatever they were after during that particular session.

She never let them have anything, merely repeating her name and rank.

_"Sally Po. General, Liberation Forces."_ She hadn't had time to create serial numbers for her army, but that would have to do. She refused to claim her title as a Preventer, because she had never really been one of them.

Instead of being led down the hall, the guard stepped out of the cell, highly unusual. "The prisoner is secure," she announced to whoever was standing behind her out of Sally's line of sight.

"That will be all," someone said. The voice that dismissed the guard was too familiar. Procedure called for her to be sent to a visiting room, but the new head of the Preventers was beyond standard military.

He was blonder than she remembered, his hair nearly white in the dim light of the cell. He was taller, too, his shoulders held higher with pride and confidence, like a weight had been removed from his shoulders. He looked like Zechs Merquise, she thought. There was fire in this man; he was not the broken individual she had written off a few months ago.

She waited silently for him to speak first. She had nothing to gain, and she had always kept her own counsel. His eyes raked over her body, evaluating her in a single instance, and dismissing everything she was. Only Wufei had ever managed to make her feel so insignificant, when he had dismissed her cause and her beliefs as wrong. It was a struggle not to squirm, but she held fast to her pride, the only thing she had left. She would not be made into nothing.

"Forgive me for not being a better hostess, but I'm afraid my means are a bit limited at the moment," she said with heavy irony. The chains on her wrist were cold, but the blue of his eyes rivaled the Arctic for warmth.

He motioned for her to sit, but she remained on her feet, not willing to bow down. He nodded slightly, then pulled the door shut. The cell was crowded with both of them standing, but neither would yield. "If I were Une, I would say something mocking," he said.

Une had always been a bit of a bitch even at the best of times, Sally thought in agreement. "You're not. My congratulations, by the way." She stared at the rank pips on his collar.

His hand automatically touched them, then fell to his side. "It's nothing I wanted."

She understood. His ambition had always been nearly overwhelming, a search for something that demanded his skills and talents. He didn't seek power for power's sake, perhaps the only thing that kept her from hating him.

That, and Noin. Noin had loved him, and Sally had loved Noin in her own way. Noin would have understood, better than anyone, what she had been trying to accomplish - and that was why Noin had died.

"No, I don't suspect so," she agreed, feeling a bit of her belligerence fade. "What are you going to do with me?" she asked. No one had made it clear yet if she was to be tried for treason, or if she was just going to be executed quietly. She didn't even know if anyone was aware she was still alive, and not dead by the hands of the Gundam pilots.

"You present quite a problem," Zechs said. "Your legal status is in limbo - whether we try you as a terrorist or a traitor. There's groups speaking up for your civil rights, and no matter what we do, it will be watched closely." He spoke clinically, as though her fate mattered no more than what he'd had for breakfast the day before.

She had her own opinions on what should be done. She had asked, once, that she be returned to her country of origin as a prisoner of war, but they had pointed out that neither of the countries she had dual citizenship with wanted a thing to do with her. For one, she could care less, but the other one was a secret wound that was festering in her heart. She still loved China, although it had disowned her.

"Will you hold the shotgun, then?" she asked. "Will you lead the firing squad that kills me?"

A flash of passion, of hatred that took her aback crossed his face. "We won't kill you. I won't let them turn you into a martyr."

She raised her chin, meeting his eyes squarely. "I already am a martyr. I have given up my life and freedom for my cause."

"No... you're not. I refuse to let you be like Treize. You're not worthy of being spoken of in the same breath."

She bit her lip. "Treize was a fool."

"At least he wasn't selfish. He was prepared for the consequences of his own actions."

"Are _you_ prepared to live with the consequences of your actions, as the commander of the Preventers?" she demanded. "Are you prepared to be the one who has doomed the colonies and earth to their own destruction?"

"I've done no such thing."

"Yes, you have! By agreeing to go along with the World Nation, you're destroying us! You're destroying China, destroying your own precious Cinq!" Her voice rose, a spiral of condemnation and honest rage. She couldn't remember being so angry, not about this, but Zechs was forcing her to react as no one else had. Maybe she was more angry at herself for failing, but seeing this man, the son of a proud dynasty which had nearly been destroyed, condemning her was the final straw.

She had not been wrong.

He was quiet for a long minute.

"You didn't come here to gloat. Why did you come?" she asked.

"For her." Zechs stared at her, and she was surprised that there was no hatred, no passion in his eyes - just disgust. "I wanted to see the friend who knowingly sent her to her death."

"Sometimes we have to pay high prices for our ideals." She stared down at the handcuffs, thinking of her lost freedom. "I don't regret it," she said. "I did what I had to."

He stared at her, that raking look that evaluated her and discarded everything she stood for. "I wish you hadn't felt the need." He moved toward the door, producing a key from his pocket to let himself out. "Someone will be in to remove the cuffs shortly."

The lock clicked open, and for some reason, it sounded more final than the first time they'd shut her in the cell. When he left, she knew that the story would end.

"If it helps, I'm sorry about Noin." She was surprised to hear the words slip from her lips, and the effect on Zechs was electric.

"Sorry won't bring her back." He turned away without another word, and she watched his back as he left the cell.

She never saw him again.

* * *

**Scene VI: The Reconstruction of Time**

_"Something good will come our way,  
And maybe this good thing's gonna happen today."  
-- Bic Runga, Something Good_

Before he arrived at Lake Victoria, Etille had taken some well-deserved leave to make a short family visit, one he had been planning since the end of the first war. He just hadn't had the time. At least, that was what he told himself before finally admitting that he hadn't wanted to see his family because they were so proud about him being in the military that it made him feel ashamed.

But there was no shame as he walked in through the front door and greeted his parents, his younger sister who had come home just for the occasion. His father had laughed and his mother had cried, and his sister had given him a kiss and a pair of new shoes. "For your new job," she told him, "because you can't wear that horrible uniform around all the time."

He had been about to protest that Noin Academy was a military school, and that he would have to wear the horrible uniform, whether he liked it or not, but the smile on her lips stopped him, and he bent to kiss her cheek.

"Thank you," he said.

He'd told them the rest of the story over a good homestyle French dinner, vegetables and bread and beef stew and wine straight from their own vineyards. Etille had almost forgotten what real cooking tasted like, after years of eating military rations or the slop poured onto his plate at the chow hall. His mother had almost forgotten to eat, staring at him with shining eyes as he downed plate after plate of her cooking. He had not been so happy in a long time.

They'd wanted to know everything, but he kept it simple. He doubted they would understand the ties that wove him and Dorothy Catalonia together, nor the political intrigue of Sally's rebellion and its aftermath. "A007 will be fine without me," he said, at the end. "I believe they plan to turn it into a real colony, though I don't know how long it will take. General Peacecraft showed me the outlines last week and it looks promising."

"And what about your teaching position?" his mother wanted to know.

It had come as somewhat of a surprise. He'd already known that Une would most likely step down in favor of someone more driven, a visionary, and he'd guessed that the man who fit that description would be Milliard Peacecraft. But he had never thought Une would include him in her plans as well - plans that she was keeping quiet even from the Preventers themselves. The school she wanted to build out of the ruins of the old Lake Victoria Academy was something he knew the World Nation would shake their heads and mutter at, and he'd had enough controversy to last a lifetime.

"Why do you want me?" he had protested, when she'd asked him to accept the post of head instructor, and she had simply crossed her arms and stared at him.

"Would you rather stay a general?"

To anyone else, that question would have sounded a little ridiculous. But Une had always been good at reading people, and she had effectively trapped him. He remembered listening to Peacecraft tell the story of how he had gotten "roped into" the command position, and it had seemed to happen much the same way, though Etille could tell, even behind the exasperated voice, that Peacecraft was happy with where that road was taking him.

"I was Noin's friend," he told Une. "And I still believe in Treize. I'll take it."

They'd cut him a set of orders with plane tickets directly from Geneva to Lake Victoria just after the change of command ceremony, and when they had arrived at his office, the ink still warm and fresh on the paper, with Milliard Peacecraft's bold signature across them as the new commander-in-chief, he had stared at them, then picked up the phone. Was there any way, he said, that he could stop over for a few days of leave before he reported?

He had put down "family visit" on the leave request, and no one had questioned that he was stopping both in France and Spain before his flight. Perhaps they assumed he had relatives in both France and Spain, or perhaps they decided it was better not to ask. As he said goodbye to his parents the next morning, his mother slipped a few homemade pastries into his bag and kissed him on both cheeks.

"Say hello to her for me," she whispered, and he looked into her smiling eyes, knowing that she did not mean Une.

The drive to Spain seemed to take longer than usual, and there was nothing on radio to entertain him. He nearly swerved off the road several times as he daydreamed, staring out the windshield at the rolling fields and nostalgic landscapes so uniquely French, and wished he could be a child again, that he could rewind and start over.

He checked into the small bed-and-breakfast, carrying his small bag up to his room and snagging a pastry from it before heading back out to his car. The wind had picked up and the thick curtains of Spanish moss draped over the trees were swaying as he sped past, but he hardly noticed, intent on the yellow highway line flashing by, and how the first fat raindrops burst upon the windshield almost like bubbles.

It was pouring by the time he reached the graveyard, but he got out of the car anyway, wrapped securely in the light coat he had brought for Europe's mild autumns. Within a minute, he was soaked to the skin. The old family graveyard's gate was closed, and his fingers slipped on the wet metal several times before he managed to unlock it and slip inside.

Even through the rain, he had no trouble locating her grave. He had been here only four times in person, but a hundred, a thousand times in his memories and in his dreams. There were a few small, withered flowers tucked close to the headstone, he noticed, and he reached out one hand to prop them up against the rain, then stood.

"Well," he said, "I'm back, Alicia."

Reaching inside his coat, Etille drew out his mother's pastry, took a small, thoughtful bite, staring down at her grave. "My mother says hello, and she would have given you some pastries, I think, if you'd come with me to visit. It has been far too long since I have been home."

There were things he wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her about her niece's defeat of Aidoru, about Sally's rebellion and what had happened in the end, about Milliard Peacecraft and his sister the queen of Cinq and their bravery that wasn't just the stuff of legend. He wanted to tell her about Treize.

A year ago, he would have. But now he simply stood there, eating his pastry in the rain and looking down at the inscription on her headstone, glancing next to hers at her brother's grave, similarly black and somber and slightly fuzzy through the raindrops, and then at their father's, the last in the long row.

"Dorothy," he said instead. "One day I'll come back with you here. I don't think your grandfather ever told you of this place while he was alive, but you should see it."

He knelt and rested one hand on Alicia's tombstone slightly, then rose, touched Leon's and then Duke Dermail's in turn. They were symbolic only, he knew, as all three of them had been killed in battle and no body had ever been recovered. But still he thought he could almost hear them, see them standing there watching him with solemn eyes. Leon's arms would be crossed, and Alicia would have her hair drawn in a thick braid over one shoulder, and the duke would be standing a little to their left, keeping watch.

"One day, you'll see Dorothy again," he promised them.

He drove to the airport in Madrid the next day. The flight to Africa was a direct one, a military charter plane, and he spent most of the flight sleeping. When he woke, he was almost surprised to see that they were preparing to land and that it was not raining and in fact was rather sunny. As the plane taxied to a stop, he pressed one hand to the airplane window and felt the heat there, and he took off his coat, folding it neatly over one arm as the plane came to a halt.

Une was there at the end of the ramp to meet him. The airfield was still under construction, smelling of fresh paint and concrete and sparkling with all the newness of a modern military building. "We've a bit to do before the school officially opens," Une told him after a short greeting, but he'd expected that from her. "Word has gotten out, though. Apparently we'll have almost 90 enrollment for the first term."

He'd raised an eyebrow as they left the terminal and crossed the flat, white pavement to the staff car that waited for them. "How did you manage that?" he asked. "I would think that the recent war would have scared everyone off."

They slid into the leather backseat and Une smiled wryly. "But that's just the thing. Noin Academy isn't a military academy, Etille. It's an academy for everyone who wants to come and learn. Students may choose to go into the Preventers after graduation, and perhaps most of them will. But that isn't mandatory."

The academy bore little resemblance to the Preventers Headquarters, Etille realized then, as the car cruised through streets that still bore the orange construction cones, passing by almost-finished buildings constructed of the warm tones of brick and granite. The Geneva headquarters was square, precise, almost austere in its military formality, as most OZ bases had been. But Une had completely rebuilt Lake Victoria, turning it from a military installation to something reminding Etille of the atmosphere of a university campus.

"Still full of new ideas, I see," he murmured with a smile, and Une looked at him fiercely.

"I built the Preventers for Treize. But those days are over, Etille. I've carried on Treize's legacy as best as I can, and it's up to Peacecraft now to take that where he will. He'll do a better job, anyway. I was simply Treize's follower, not Treize's friend."

"I wouldn't say that-" Etille began, and then stopped, because what did he know? He had never known Treize as a man, much less a friend, and he had known neither Une nor Peacecraft before the war. So he folded his hands in his lap as the car turned the corner, passing by a grassy knoll and then a graceful European fountain beside a red brick walkway. "I'm sorry. I'm not one to judge." He laughed. "I've only been in the Preventers a matter of weeks, and I know you did what you think is best."

Une smiled a bit sadly. "I've made a lot of bad decisions, Etille," she said. "Tell me. You said Noin was your friend. Do you think she'd approve?"

He looked out the window thoughtfully as the car came to a halt in front of a modest two-story pink granite building. He could imagine Noin here, he thought, perhaps strolling through the wide, green lawn that spread out on both sides of the building, or sitting on one of the benches in the courtyard which lay just in front. Yet there was something here that did not quite fit, because for all Noin had been an elegant woman, she was also a soldier.

"I think she would," he said. "I don't think Noin would have wanted to teach here, and I don't think she would have been at ease here. She was always a soldier, no matter what else she was, and she died doing what she loved best. But...at the same time, I think the legacy she would have wanted to leave...would be something like this." He looked at Une, trying to put the conviction into his words that he felt in his heart. He had never been good at expressing himself. "Noin was a soldier who believed in peace. I think this would have made her proud."

Une was silent, and Etille wondered if he had said something wrong before a hand gripped his.

"Thank you," Une said softly. "There's nothing I wanted to hear more."

The hot air hit them with a blast as soon as he opened the car door, but the inside of the school's main building was cool and hushed, all ivory marble and pale stone. Etille followed Une up the long staircase without a word. The second floor was slightly warmer, with the whir of ceiling fans joining the hum of the air conditioning. He remembered it had been much the same at Lake Victoria some twenty years earlier, and an odd sense came over him, almost like if he closed his eyes and opened them again, he would be standing here again as a cadet.

"It's always strange coming back to a place that is home, but not quite," Une said over her shoulder, and her voice startled him as they turned a corner into a hallway where a row of doors stood ajar.

"My office is the first one here on the right," she said. "You can pick whichever you like. None of the others are taken yet."

Etille peered into Une's new office, decorated much like her old one had been in Geneva, which meant hardly at all, and then glanced into the empty one next to hers. "I don't mind being next to you," he told her, knowing that she would grin wickedly at the remark. "It makes life interesting."

"It should be more interesting when the other teachers get here," she said, beckoning him into her office and crossing the room to her desk, strewn with papers. Etille went to the window behind it, looking across the campus and marveling again at how like and unlike Victoria it was. There were still mobile suit yards, he noted, and turned around to ask Une about them before realizing she had stepped to the window as well and was looking in the same direction.

"This is not a military academy," she murmured, "and there is no obligation for students to join the Preventers. But I want to remember always what Treize sacrificed himself for. He died so that there would be an end to war, and I believe that someday, there can be. But until that day, there will be a Preventers, and there will still be soldiers."

"You're much too serious for the occasion," he said after a minute, and Une laughed, turned back to her desk. "The other teachers will think you've turned into an old lady."

"There isn't much danger of that," she told him, flipping through a file. "I hired them personally, and most of them are people I've known for a while and who I think you'll work well with." She paused. "Especially my newest hire, who signed the contract a week ago."

He frowned at her, sensing the devious note in her voice again. "And who would that be?"

The smile she gave him was wicked and delighted all at the same time as she said, "His name is Duo Maxwell."

* * *

**Scene VII: A Place to Return to**

_"And life is a road, and I wanna keep going."  
-- Donna Lewis and Richard Marx, At The Beginning_

Even though Shinobu had encouraged her to stay with him, Helena knew she had to go back to Cliffside. The life she'd led since being pulled inadvertently into the conflict had been thrilling, but all dreamers must waken from their sleep, and all people had to go back where they belonged.

Shinobu hadn't understood as she tried to explain in halting words her desire to go back to where she had come from. It wasn't fear of the unknown, the scary life that Shinobu led, but rather a sense of responsibility. She had to finish what she started before she could allow herself the luxury of following her conscience.

It hadn't made saying good-bye any easier.

They stood in one of the docking bays which was gradually being converted into a spaceport. The damage done by the missile had been immense, killing thousands. The colony leaders were being forced to rebuild, and Shinobu was in the thick of it. He, along with Yamazaki Kazuma, were speaking for the refugees from the Breaks.

Aid was pouting in from all over the colonies and the world, for a rebuilding which would have been better served if that aid had come twenty years before. Perhaps the Eve Wars could have been prevented. It was a train of thought she didn't want to dwell on, instead taking satisfaction in the reconstructed bays and flood of relief workers. It would take time for L1 to get back on its feet, but many hoped the quality of life would be higher. Duo and Hilde would have been pleased to see it - but they'd vanished two days after the confrontation.

She had been surprised that Darkflight had accompanied Shinobu to see her off. She thought he didn't like her much, but the way the slight smile was pulling at the corner of his mouth spoke of some affection. If anyone had told her last year she would become friends with an assassin from the colonies, she would have laughed, not realizing Duo already qualified. Now she knew two, and Darkflight didn't even speak her language.

He shifted on his feet, his eyes in constant motion as he surveyed their surroundings. The slight tenseness in his muscles warned that he was quite prepared to react to any perceived threat. His was out of place and uncomfortable, but he nodded to her and spoke a farewell.

"You good girl," Darkflight said in slow English. "Be safe."

"Thank you," she said, and before she could give it a second thought, she rose on her toes to deposit a careful kiss on his cheek. _"Tomodachi," _she said, hoping she had the right word. _Friends._

He caught her arm, and she froze a bit as he touched his dark fingers to her blond hair. Shinobu didn't move to protest, so she waited to see what he would do.

"Be safe," he said again, his voice husky with emotion. The smile broadened just enough to show his sorrow, and then his hands left her, and he hurried away. She noted how he just melted into the shadows without even trying. Her eyes lingered for a second, before she looked at Shinobu with question on her face.

Shinobu shrugged. "You remind him of someone, I think."

"Ah," she said, unable to find anything more to say.

They stood uncomfortably aware that this conversation was going to be painful and neither wanted to instigate it. "You could stay," Shinobu said finally.

It was tempting, so tempting, to agree. She imagined a life with Shinobu, helping him as he navigated the murky politics of the stubborn colonists. She had grown to like many of the residents of L1 she'd met so far, finding them honest in a way that people from Earth couldn't understand. They fought for survival daily, which tended to make them more open than most of the people she knew. They called a spade a spade, and freely admitted what they were.

"I could," she agreed. His eyes brightened in hope, but she forestalled him by placing a finger on his lips. "I could stay, but I won't."

"The people love you here," he said.

She blushed a bit. The adoration she'd been the recipient of made her understand how Queen Relena most likely felt. Wherever she went, there would be eyes following her every movement with idolatry in their depths. She had been the girl who had helped save them; she had been the messiah who had come to them in their darkest hour. It was uncomfortable and exhilarating by turn.

"I like them, too," she said. "Maybe that's why I can't stay."

"That does not make any sense," Shinobu said, a bit of his frustration glittering in those dark eyes she could - and did - drown in.

"I don't deserve it. Their adoration - it's not something that I should have. I wouldn't be Helena Rosenbaum here. I would be someone who stands for a cause, instead of an individual. I would be an ideal."

"The world needs ideals."

"It does, but when you strip away the passion of the moment, what do you have? I'm not anything special. I'm just a girl who hasn't even finished high school. There's a reason the hero rides into the sunset at the end of the tale. People don't want to see their flaws. I'm sorry, Shinobu," she apologized, wishing she could remain. He was the person she had come to love most in the world, and she knew he wanted her by his side.

Shinobu merely smiled a touch sadly. "It's okay," he said. "What will you do?"

"I'm going back to pick up my life. I need to finish this year - can't have Cliffside without its student body president." It sounded so trivial compared to the work Shinobu and Darkflight would be doing. "Then... well, there's politics. I'll intern with Mr. Keets as I go to college and see where that takes me. We don't need another Ilene."

Ilene had been so pretty, so alive. It was hard to think of her rotting in a grave somewhere, dying so young. At night, Helena dreamt of her best friend, laughing as she danced in the rain. She wanted to keep those memories alive, and while she couldn't bring Ilene back, she promised herself she wouldn't forget her.

"No, we do not." His voice was nearly a whisper, and she knew he was thinking of how close to dying they had come. He glanced around the bay, watching the flight crews make their final preparations. "It's time."

She nodded, and then stepped into his arms. She felt his strength as he pressed his face into her hair, breathing deeply like he wanted to inhale her very essence. He smelled of sweat and work and that unique scent she'd come to associate only with him. They clung together briefly, and then he stepped back. He bowed, low and deep to indicate the regard he held her in, and she felt the distance rise between them. "Travel safely."

"This... is goodbye, isn't it?" She had clung to Shinobu for a month as the world exploded around them.

"It depends. It could be, or it could be 'until I see you again.'" Both of them knew which of them it would probably be.

The air was cooler than it had been the last time Helena had been here.

Late October in Vermont was a glorious time of year, with the bursting colors of autumn foliage defying the blue of the sky. There were few perfect days left before the weather would fall into the gloom of winter, but those that came were sweeter than maple sugar because each was more precious than the last.

The blue-fleece pullover she had yanked on hurriedly before heading out was scant protection from the seasonal gusts off the lake. She knew many boaters were docking their crafts for the season down a few bays, but the brave still took time to squeeze the last possible moments for all they were worth. A sailboat went by, its cloth full of red and orange, looking like a stray leaf upon the water. Across the way, she could see the small hamlets that made up the New York shore, their rustic houses drab, but determined, dots among the beauty of the leaves.

School had started later than it should have, and there was talk about session running well into July, pushing back graduation for her class. It was something that made many students groan in protest, and a few wild plans to have a boycott were fostered, but it was something she accepted. Once she might have politely protested, pointing out the delay would prevent them from moving onto college or joining the workforce, but now she understood the virtue in remaining young. They could spare another month for their youth; all too soon they would be forced into the adult world. She had already seen it, and wanted to remain a child for just a little longer.

It was a futile dream, of course. Even as she went to classes, she felt the pressure of expectation on her. She felt older than almost all of her classmates, except those who had come from the military. She hadn't understood before what it was like for ex-soldiers to enroll as students in a private school, but she had a good idea. She could see it in their eyes, a wistful sadness that mourned for the youth they had given up. Sometimes she would walk into a classroom and meet the gaze of a student she didn't even know, and feel that comradeship of sorrow.

She heard him coming long before he arrived, the slight groan of metal at odds with her scenic surroundings. Helena didn't bother to turn, instead inching closer to the cliff. The sky was so blue that she wondered if she could grasp it in her hands.

"Careful, or you could become Champ food," Chris teased as he finally arrived. He carefully stayed a bit out of reach, still wary of heights.

She smiled, knowing the legend. Lake Champlain, like many smaller lakes, was rumored to have its own lake monster. Everyone knew someone whose uncle or cousin or best friend had seen the arching head of a creature that was a throw-back to prehistoric times. Ilene had claimed to had seen the legendary "Champ" while on a date in her sophomore year. Helena and her friends had viewed the sighting skeptically, know Ilene's penchant for fairy tales too well. The thought of Ilene still made her sad, but the pain had faded into a dull throb instead of that immediate sharp sense of loss.

"Maybe Champy would prefer a larger dinner?" she replied playfully. "I think you'd make a better meal than bony lil ol' me."

"I doubt he'd appreciate the garnish," he said, looking at his legs. He sounded a bit rueful.

Technology was an amazing thing. Had it been a century earlier, Chris would have been a paraplegic from the bullet he'd taken. Now he walked with the aid of braces which stimulated his muscles with electronic pulses. For him, they were projecting a complete recovery, but there would be many months of therapy and surgery before he could finally move under his own power. He had already accomplished a lot, walking less than a month after the trauma.

She was still uncomfortable looking at the signs of Chris' injury. Her eyes skated over the metal waistband that the doctors used to keep track of his progress. It could be worn outside of his clothing. Most of it was underneath, with only the slight metallic clicking as proof he was wearing it.

"Does it... hurt much?" she asked hesitantly. They hadn't really spoken since that day in the hospital.

"Only my pride," he said, before grimacing a little as he carefully sank down to take a seat. "It's painful, but it's better than being paralyzed."

She shuddered at the thought. "I'm so sorry." Words were inadequate to express how she was feeling.

"It wasn't your fault," he said gently. He folded his hands in his lap, tilting his head slightly. "Why are you here?" he asked.

"I like it up here," she said, stretching the truth. She had never been particularly fond of heights, and the cliff made her dizzy. But she remembered seeing Duo, standing on the very edge, challenging nature to take him down. She understood better, now, why he had always been so daring. Life was too short to be afraid.

"I meant Cliffside. Why did you come back?"

She nibbled on her lip, knowing she could answer him honestly or she could reply with the "correct" response. "It felt like something I needed to do." She looked at the lake again, noting the boat was nearly out of sight now. "I needed to come home."

"This isn't home anymore," Chris said. "Without Ilene... without Duo or Shinobu..."

She had missed her roommate more than she could say. It had been horrible, that first night, sitting in her bed, wishing Ilene would start chatting about the day and how cute the boys were, and how Old Hickory needed to get that stick out of his ass. It had been one of their nightly rituals, and now Ilene was gone.

The absence of Duo in classes was like an elephant in the room. Classes were quieter, and no one dared to speak his name. In a way, Ilene's death was easier, because at least people weren't trying to erase her existence from their mind. Shinobu, too, had faded from memory, but he had never been a very visible presence.

"I'm not letting them take my home from me," she said softly.

"You shouldn't live in the memories," he chided in return. "It serves no purpose."

Once she would have found it easy to tell Chris what she was feeling, but their broken relationship lay as a nearly insurmountable barrier between them. She didn't know if Chris would understand the thoughts she still hadn't sorted out. He hadn't understood her need to do _something_, her ability to believe that war could be a necessary evil.

"I..." she took a breath. " This is my future. As much as I might have wanted to stay on L1, I couldn't. I don't understand them. They are not my people."

"And Cliffside is?"

"Home isn't always about being comfortable. It's about going to a place where you can be understood, a place that you understand. It's going to a place where you can be looked at honestly, and find yourself among your peers. Home isn't always where you want to be, but it's where you should be."

She inched closer to the cliff, sliding on her rear end and probably damaging her skirt. There were students who were advocating a uniform change for girls now, allowing them to wear pants as an option, something she fully supported.

"Was it hard to leave Shinobu behind?"

She tried not to wince. "Harder than leaving you, you mean?" she asked. Her guilt over her treatment of Chris still hung heavily around her.

"Yes."

She owed him the truth, and nodded slowly. "Shinobu and I... it's hard to describe. I knew he needed me. He probably will always need what I represent, but I couldn't stay." She hesitated, then continued. "I slept with him."

"I don't want to know that," Chris said. They had never had sex, which Helena regretted a bit. Her first time with Shinobu had been an experience that lingered in her memory. She remembered the feel of his body against her, the way his skin had been so smooth and hot and his lips insistent. She awakened at night sometimes, missing the feel of his arms around her. He had been so strong, so comforting. Perhaps if she and Chris...

No. She wouldn't change what had happened.

"A part of me hoped I might be pregnant."

Chris paled visibly. "Are you?"

"No. It's good I'm not, but in a way, I wanted to keep Shinobu with me. I wanted him to know he'd have a child that would grow up safely. He's not safe up there, and I'm scared - but if you think on it, we're not safe anywhere." She looked back over her shoulder where a monument was being constructed to the students who had died. It was barely visible from where she sat, the gray slab of Vermont granite which rose on the quad. She knew that flowers were scattered around its base, turning brown with neglect. People were moving on. As she should. "Do you remember Duo up here?"

Chris shivered and nodded. He had always thought Duo crazy for taking such risks. "I remember."

"There was a day shortly before the news broke that he was up here, and I came to get him. He looked so sad for an instant. I couldn't understand what he had seen."

"And you do now?"

"No. I haven't had to kill anyone." She shivered a bit, less than a foot away from the edge. "They say it's a good idea to walk a mile in someone else's shoes, and maybe that was what I did. Now I need to settle down, and start finding my own path." She finally inched close enough to dangle her feet over the edge. It was scary. "I'm not going to back away. Are you?"

"I've never shied away from doing what I believe."

"I know." She turned back slightly again, holding out her hand. "Come sit with me."

* * *

**Scene VIII: Back to the Beginning**

_"As long as we keep all our dreams alive  
Then we're gonna make it there right?"  
-- Bennie K, Sunrise_

He had been washing clothes with the television just a hum in the background. He wasn't sure what had alerted him, because he had been in the other room and if a name or an event had been mentioned, he wouldn't have been able to hear it. Maybe it was a murmured wave of sound, or maybe it had been coincidence that he had walked back into the living room just as the clips from the press conference began playing. Whatever the case, the boy once known as Darkflight thought as he raised one eyebrow at the face on the screen and stepped out to the balcony to hang t-shirts on the washing line, it was only another sign of how far they'd come.

The television was turned too far down for him to catch much over the whipping of the wind and flapping sounds of wet laundry, so he shuffled back inside, making a dash for the remote control and upping the volume to a more comfortable level. "-think," said a random reporter as Darkflight shuffled back out again.

"The press conference ended at approximately eleven thirty this morning," the clipped Japanese of the news anchor drifted through the open door, "and Seki-san and his bodyguards left quickly afterwards. We were able to get a brief interview from him as they exited the door."

Darkflight stiffened at that, debated kicking his shoes off and standing in front of the television with wet underwear dripping onto the tatami, then decided it wasn't worth it. He clipped the clothing to the line, listening as the familiar voice rolled quietly into the tiny living room.

"I am no longer the heir to the Black Diamond Cartel," the voice said calmly, and Darkflight could almost hear the snapping of cameras, the whirring of flashbulbs, the muddled questions of reporters which the boy he still knew as Shinobu was doubtlessly not answering. "I have signed the legal rights of the Breaks over to the Breaks government, to be developed and restored to the way of life Breaks residents have deserved for many years." He paused, and there must have been a question thrown out that Darkflight could not catch, because Shinobu said then, "No. Yamazaki Kazuma-san will be managing those estates."

He strained his ears in case there was more, but the news anchor cut in again and Darkflight tuned her out, hanging the last two t-shirts and one pair of jeans, then leaning moodily against the balcony railing. It was, he reflected critically, a sound decision on Shinobu's part. The cartel heir didn't quite have the cunning and the wit it took to manage a cartel, much less a society lying in shambles after the murder of its leader and partial destruction by a nationalist fanatic. Part of his brain mumbled that it was probably incorrect to call Sally Po that, but he didn't care. Po had been Wing's friend, not his.

And yet, there was something sad about the fact that after all these years, the Breaks they had both known were finally and irrevocably...gone.

"It's a good thing," Darkflight said to the clothesline, which simply swayed in the currents of air gusting around the apartment walls, and he turned, leaning his elbows on the balcony and looking down. The street was quiet with the lazy quiet of mid-afternoon. One or two cars passed almost soundlessly by, turning and disappearing around the next corner, and the noisy racket which usually accompanied the construction machines a block down was silent on the weekends.

It had been almost unthinkable to him when the comm had crackled after a long, long radio silence and Duo's voice had greeted them, telling them in shaky tones the battle was over and wondering if everyone was still alive. Shinobu and he had been so sure that there were no Breaks left after the horrific explosion shaking the ground under their feet, and when they'd seen Duo again at last and heard the outcome of the final battle, Darkflight had been doubtful there would ever be a Breaks again.

In a way, he was right. But the loss of home hadn't hit him until much later, because even Duo's parting with them when he had gone back to Earth hadn't seemed like much. The Deathscythe pilot had given them a short farewell, and Shinobu had been quiet as they walked back to the waiting car together from the hangar. Later in the car, he had confessed in a rare burst of emotion, "I feel like a part of my life just ended. I wonder if ending a chapter of your existence always feels this empty?"

Darkflight hadn't answered because he knew Shinobu hadn't expected an answer. He knew though, if the boy had asked he would have responded, yes, it does. His own chapter had ended when Wing became Heero Yuy. He'd never quite said goodbye to Wing, but that wouldn't have served any purpose either. Sometimes when the newspapers or television mentioned Major Yuy doing this or that, he would get a strange feeling in his gut, but it would go away after a while and he would forget that it had been there.

That chapter of his life was over.

A week after Sally Po's attack on L1, he found himself standing in Yamazaki Kazuma's makeshift office at the edge of what had been the Breaks' war refugee camp, listening as the big man offered him some options. He had been surprised that the now de facto leader of the Breaks remembered him; Duo Maxwell and Helena Rosenbaum had been the big names of the day, and the two Japanese boys with them hadn't done anything much. At least, Darkflight hadn't thought so, but Yamazaki apparently did not. Or maybe he was trying to make peace with the ghost of the Shionji cartel.

He hadn't denied the fact that he was most likely one of the heirs of the cartel when Yamazaki had asked, though when the man had asked if he wanted DNA testing done, he had refused. "My life is my life," he told Yamazaki quietly. "Not any of the world's business, not any of the colony's, and most definitely none of yours."

Darkflight, Breaks assassin, had no place in this new society that was slowly emerging from the ruins of Po's rebellion, and he simply nodded when Yamazaki had told him as much, bluntly. Breaks denizens minced no words and Darkflight appreciated it. He had basically two choices, Yamazaki said: he could leave the colony and seek his fortune and life elsewhere, or he could help rebuild.

His old haunts had been decimated in the attack, and what was left of them was now swarming with L1 officials and clean-up crews. The slums which were left had been cleaned out finally by police, who were moving in swiftly and a bit gingerly, watching over their shoulders even though the cartels had fallen. The people he had known were either living in government housing, in homeless shelters, in the hospital, or were dead. He'd asked if he could walk the streets of his childhood home one last time, and Yamazaki had refused. "It's not that they're unsafe," he said, "though I know you'd have no problem with that. But the Breaks we both knew isn't there anymore. It's gone."

Darkflight had thought about what Heero Yuy was now doing, what Duo and Helena were doing in the new world before them, and something had whispered to him that that kind of work was something he could do too.

Yamazaki had done the paperwork for him, and Darkflight had begun the next chapter of his life as Matsuura Tatsuya. He had been about to choose Shinobu as his first name, but decided to leave that for the boy who had rightfully claimed it. Shinobu had laughed when he'd seen Darkflight's new colonial resident registration card, slapping him on the shoulder playfully and saying they were brothers now. He'd taken the teasing with a slight smile, knowing that Shinobu realized the significance of it.

"I thought you might have chosen Shionji," Shinobu told him later, "but then I thought about it and decided you didn't want people mobbing you on the street or planning to kill you for revenge."

"I wasn't ever a part of them," Darkflight said. "Blood ties or no blood ties. It wouldn't have been right, anyway."

He worked days with the construction crews and went to school at night, a new school set up by the L1 government for former Federation, OZ, and White Fang soldiers who had been eking out a painful existence in the year following the war as Breaks assassins. Shinobu had helped set that up. Shinobu had helped start the construction of several new orphanages, as well as delving into the bank account of what had formerly been his cartel and donating various large bundles of cash to charities and non-profit organizations. It was blood money, Shinobu said firmly, and he didn't want it.

Darkflight saw little of Yamazaki after he'd been given his new identity and firmly ensconced in one of the newer apartment complexes springing up around the center of L1, three clusters away from the former Breaks. He rarely saw Shinobu either. A week or so after the battle, he'd received a call asking him to go down to the docking bay to see Helena Rosenbaum off, on a flight back to Earth. Shinobu had been very quiet after she had left too, and Darkflight had let him think, seeing Atsuki's face in his mind as they rode back silently together and wondering what she would have said about this strange new world they were living in now. The next he heard, Seki Takeru had become the spokesman for various aid organizations all around the colony and a staple on the nightly news.

And even that was about to end.

He glanced at the clock, which read just a little past four, padded back into the living room and slipped into his shoes, grabbing a backpack hanging on the hook by the door, and stepping out into the stairwell.

The four-twenty train was just pulling into the station as Darkflight hurried down the stairs to the platform, and it was nearly empty. There were few people using the new train system still, for which the L1 government was now laying tracks through former Breaks territory. He had heard it was modeled after the much older L3 system, and Shinobu had been the spokesman for this too, urging citizens to support public transportation and reduce pollution, as his last act of public service for L1.

"I wonder if they'll miss me at all," Shinobu had confessed to him over the telephone a few weeks ago, a quick call to inform Darkflight he was moving. Darkflight's first thought was that Helena had decided the relationship would work after all and had sent for him, but Shinobu was quick to express it had been nothing like that.

"We write each other, but I'm not going to pursue anything with her if she's not willing to be more than friends. No, I'm moving to Japan."

Darkflight was silent for a moment, and then he said, "I can see you doing that."

"Good," said Shinobu, and the smile was in his voice as he hung up, telling Darkflight he'd be leaving in a month and hinting that it would very nice for a friend to come help him carry his bags to the spaceport.

The train was clean, sparkling with newness, and a little more than half-full. He noticed the furtive glances from the other passengers as he stepped aboard and found a seat between a middle-aged woman and an elderly man, slouched over his cane, asleep. There were few elderly colonial residents left after the attacks, and his eyes flicked over the man's form, crumpled like an old worn hat, before making its way around the train car. Curious glances looked away, and he found himself contemplating if it was because of his obviously mixed heritage, or if some of them had somehow recognized him.

A year ago, Darkflight wouldn't have wanted to be recognized. Survival depended on it, and the darkness was what he ate, slept, breathed. Now, it was almost impossible to escape the recognition, but he still didn't want it. He furtively rubbed at the scars on his wrist, staring out the window as the colony flashed by, wondering how almost three months after Sally Po's defeat, life could be so different and yet still the same.

_Things would be better with Wing around_, he thought, and then wondered if that was true, because it wasn't so much that Wing wasn't here as that Shinobu was leaving. Remembering how he'd hated the other Japanese boy when they'd first met on the Preventers base was like trying to remember a nightmare that had long faded. He'd needed Wing to survive, but Shinobu was someone who had gradually wormed his way inside the space Wing had created and fleshed that space out, stretched it and smoothed it down into a position that could be called friendship. It wasn't even that they saw each other often, because Darkflight saw Shinobu more on television than he did in person. But the friendship was there, as if it had always been there.

The train jolted at a rail exchange and the elderly man twitched briefly before going back to sleep. Darkflight got up from his seat, restless, and the conductor's cheerful voice came on over the intercom, like a ray of sunlight. "We've arrived at Akita Cluster Station. Please don't forget your belongings, and watch the gap. Thanks for riding the train."

Shinobu was waiting for him just outside the exit gates, baseball cap pulled low over his eyes and dressed in frayed pants and a baggy jacket that looked like it had seen five wars. "Nice disguise," Darkflight said.

"It works," the other boy returned, then smiled. "Thanks for coming."

"You didn't think I was going to let you leave by yourself, did you?" He rummaged through the backpack and pulled out a hastily wrapped package. "Here."

Shinobu's eyes widened and then narrowed, and Darkflight grunted. "Don't think I'm getting sappy on you."

The other boy laughed as he unwrapped the present and pulled out a brace of knives, balanced for throwing and very, very sharp. They were about a block away from the train station now, and the trickle of pedestrians flowing past them on the new concrete sidewalk paid them little attention. "Thank you," said Shinobu, "but I'm not sure weapons of this kind are allowed in the hands of uneducated teenage Japanese boys."

"Which you're not," Darkflight said. "Look, take them. I'm trying to get rid of some of my old junk." He didn't tell Shinobu that this particular brace of knives had been Wing's, that Darkflight had been torn about what to do with them. One didn't just mail off weapons through interstellar mail to an officer in the World Nation Preventers. Shinobu was the first name that had come into his head as he'd thought of others he knew who would appreciate something like this.

The former Seki heir was silent for a moment, and then he said, "Thank you." His expression was grave, and Darkflight was thrown back to the voice he'd heard on the television this morning.

"I saw you on the news today," he said.

They turned a corner and Darkflight recognized the upscale townhouse in which Shinobu had resided until now. There were boxes in front of the gates, the last of them being loaded into a small moving truck, and none of them were nearly large enough for furniture.

"It was a small convocation," Shinobu said, and Darkflight was confused for a moment before he realized that Shinobu was referring to the press conference. "There really wasn't much to say. I think the media's making a big deal out of nothing."

"Yamazaki keeps saying it's the media who started the war," Darkflight muttered. "Are you sure you really want to give it all up? You're not even taking your furniture, are you?"

"Antique furniture doesn't fit very well in a university dorm room," Shinobu grinned, then realized that Darkflight was being serious. "Honestly, I don't regret a thing. I think about what I've done for L1 and I think I should leave it at that. I don't want to be a politician or an entrepreneur my whole life. I look at what Helena's doing, what Duo's doing, and you know, I want something like that for myself. Even something like what you're doing."

Darkflight shook his head. "All the same-"

Shinobu touched him on the shoulder. "We should get going," he said. The black car was the same one that had taken them to the spaceport on two previous occasions, both to say goodbye, and as he slid into the leather backseat, Darkflight wondered if this would be the last time.

The ride to the terminal was short and silent. Shinobu stared out the window and Darkflight didn't disturb him, watching the traffic in the rearview mirror, the new shiny buildings of L1's downtown district, wondering if that was what the Breaks would look like in twenty years. He wondered if he would still be around to see it. Sometimes he would wake up in the morning and wonder who he was and how he had gotten here - wonder if he would ever get used to sleeping through an entire night without disturbance or walking down the street and wondering if he would survive another day.

Wing would understand, he thought again, rubbing one finger along the chrome plating of the car's side door as it pulled up to the terminal.

Shinobu only had two bags, one check-in, one carry-on. The attendant behind the counter was pleasant, friendly, and if she recognized either of them, she didn't show it. Darkflight had been holding the tickets as the other boy rummaged through his backpack for baggage tags, and glancing at it, he was surprised to see that the name on the receipt was not Seki Takeru.

Matsuura Shinobu was a real person now, and he supposed if that was so, then Matsuura Tatsuya could someday be a real person too.

"It's not really anything," Shinobu said as Darkflight handed the tickets back to him and silently pointed out the name. "Not a new beginning, not any of those things you might be thinking. I just feel more comfortable being Shinobu. I'm used to it. That other person, that other boy...I left him behind at that press conference this morning." He smiled, brown eyes lighting with a happiness Darkflight couldn't remember seeing before, at least not after Helena had gone back to Earth.

"You take care of yourself," Darkflight said, finding himself at a loss for words. "If you see Duo..." he trailed off.

Shinobu glanced at him and laughed. "I'll give him your regards. You should write to Heero," he said. "It would be a waste of a friendship if you didn't."

Darkflight raised a silent eyebrow, and Shinobu half-turned away. "Flight leaves in half an hour," he said at last. "I have to go."

"See you later," Darkflight said in reply, almost afraid of the answer he would receive.

But Shinobu flashed him another easy smile, with the same light in his eyes. "See you later," he said, and vanished through the security gates.

To his surprise, the fancy black car was waiting for him outside the terminal, and he told the driver to take him to the train station. As they pulled away from the curb, he could feel a tremor, as if the ground were shaking, the vibrations of a spacecraft taking off.

_You should write to Heero. It would be a waste of friendship if you didn't._

Perhaps he would and perhaps he wouldn't, Darkflight thought, but as Shinobu's car sped through the evening L1 traffic and the train station came into sight, he decided that he would take a detour on the train. Maybe he'd go into town and take a walk along the river, or get takeout for dinner, or pay 500 yen for the elevator up to the observation platform on the new television tower. He could watch the shuttles take off from the spaceport there, bound for that bright star in the sky called the Earth.

* * *

**Scene IX: This Night, Two Years Later**

_"We hum the same old lines to a different crowd  
And everybody wants to cheer it.  
We run on endless time to reach a higher cloud  
But we never ever seem to get near it.  
We sing the same old song..."  
-- The Who, New Song_

Christmas Eve on the Catalonia estate wasn't the most enjoyable thing she knew, but it was _hers_ now. In the past, her mother had reigned over the event, a queen basking in the affection of her loyal court, but now Emily was not welcomed to these hallowed halls. Dorothy had made it clear that she had more than repaid her mother for giving birth to her.

It had been invigorating, really, telling her mother _exactly_ what she thought of her. Someday, perhaps, they could reconcile, but Dorothy didn't believe it was possible anytime soon. Her mother was still shallow, with simple, grasping desires that gave little thought to the rest of the world. Dorothy could finally admit to herself that her mother was a petty, wicked person she shouldn't waste her time on.

She could smell the heady scent of the balsam trees that stood scattered in haphazard precision through the ballroom. Long strands of garland draped the room like fallen dancers, graceful and somehow melancholy. It was beautiful, but she felt the strain. As the hired quintet slid into another traditional holiday carol, the babble of talk rose, then fell, then rose again over the music. The musicians were quite talented, but the festive crowd wasn't in the mood for the quiet contemplation of the joy of the season. They wanted to see and be seen, and continue the complex politics they lived for.

All in all, it seemed to be a successful party. She could even catch tomorrow's scandal out of the corner of her eye, as Lady Lyra draped herself over a man who was twenty-years younger, ignoring the fact both were very married to other people. Her husband looked strained around the eyes, turning his head away from the display as he chatted up the pretty daughter of an Arabian prince.

For Dorothy, it was extremely unsatisfying. She saw the ebb and flow of power swirl around her, but felt oddly distant. These people, these posers, were nothing in the scheme of things. A part of her wanted, just once, to tell them exactly what she thought of them, but her temper remained steady and she smiled, pretending to be one of their own.

A man was coming towards her, a rather ambitious fop who had his sights set on marrying well. He reminded her all too much of her mother, and she quickly averted her eyes, looking for an escape - and sighting one. Sylvia Noventa was thankfully alone, and Dorothy set off immediately to her side.

The girl looked like a Christmas spirit, wearing a deep green gown which nipped her waist smartly, with a poinsettia in her pale blond hair. The A-line swirled around her toes teasingly, and Dorothy was struck by how pretty her petite cousin was. Dorothy had to suppress a twinge of feminine jealousy as she offered Sylvia a welcoming smile. "Happy Christmas, Sylvia," she said, stepping forward to give a socially polite kiss on the cheek. "Are you having a good time?"

"Happy Christmas to you, too." Sylvia surprised her by reaching out and offering her a hug in response. Her arms were surprisingly strong, and they clung to each other for a second longer than was necessary before stepping back. Her cheeks dimpled pleasantly as she winked. "You looked like you needed that," she said simply.

"Probably," Dorothy agreed, laughing as she tossed a chunk of her long hair over her shoulder. She hadn't bothered to have it put up, and she was regretting it now. The body heat of so many revelers made the room a few degrees hotter than was comfortable. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"I'm having a grand time, Lady Dorothy," Sylvia said, topping her words with a cute little curtsy. "So far I've had three marriage propositions, one offer to talk over "drinks,'" she waved her pinkies to indicate quotation marks, "and even one offer to attend a 'special show.' I advise you have someone sterilize your sunroom before you use it again."

"And you didn't go?" Dorothy asked with mock horror. She knew these parties could get positively out of hand, so it wasn't a surprise what was going on in her house.

"I'm such a wallflower," Sylvia replied. She shook her head, the teasing fading from her face. "I sometimes wonder who they're trying to impress."

"They're like peacocks," Dorothy said. "Parading themselves around with their plumage in dull display." It was hard not to sound sour.

"Dorothy?" Sylvia said, the question in her voice soft and undemanding.

"Six months ago, we were fighting for the fate of humanity. When I see these people, I wonder if we won."

"Who is to say one person's life is more valuable than another's?" Sylvia asked philosophically. "They fulfill their purpose the same way you fulfill yours."

Dorothy grunted a bit. She didn't like the idea. She could have been one of these vapid, vacuous idiots if not for her grandfather's influence. "Maybe," she conceded grudgingly. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

Sylvia nodded in agreement, before threading her arm through Dorothy's familiarly. "How are things with your mother?"

"She's said she's never speaking to me again," Dorothy answered. "She's upset."

"You did throw her out of here," Sylvia pointed out.

"I didn't technically throw her out, dear cousin," she replied. Sylvia, at least, Dorothy was proud to call family. "I merely pointed out that I would be using this house as my base of operations, and her input was unwelcome."

"Semantics."

"That's our job." They strolled closer to the punch bowl, and Dorothy noticed Storm Vedichi, one of the younger Italian reps. He was casting shy looks at Sylvia. "You know, I think I see someone who could use a dance."

Sylvia's eyes widened, but before she could even open her mouth, Dorothy was beckoning Vedichi over with one commanding finger. "Sir, your next dance," she told him archly, propelling the two towards each other before spinning around and heading in the opposite direction

"Dorothy!" Sylvia called helplessly to her back, and she allowed himself a real, genuine smile for a brief moment. Relena and Catherine would have found it amusing, she knew. She wished they had been able to come, but Relena had politely declined, saying she wanted to spend time in Cinq, with her family. Dorothy would have paid to see Zechs and Relena's first Christmas together, but she had developed enough tact to keep her mouth shut. Instead, she merely wished Relena the best, and promised to see her at the New Year's Eve ball Relena was throwing. Catherine she hadn't been able to track down, but she knew even if the invitation had reached her, the other girl wouldn't be comfortable in these surroundings.

How much one day, one week of shared suffering changes people, she mused thoughtfully, watching Une dance with General Brown. The former Preventers commander's face was full of laughter, despite the few lines that were starting to form around her eyes. Handing the Preventers over to Zechs had done her a world of good.

Satisfied that all was going well, she slipped away from the crowds. She needed a little breather before she could go back to the stress of being on display. The group, despite the festivities, were a politically savvy bunch, and all knew to keep one eye on the hostess for their cues. She remembered the way Treize had moved among all those guests, at that Christmas party where he had taught her the games of war through chess. It had not been his party, but when she thought back, the only figure she could remember was him, with all the other guests melting into the background behind the force of his presence.

Her chess set was in the library, just as it had sat in her grandfather's library all those years ago. She suddenly felt the need to see it, to touch the marble pieces, to sense that Treize had been real.

The corridors were lit but empty, and the click of her high heels against the marble floor seemed tinny in her ears after the tumult of the crowd and the music. She began to push the library door open, then froze as a shadow moved for a moment against the frosted glass panes of the door, noticing the flicker of lights inside. She hesitated for a second, wondering if it was a pair of lovers slipped off to exchange a few clandestine kisses, or some kind of shady political meeting, but she could only hear one person's breathing.

It was like stepping back into the past, being a child again, confident and brash and innocent. She half-expected to see the mysterious cousin she had met here, all those years ago. Or maybe she would meet his ghost and challenge him to a game which would never end.

She missed him, she supposed.

She eased the door open wider, hoping to catch a glimpse of the intruder before they became aware of her presence., then froze as she caught sight of the man inside.

Dorothy barely recognized him. His uniform was crisp and his face had filled out from a better diet, but she knew who he was on seeing his sharp eyes which acknowledged and dismissed her as inconsequential at the same time. She hadn't expected to see him - hadn't even thought to wonder if he was still alive. He had been relegated to that small part of her mind where she had carefully locked all memories of A007.

"So, commander, are you enjoying my library?" she asked.

Evon Gustavson ran a hand over a binding, his touch lingering over the gold lettering. "You have a lot of rare books," he replied. "The collection of first edition Dickens is particular impressive."

She heard something disapproving in his tone. "But?" she prodded.

"They don't look like they're meant to be read," he said. "These books are something to be looked at, not used. It seems a pity."

"Can't we just enjoy them for what they are? Something beautiful, a form of artwork?"

"I'm too practical. Something must be used to have value - I never was very good at sitting in an art museum," he said. "I guess I just don't see art as beautiful - but books, now. I'm a bibliophile, always have been. During the war, the thing I missed most was being able to read. I only had two on me - The Bible and a copy of _Heaven's Passion_ by Rajiya Winner, one of the worst pieces of romantic fiction I've ever seen. I read it so many times the pages were about to fall apart."

"Dare I ask why you had a romance novel?"

"It was what my wife had been reading when they came for us. I got out - she didn't." He spoke softly. "The A007 rebellion started small, with people disappearing at night. I didn't take it seriously until they were on my doorstep. We ran, like cowards - but she was wounded. I couldn't find a doctor in time... and she died. She still had that book in her hand, so I kept it."

Offering condolences would have been trite, so Dorothy decided to change the topic. "I must confess I wasn't aware you were on planet," she said. "I didn't realize you would be attending." She planned on having several sharp words with her butler, who also served as her security advisor. All of the guests _should_ have been thoroughly vetted before gaining entrance to one of the most exclusive parties of the year.

"I'm actually a delegate for the Alpha Colony," he said.

"Alpha Colony?" She had always considered herself well-informed, but could make no recollection of having heard that term anywhere in the near past.

"You'd probably know it as A007," he said. "We're seeking official colony recognition from the World Nation, and observer status...providing we can find a sponsor." His hawk eyes regarded her with the clarity she remembered from the screen during all those mobile suit exercises. No matter how fuzzy the transmission, no matter how unclear the visual, Gustavson had always been in command.

She realized why he was there. "Oh? Are you asking for a favor?" she asked, arching an eyebrow sharply. She had hoped to avoid politics tonight, but they always seemed to draw her in. She would be lying if she said she resented it; it was what she lived for.

He arched an eyebrow in return. "Jumping to conclusions already, lady?

"I've long experience with the military higher-ups," she returned. "My grandfather, if you recall, was Duke Dermail. I'm acquainted with the custom of..._favors_."

Gustavson shook his head, almost in amusement. "No favors, Lady Dorothy. Just a request for you to do the right thing."

It was impossible not to chuckle. "The right thing? Sir, I am a politician," she replied with amusement. This was a game she could play.

"Are you?" his question was carefully neutral. "I seem to remember meeting a soldier."

"I'm a politician now," she answered, refusing to take the bait. "I will not give you my support without some time to think on it. There's no need to be rash."

"There's every need. Without help, the legislation to recognize Alpha Colony as an independent entity will stall in committee. You and I both know that," he said.

"It's the way things work, General," she said, folding her arms and giving him her patented stony stare. He simply stared back at her. A memory floated up: Gustavson, weary face grey and uniform wrinkled, tapping at a light map of A007's defensive structure, voice firm and commanding despite it all. "I'll tell you what everyone else will tell you. The war's over and the colonies are free. A007 is as free as any of you could ask for. You got what you fought for, and you should be content with that freedom. Isn't that right?"

"The idea of freedom is bullshit," he said coarsely. "It sounds very pretty, but in the end, we are all constrained by society. We all follow rules, whether it's what side of the road to drive on or not killing the annoying clerk in a grocery store who insists the coupon expired yesterday. There are certain things we just don't do because we're bound by a common set of right and wrong."

"You sound like an anarchist," she said.

"Do I? I'm not. I happen to like a nice, organized society. It's why I'm military, but as long as I serve, I give up my freedom so that other people have a chance to make their own choices. You were once military too."

"Not of my own volition," Dorothy shot back, beginning to feel the heat of a good debate settle into her bones.

"Long enough to have learned that the code of duty and honor we uphold is something worth fighting for," Gustavson returned. "I can't believe that the lady soldier who fought so bravely with me side by side on A007 would believe in anything less."

"You sound like Etille," she muttered, and heard him laugh.

"Dermand Etille is one of the people I respect most in this world. I think I would be remiss if I didn't mention that he was one of the people whose influence allowed us entry into the World Nation's agenda. Without him, we would still be A007, a dying colony in the middle of nowhere."

She saw in a flash what Etille had also done. "I don't suppose he let drop my whereabouts in the process, did he?" she said dryly, trying not to sound disgruntled and failing miserably. Gustavson laughed again, and she said before he could answer, "I suppose I owe him that much, at least. He was..." she paused, searching for the word. "An inspiration, I suppose I'd say."

"He was always that," Gustavson agreed, passing his fingers over the spines of the books, and she saw what he was asking for was not a favor, but a pledge. The word of a soldier to a soldier, because no matter what happened, he still saw her as such. In that light, it was not such a hard thing to give. It was the fulfillment of a contract she had voided when Noin had died and she had gone back to Earth because she could not bear to face her own failure.

"I don't promise anything," she told him before she could have second thoughts, "but when I next go to the World Nation, I will see what I can do. Not-" she held up a hand as he started to speak, "-for your own ambition, or for mine. I don't doubt it will be an unpopular move. But from a soldier who was at A007 to her former comrade-in-arms, the payment of a debt."

"Thank you," he said gravely, making her a little bow, and she started despite herself, surprised at the chivalry of the gesture, before recovering to curtsey in return, noticing he was still smiling. "It's funny to think that two years ago, you were trying to blow up the world," he said.

"I most certainly was not," she replied. "I happen to like the world very much in one piece, thank you."

"Then what was the White Fang thing about?"

"It was about something I didn't understand," she confessed.

"Do you, now?"

"I doubt I ever will. We're all granted minute parts of the picture of war, and we might gain a better comprehension of what we're doing with a little help. True understanding, though, is an elusive wish. Peace-" she stopped, glancing at him sharply to see if he would judge her, but the look in his eyes was neutral, pensive. "Peacecraft understood that more than anyone. I'd say that out of all of us, he's the closest now to what White Fang was searching for. I don't even know though, that I can say for certain he's found it yet."

"So why bother searching?" he asked.

Dorothy looked at him, and the ghost of A007 passed over his face again in her memory before she shook her head. That was the past, and behind them now. There was only him, and her, and her grandfather's old books in this library, and the old chess set, where Treize had first taught her about sacrifice. War perhaps was endless, but humankind always managed to exceed its expectations, reaching out for the fleeting ideal known as peace. There was hope being born every day, all through the galaxy, and carried in the hearts of the people.

"Commander, do you happen to play chess?"


	49. Eternity and Infinity In These Hands 3

_Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2002 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting._

**SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING**

**SAINAN NO KEKKA  
ACT XIII, PART III**

** I feel your love reflection  
Mitsumekaesu hitomi ni  
Egaite haruka na Neverending Story  
** ** I feel your love reflection  
In your eyes as they gaze into mine  
Writing a distant, neverending story  
**

**--Gundam Wing, _White Reflection_  
Endless Waltz**

**Scene X: A Scene at Sunset**

_"And then you bring me home  
Afraid to find out that you're alone."  
-- Something Corporate, Konstantine_

Sometimes, Heero would be sitting at his new, solid wood desk in the new, white-walled office that still smelled like fresh paint, the radio pinging softly, the sun just beginning its downward slope on the horizon, and he would think of Doctor J.

He couldn't say where the thoughts came from. It wasn't that he missed the old man, the mad scientist who had sent a human killing machine into the world to further goals in which the colonies hadn't believed. It wasn't that he yearned to be back in the Breaks. Even if he had wanted to go back, the Breaks no longer existed. Heero preferred to think that the man who stared back at him in the mirror each morning was not only taller, older, shoulders broader and messy hair cut shorter, but also no longer a weary shadow of the L1 orphan child.

"You've been eating better, haven't you?" Relena had said when she had seen him last, two weeks ago passing through Geneva on a routine diplomatic something-or-other. She always told him when she was coming, and they always met for lunch or dinner or coffee. She didn't force him and he didn't feel forced. It was just something natural, an extension of himself, as if every time he saw her, something inside him was renewed.

He supposed he had been eating better lately. Post-war Geneva wasn't the frantic base of Une's days, and definitely not of the Federation's. The headquarters had, over the past half year, morphed into something that Zechs Merquise called "quietly efficient" on the days when he was in a good mood, and "political shithole" when he wasn't in such a good mood. Whatever the moniker, Preventers Headquarters had been pared down. The troops that remained were not combat troops, but commanders, staff personnel, specialists. The warfighting mission had been taken elsewhere, wisely delegated to bases as far as possible just in case the World Nation decided to rescind the mobile suit policy that they had been persuaded to write in the aftermath of Sally's rebellion.

Heero Yuy, Major, Preventers Special Operations Forces, was not a war hero. Zechs had offered him the position of commander of Special Forces Command two days after the change of command, and Heero had told him he was not surprised. "I didn't think you would be," Zechs said, the general's stars on his shoulders looking a little odd against the slightly shaggy white-blond hair. He was used to seeing Zechs in the OZ uniform, no matter how hard he tried otherwise. "But I had to ask."

Heero had almost smiled. "There are plenty of other people eligible for the job," he said. "You don't have to pick me."

Zechs had been quiet for a long while, and Heero had let him think, though he had the suspicion the Epyon pilot wasn't thinking at all. Then Zechs said, "I'm not giving this to you because you're a hero or anything, you know."

"I'm glad to hear it," Heero said. "Everyone else but you seems to think I am, unfortunately."

The corner of Zechs' mouth quirked upward. "Everyone else is not someone who faced you in single combat over the fate of a planet, either."

"Touché," he acknowledged. Then, "So now what?"

"As long as you're willing to stay," Zechs said, "I'll have you."

He looked closely into those blue eyes, hard now with the resolve of a seasoned veteran and a man at peace, and saw the honesty there. He had never imagined he would have called Zechs Merquise honest, but it was a new world. "Thank you, sir," Heero said. "I will stay as long as you need me."

He only permitted himself to think about Doctor J when his work was done and he could pretend to relax at the end of a long day. His own office sported floor-to-ceiling windows which reminded him of how Une's office used to look. Zechs had since removed the large windows and replaced them with smaller ones, saying that they made him feel like he was being spied on. Heero didn't mind the big windows. It was nice to see the sky, and sometimes in the evening, he could catch a glimpse of the sunlight reflecting off something that might or might not be a colony.

It was curious that he could not quite remember the doctor. Not his looks, because those were unmistakable. But little things, like his voice, or the curious movements of his head, like a bird, when he would speak. The small things that made the man, Heero had forgotten over time.

There had been times when he would suddenly have the desire to simply walk out the door, buy the cheapest ticket to L1, and take the next shuttle out to the colony. Sometimes late at night, he would sit up bolt upright in bed, breathing hard and sweating in the small, dim bedroom as if from a nightmare, though he could not remember what he had dreamed, only knowing desperately he had to go back. He'd never told Zechs, nor even Relena. It wasn't something that either of them could understand. Duo perhaps would, but Duo was far away in Africa now, content with his new job, and Heero had never been quite comfortable enough with the thought to express it over the short conversations he had with Duo over the defense service network.

It had been about three months after Sally when Heero had received an envelope in the mail, which was an odd occurrence in this era of email and instant communication. He'd taken it home, thinking it strange that there was no return address, and very slowly and carefully torn the envelope open.

The moment he saw the crooked, spidery kana, written almost in a child's hand, he knew who the letter was from.

Darkflight had been brief and to the point. He was well settled, he wrote, and was attending school at night while working days in the construction yards to rebuild the colony. He was getting used to life "on the outside," as he put it, and the sarcastic edge there was just how Heero remembered him. The tone of the letter, on the whole, was very peculiar. Heero read it twice through, but it wasn't until he was preparing for bed, in the middle of brushing his teeth, that it hit him.

For the first time he could remember, Darkflight sounded content.

He finished brushing his teeth with a slight frown, flopping down on the narrow bed and staring up at the dimly lighted ceiling. Darkflight had been an enigma when they had been in the Breaks together, and maybe it was just that he hadn't known the other boy as well as he thought. But he did not recognize this Darkflight, the boy whose words in the letter had sounded hopeful, almost happy. There had been no happiness in the Breaks.

The last thing that crossed his mind as he fell asleep was a familiar face, the click of an electronic eye, voice surprisingly soft as the white-haired form stooped against a backdrop of ruined church steps.

_I'm pleased to meet you, Zero. My name is Doctor J._

The next few weeks went by in a blur, with the base preparing for another influx of dignitaries for the World Nation's World Economic and Agricultural Summit, about which Zechs had been complaining privately for weeks in advance, even though Heero could tell the complaining was more routine than anything. "Every time I see your brother," he told Relena when she called to tell him she would be attending the conference, "he seems to me more and more like a commander."

"That would be a good thing, I suppose?" she said, tilting her head at him over the screen, the gesture so lifelike that he had to stop himself from reaching out a hand to touch her.

"I never thought I would respect Zechs Merquise as a leader, much less as a man," he said. "But he has become both."

"Une made a good choice," she said, and her dimpled smile made him almost smile involuntarily in return. "I know you have also."

That night after work, he left his car on the base and went on foot through the back gate. No one stopped him, and the guard on duty didn't even turn his head as Heero slipped by. He thought back to how this part of the base had looked after the attacks a few months ago, a few months that seemed almost years now. The gates had been rebuilt, an imposing structure of metal and white stone that seemed almost as historic as the old city around it, and the desperate look he remembered in the soldiers' eyes had been replaced also by something that was not pride but not nonchalance.

Treize was right, he thought, slipping his hands into his pockets and trotting steadily down the wide sidewalk through the rays of the setting sun, feeling the rush of wind at his back as cars passed him on the wide boulevard. Geneva was moving, changing around him, one of the great cities of the world now, and he would be left behind someday, as a relic of a great era that had passed.

There was a park ahead, through a tangle of old trees and wide grassy spaces, and he entered it. There were usually children playing here after school, accompanied by harried mothers or nannies or grandparents, but it was empty now, the swings still and the jungle gyms silent. Shadows stretched long over the cobblestone paths and Heero stopped halfway between the playground and the entry gate, closing his eyes and letting the wind wash over his face, and thought of Darkflight, of Doctor J, of the Breaks which no longer existed.

"Asleep on your feet?"

If he had been less of a trained killer, he would have jumped, but Heero simply opened his eyes to look into blue ones that were somehow less hard than they used to be, and said, "Good evening, sir."

"Zechs is fine," the Preventers commander-in-chief said, smiling. "We're off duty, you know."

Heero gave him a look. "Are we ever off duty?"

Zechs raised one eyebrow at him. "I came here today to relax before one of those horrid official dinners tonight. I don't need you of all people spouting rhetoric at me. I get plenty of it from the World Nation already."

"I see," Heero said, suppressing the urge to smile, and instead looked up at the canopy of tree branches, red and orange and black in the dying sunlight. "I apologize."

"Not necessary," Zechs returned easily. "Did you talk to Relena?"

"She's coming in tomorrow. Though you probably already know that."

"I didn't, actually," Zechs said. "She wasn't sure if she would be able to make it. There's several summits going on in Cinq at the same time about economic issues, or something of the sort. I try not to get too involved in her business. It all makes me confused. I'm a military man, not a politician."

"I think you do very well at the politics," Heero told him, looking fixedly up at the trees. "It runs in your family."

Zechs was silent, though he could feel the other man's sharp eyes on him, and then he finally said, "What's bothering you, Heero?"

Nothing, he wanted to say, or none of your business. That was what the old Heero would have said, the Heero before the war, before both wars, before Wufei and Darkflight and Atsuki and everyone who had saved him. "I wonder if L1 will be visible tonight," he said neutrally. "It has been hard to see it lately, and living downtown with all the lights doesn't help."

"I never pinpointed you for a stargazer," Zechs said, and Heero shook his head.

"I'm not. But Treize was, wasn't he?"

Zechs sucked in his breath softly, and Heero knew Zechs knew what he was thinking without the words being said. "Treize isn't coming back," Zechs said.

"We should have died," Heero told him. "We should have, but we didn't. I think somehow Treize knew that we wouldn't. I think that somehow, Treize wanted us to live."

"We did die," Zechs began, and Heero shook his head.

"Not like that. I remember coming out of space, into the atmosphere, seeing the Libra burning...and at that moment, all I could think about was surviving. All those years of training, all of Doctor J's philosophies drummed into me, and when it came down to the final seconds, living was the only thing on my mind." He shot Zechs a bemused look, and found that the blue eyes were kind. "It's funny. I hit that self-destruct button once, and Trowa saved me. That was the first time I realized that I wasn't alone in this world."

The wind swayed in the trees and a truck roared by on the road outside, and he thought about flowers in the snow, a little girl and her puppy. The images were faint in his mind now.

"What's on your mind, Heero?" Zechs said, and Heero answered, "I got a letter from Darkflight yesterday."

"Ah."

"He's happy. I wouldn't have expected otherwise. He's back where he belongs, after all. The Breaks are gone, but he's part of that rebuilding process, and he's content doing it. He's going to school. Got an apartment out in the city. Watching L1 get back on its feet."

"I detect a trace of 'why not me?' in your voice," Zechs said. "You're not thinking about quitting your day job, are you?"

"It was just strange reading that letter and realizing that he's moved on without me," Heero said quietly. "I used to be there, where he is now."

"And in a year or two or three," Zechs said, "you'll have moved on again, and he will be where you are now. That's how things are."

"What if I don't want them to be that way?" Heero returned, aware he was running the risk of sounding childish, but the back of his mind told him that it was better now than later, because neither he nor Zechs had ever been children.

But Zechs simply smiled, though there was something hard, like resolve, around his eyes where there hadn't been a moment before. "I hired you because I knew you were the man for the job," he said. "I don't want to have a reason to doubt my decision."

"There's no reason to doubt me, sir," Heero said softly. Zechs looked like he was about to say something at the honorific, then shook his head as if it didn't matter. "If there's one thing Doctor J taught me, it's to finish what I started."

"And when you've finished it?"

Heero stared for a long time at the sun through the trees. When he turned back, the image of Zechs was blurred, obscured by a fiery shadow. "I don't know," he said. "I've been wondering that too."

Zechs did not speak again, just gave him a glance that said, _I'll see you back at the job when you're ready._ They stared at each other for a moment, then the elder Peacecraft turned and moved away through the copse of trees on long legs, strides purposeful and resolute. The red afterglow was still there, and Heero blinked, trying to clear it away. The trees were all on fire, it seemed, on fire like that collapsed building that held the little girl and her puppy, the fires that had been burning all around him as Atsuki had died.

He did not feel sad as he made his own way out from the park's hedge-fence and shoved his hands in his pockets to meander down the wide path between grand old Victorian-era estates, thick stone walls towering above him. He had tried writing back to Darkflight, and had found that the words would not come. It was the same in the past few months as he had tried writing to Quatre, trying to quiet the last remaining twinge of guilt that plagued him every time he saw the blonde's face on television for some conference or other. There was nothing that could be said that did not remind too painfully of the past. For Quatre, _I loved your sister_ was almost grovelingly pathetic, and for Darkflight, _I wish I could see you_ was a part of an emotion he wasn't sure he could feel.

He became conscious of the flow of traffic around him, commuters returning home from work, the twinkling of street lamps and stoplights, the steady red of the crosswalk signal ahead of him, and his feet stopped. Cars rushed past, and he breathed in the fumes deeply. Gasoline had never been a familiar smell to him; in the Breaks, there were few cars, and the smell of jet fuel and the scent of the innards of his own Gundam's oil had been completely different. Breathe in, breathe out, he thought, and as the crosswalk light turned green, Heero trotted across the white striped pavement, feet carrying him forward without conscious effort. He was not far from the base, and if just kept walking he would eventually get to where he wanted to go.

The path took him in a wide circle, and far too soon he spotted the entrance gates to the Preventers Headquarters, the wide white drive that still looked painfully new in this old city. He turned toward it, then stopped. It's not time yet, something told him, and instead, he turned the other way, jogging across the four-lane road with its blinking signal, and picked up his pace where the road began to slant upwards. He was glad he had worn his running shoes.

The wind whistled past his ears and the hill leveled out, began a steady downward slope punctuated only by fluorescent street lights at regular intervals. The flow of cars and headlights thinned, and as he watched, the sun slipped behind the horizon and the thin white light of the moon glimmered hazily through the clouds. It was his heartbeat, and the pounding of his shoes against the concrete walk, and the air he breathed, in, out.

The road curved to the right and he followed it, legs pumping faster now, flying between the white guardrails as if running for his life, like he had during the war so many times. Doctor J had taught him that too. And now the war was over and he was still running, still felt sometimes he would never be able to stop running. He could hardly see the streetlights now, breath coming in short gasps from a tortured ribcage, knowing that he needed to stop but could not, until his foot caught on a stone and he stumbled forward, falling to his knees.

There was only a little blood, he noticed distractedly, pushing himself to his feet and seeing spots in his vision where the red sun had been. Only a scrape to the knee. He could keep on running, and his brain nodded agreement to that suggestion. He took one step forward uncertainly, clenching his hands as if that could rub away the sweat and dirt that stuck to the palms, and then stopped.

To the left, almost too far to see out of the corner of his peripheral vision, there was a church.

Once upon a time, he would have turned resolutely the other way, but now, there was just the faintest inkling of curiosity, the faintest touch of nostalgic memory, and Heero took a breath of cool night air, blew it out slowly, and went up the driveway.

It was a small chapel, floors lovingly swept and pews glossy with the look of dedicated maintenance. Heero lingered at the doorway for a moment, trying to sort out the feeling of familiarity that struck him as he entered, but could not place it. Instead, he made his slow way down the center aisle, eyes fixed on the crucifix mounted between the simple stained glass windows at the front of the chapel. He paused as he came to the front, closing his eyes for a moment, wondering what Duo would do. Duo had grown up in a church, would have known the right things to say. But he, Heero Yuy, a child of the godless Breaks, had been just another orphan, would have died just another orphan, if not for Doctor J.

_Are you God?_

The words came unbidden to mind, and Heero frowned, wondering if it was a memory or just a fragment of something he had heard once, spoken by someone he knew in the near past.

_No. I'm just a messenger._

One hand crept to the collar of his shirt, soaked with sweat now. The slim chain that had once held his knife in its leather case was still there, albeit slippery with the same sweat. He had worn it around his neck for a few days after Duo had given it back to him before he could acknowledge to himself that it felt strange, like it no longer belonged. The day after that, he'd taken it over to the bank and told them to lock it up in one of their storage boxes. "You know, like for jewelry," he said lamely, not quite sure of the correct term.

The man at the counter had looked at him uncertainly, then peered over his glasses with that look of recognition that Heero was quickly becoming used to. It was the scar, he knew, the thick, ugly thing across the bridge of his nose, up over his eye and disappearing into his hairline. He'd simply smiled and let the man gush on about the war and the Preventers, and about heroes, and finally ask for Heero's autograph. He'd given it unhesitatingly, then looked at his knife in the man's hands, and said, "You know what? Never mind. I'd like to keep that after all."

His fingers went to his scar now, and he could feel it as hard and ridged as ever. He imagined it black in the stained-glass moonlight, feeling the ghost of Atsuki's touch.

_Quatre_, he thought, _I loved your sister._

He drew the silver chain out from under his shirt, reaching behind him to unclasp the hook. It opened with a soft snick, and he watched the silver puddle in his hand, melting in the white light under the crucifix. The knife he had continued to wear, though it felt odd, like a part of him that had been detached but he could not yet leave behind. He'd thought of several places he could have put it for safekeeping, but as with the bank, at the last minute he had decided not to. It lay there so innocently in his palm, and he thought of the scar across his face, the mark Zechs Merquise had given him to set him free.

Perhaps the two of them were bound together after all.

All he could remember afterwards about that moment were two things. First, that as he tipped his hand to let the knife and the chain fall to the floor in front of the altar on the steps, there seemed to be a flash of light at the edges of his vision, like the afterimage of an explosion. Not like when the Libra exploded, or when L1 had been hit by Sally's missiles, but something whiter, more pure. And then secondly, as the weapon hit the floor with a clatter, the rest of the thought that might have been a memory surfaced - the image of a long-haired man with his mechanical eye, raspy voice against strangely gentle grip, saying, _I'm pleased to meet you, Zero. My name is Doctor J._

He felt suddenly refreshed as he left the church and stood there on the steps. A lone car passed by, skidding slightly on the rough surface of the road, and even as Heero turned his feet towards the Preventers Headquarters and home, it began to rain.

Relena would be coming into Geneva tomorrow, and they would be going out to dinner, perhaps with Zechs, maybe without him if her brother was busy. He knew he could ask her what she thought of getting rid of the scar, but he didn't think he'd be surprised if she told him to keep it. It was, after all, part of him now. Instead, maybe he would ask her if she wanted to take a trip with him. Just the two of them, off this blue planet and to the colony to which his heart still belonged.

* * *

**Scene XI: Inheritance of the Next Generation**

_"It's what you do and not what you say  
If you're not part of the future then get out of the way."  
-- John Mellancamp, Peaceful World_

On the good days, he would awake to an elbow in the stomach as Hilde tossed, restless from her dreams. He'd rub her back, soothing her until she fell deeper into her sleep. Then he would stare at the ceiling, wondering how he'd been so lucky to survive this long.

The bad days had him awakening to his nightmares, a scream caught in his throat. He'd been too long on the streets to actually make noise while sleeping, but he could still feel panic and terror ripping through him. It always took a moment to orient himself, and somehow Hilde managed to wake up each time, and she ended up being the one to rub his shoulders to quiet his inner demons.

He was haunted by war, and the "what-ifs." What if he'd let Ilene kill him; what if Hilde hadn't proven stronger than Epyon; what if Sally had won. These thoughts became a familiar refrain in his head, a litany of "almosts" and "too damn closes." It was useless to dwell on recriminations, but that didn't stop him. It was human nature to second-guess.

Hilde had her own nightmares as well, but she didn't experience them while asleep. He would find her occasionally staring off into space, frozen as she lost herself in her memories. All he could do was wrap himself around her, offering a reassuring hug and kiss and just hold her. Her demons were her own, but at least she could know he loved her.

The nights were bad sometimes, but he found his days unexpectedly pleasant. He liked teaching, he discovered, although he wasn't a natural. He learned things intuitively, and it was difficult for him to break them down so others could understand. It was worth it, he knew, because he could see the future taking shape in front of him. Noin Academy was doing well, and he was a part of that.

He had no degree, since all his learning had come through the school of life. He'd received an honorary diploma from Yuy University on L1, and that seemed to be good enough for most people - at least no one was questioning his credentials.

People treated him differently than he was used to, a cautious wariness and respect they would have offered a mysterious package, left unattended on the bus. He often caught people staring at him, but few bothered to approach. He didn't like the isolation, since he was a naturally extroverted personality, but he understood the reasoning for it. He had been one of those pivotal individuals in the war, and many weren't sure how to handle him - did he deserve respect? Hatred? Until people reconciled their ambivalent feelings about the Gundam pilots, he would be marked as a pariah.

He accepted that, and worked to move on. For once, he was creating, instead of destroying. It was even more challenging than being a pilot, because it took patience and a sense of humor. He wasn't used to being an authority figure, but he learned quickly to establish the boundaries, or else the students would walk all over him.

Had it been any other kind of school, students would have rebelled at the strictness, but Noin Academy was only for the best. The school was a strange mix of would-be soldiers and students interested in diplomatic work. The course load was rigorous, weeding the students out mercilessly after the first two weeks. Some went home, admitting that they couldn't cut it. Others were kicked out for violations of the code; the expectations were high for students, and there was little mercy for truants. There were a few who managed to coast through the academy, but those were rare. He found he liked the ones who struggled best. They tended to have a sincerity about them he admired.

There were still problems, but he found he was able to cope by either asking for advice - an action which made him annoyed and uncomfortable, since he had to admit his weaknesses - or just winging it, his preferred mode of operation.

He wasn't the most popular professor, despite his good humor, since he'd flunked out more students than any two other faculty members combined. His standards were high, since he figured that _he_, an undereducated street rat from L2, had mastered piloting a Gundam, the least these scions of privilege could do was keep up. That he was compressing what would have amounted to two years of engineering courses into a semester never occurred to him. He considered it basic knowledge for what he'd _really_ be teaching come next year. Maybe what he taught would save the lives of someone, way down the road, and that could be his penance.

It was even stranger when he considered that he was planning to remain for the next year. Duo had never been much on long-term planning, but this place felt right to him. He could see himself here in a decade, teaching students what they needed to know even as he worked on his own projects in his spare time. Une had arranged for him to have a large lab - really more of a garage - where he would spend hours using what he'd learned during the wars and on his own to cobble together "gadgets." He'd always been the best when it came to improvising, his natural understanding of technology aiding him well.

So far the pride of his workshop was a filter which managed to add another 20 percent to the gas efficiency of automobiles. He was working on a version that would aid with large, commercial vehicles, but so far his prototypes weren't worth talking about. The patents would belong to him, though the school would get the first rights when it came to development. It was a fair deal, because when he tried to calculate the potential earnings off his Duomax (as Hilde had playfully named it), the number of zeros had caused his mind to boggle.

He never thought his knack with tinkering might translate to actual cash. He occasionally would freeze as it came crashing down that he was the one most like the scientists who had created the Gundams. G would have had laughing fits, before smacking the back of his head and reminding him not to get uppity. _You still have a long way to go, boy,_ the old man would have said with a wheezing laugh.

He tried not to dwell on it too much. The scientists were dead, and he was alive. Looking back brought nothing but despair. Instead, he would live for those who couldn't. Only at night, in those damnable dreams, would he allow those ghosts to take hold.

It was just pushing six that evening when he entered their living quarters. The teachers were housed on the campus grounds, and though Hilde wasn't a part of the staff, she remained with him. She was currently working with a variety of former sweepers to establish better trading routes to Earth. He found her work dull and tedious, but she was enjoying it. It was challenging and precise, calling for someone who was a natural diplomat. She was creating jobs, which might have been more important in the long run than anything else. People who had good salaries weren't as likely to become dissatisfied.

"Hey, Hil?" he called. "You around?"

There was a slight rustle from the bedroom, and she called back to him. "Just a second, I'm getting something you shoved under the bed," she yelled, her voice slightly muffled.

Knowing better than to enter while she had her back vulnerable, he settled onto their couch. It was second hand, rescued from some acquaintance of Relena's, and made of good material. The slight wear had been cunningly disguised with a cover pattern in cheerful red and oranges. Their entire living room looked like fire, yellows and oranges blending with deeper reds in the carpet. He thought it was tacky, but Hilde had shown him a cutting-edge interior design magazine that the style had been drawn from.

It was closer to five minutes before she finally appeared, sitting down next to him with a rather graceless plop. She had a bit of dirt on her cheek, but her smile was brilliant as she stretched her body slowly. There was something about the tilt in her head.

"So what were you after?" he asked.

"Remember that black silk shirt I was wearing last week?" she asked.

"Of course," he said. The silk had slid over her body in the most interesting ways, and felt cool and slippery under his fingers. "If it was under the bed, I'm sure it's a bit dusty."

"Found it at the bottom of the hamper," she said. "Sending it out for dry-cleaning tomorrow, since I want to have it back in time to wear to the New Year's party Relena is having."

Duo pulled a face. Despite the changes the world had gone through, it wasn't an event he was looking forward to. He still felt awkward around Trowa sometimes, and doubted that he would ever be completely comfortable with his friend again. He could forgive, but it was hard to forget.

"Don't be like that," Hilde said, swatting him playfully. "I know Heero and Trowa will be there, so you'll have someone to talk to."

"Well, there's that," he said, not wanting to push it. There were still ten days before New Year's, and he could take that time to think of a graceful way to back out, if he decided it was completely untenable. He didn't think he would ? he knew better than to run from his problems.

She rested a hand on his knee. "It'll be fine," she assured him. "Something to look forward to."

"Sure. Just like Santa," he said. The Christmas decorations around the school had been annoying him. He'd never celebrated the holiday before, except for once with his family at Maxwell Church, and found the overly festive atmosphere irritating.

"Did you give it any thought?" she asked.

"What?" Sometimes he could never follow her thoughts.

"What we are doing for the holidays? We can get a tree and put it up, maybe go to church if you want. Or I'm sure we could go to Relena's early and spend Christmas with her. If not, there's some Eve War remembrance ceremonies, if you'd rather go to one of them." She spoke quickly, laying out the options neatly.

He noticed that the only thing she hadn't offered was to do nothing. That would have been his first choice, and she had politely nixed that possibility. Duo knew he could make it an issue, but that would be unfair to her. She was nominally Christian, and deserved the chance to celebrate the season.

Suddenly an idea struck him, and he had to force himself not to spring to his feet to implement it. Taking a deep breath, he shut his eyes as a wave of unexpected longing swept him. "Can you take until New Year's off?" he asked. "My last class session is tomorrow, so I'll be free. Up for a little trip?"

"You expect me to take the holiday week off with one day's notice?" she asked incredulously.

"Um, why not?" he said, knowing that he was pushing it.

She gave him a blank stare before shaking her head and laughing. "Sure. Why not," she echoed. "So where are we going? Somewhere warm?"

"Not exactly. I think it's about time we went back to L2 for a visit," he said, giving her a cocky grin he didn't feel. "I want to go home," he added softly.

The air on L2 was cleaner than he remembered. It still had that acrid taste that tickled the back of his throat, but the born colonial he was recognized that it wasn't as heavy with waste gases. He'd wager they'd replaced the oxy processors. It would take years before the whole air system would be up to standards, but it was well on the way.

Howard had given them his guest room. The man hadn't changed at all, although the shirt was even brighter than the ones Duo remembered from the war.

"You're always welcome," Howard said after giving them both a backbreaking embrace. "It's good you're back."

Hilde had wanted to look around her old business. The new owner, a former White Fang soldier, had been pleased to show them both around the operation. Business was good, the woman said. There were plenty of building projects being undertaken on all the colonies, especially L1. The market for metal was excellent, and she'd been forced to hire eight new employees to keep up with the work.

Duo listened with half an ear as Hilde talked shop with the woman, discussing trade routes. When he was convinced she was thoroughly distracted, he pressed a kiss against her cheek, murmuring that he needed to go do something. She merely waved a hand at him, indicating it was fine.

Getting to C-Side took him nearly two hours using the public transportation system. The train was more than fifty years old, but there were new seats. He claimed one early on, not wanting to stand for the duration of the ride. A couple of the people he assumed were regular commuters slanted him nasty looks, which he returned with a slightly challenging smile. _Just try it_.

No one made any protest.

The place was still dangerous, he knew as he stepped off the train. He could see the gang's colors, more freshly painted than any building, splashed over the streets. He felt the eyes on him, but he walked boldly, showing no fear. He saw eyes weigh him, gauging how much threat he carried, and all dismissed him as a possible target. They'd find someone weaker.

The bar he went to was the same as the one he and Hilde visited when they'd come to L2 to retrieve the Gundams. The clientele was just as rough as ever, but a few recognize him, and word was quickly passed to warn others who might try to get something out of the slender teenager. Duo earned suspicious, fearful glances, but none challenged him.

Instead, a stick-thin man whose skin was covered entirely in a series of complex, interlinked tattoos approached him. He held his hands out wide, showing he was carrying no weapons. "There's a lady waiting for you off the side, Maxwell," he said, signing with his hands that it was optional for the meeting to take place, no threat was intended.

Duo nodded. "Take me there," he ordered.

He wasn't surprised to see who it was as he opened the side door. Nuance stood with her back holding up the wall of the alley, grinning at him. Her hair was silver now, a boldly metallic color that age wouldn't account for, but other than that she seemed unchanged to his eyes.

"Heya, pretty boy," she said. "Need a ride?"

He didn't wonder how she'd known he was there. She had her own sources of information, and she'd already proven herself as an ally, if not a friend. "Sure, babe," he told her. "Going my way?"

"I'll go anyway you want," she replied, offering him a playful leer. "Just follow me."

She took him to the car he'd bought from her last time. He snorted as she gestured for him to climb into the passenger seat. "I'd rather drive," he told her.

"Sure you would, Maxwell, but you're not going to. My way or walk," she said.

It wasn't much of a choice, and he scowled as he pulled the old door open and slid grumpily in. "Do you even have a license?" he asked, knowing that most residents of C Side never bothered to take the official channel.

She cocked an eyebrow (which had been pierced by a safety pin) before taking the driver's seat. "The boy who flew a Gundam at fifteen wants to know if I have a license," she said, sotto voce before fluttering her eyelashes. "Really, cutie." She pulled a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses out and shoved them onto her face. "Where did you put it?" Nuance asked.

"What?" He couldn't follow her train of thought.

"Your Gundam," she said, speaking slowly like she would to a child. "It's not back at the church."

"Because people know now that was where I put it," he said in a slow, you-must-be-stupid tone of voice. "There's no point in hiding something where people expect it."

She rolled her eyes. "We knew it was here. How the hell do you think it didn't get scavenged before you picked it up? We look after our own, Maxwell."

He almost laughed. C Side was one of the roughest places in the colonies, full of murderers and worse. There truly must have been honor among thieves. "How are things?" he asked, changing the subject. There was no way he was going to even hint where he'd stashed Deathscythe this time. That was a secret he planned to take to the grave with him; he wouldn't even hint to Hilde its location.

"Both better and worse," Nuance replied. She dug into her pocket and pulled out a joint, shoving one of the roughly wrapped ends into her mouth. "Got a light?"

"Don't smoke," he replied, waving a hand.

She pulled a face before patting herself down to locate her matches, which she produced with a smirk. "Good boy. Hell of a lot cheaper way to live," Nuance said. She let go of the wheel as she struck the match, and Duo grabbed the steering wheel to make sure they remained on the road.

Nuance rolled her eyes. "You honestly think I'm going to crash?" she asked in disbelief.

"I don't trust anyone's driving but my own," he returned through gritted teeth. It was difficult, but he turned the wheel to the left to smoothly take the turn. "Either stop the car and let me drive, or take it seriously."

She laughed again, but took the steering wheel back. "I'm just funning with you, sweet thing."

He cast her a sulky look before settling back into his seat and rolling down the window so he didn't end up with a secondary high. He lost his disgruntlement as the streets became more familiar. Finally they made the last turn, and they came to a smooth stop in front of a vacant lot. It had been hidden by the buildings, but now he could see a vast stretch of flatness, with signs promoting sale of the "land."

"What's happening here?" he asked, stunned. He never realized that the shattered remnants of the church that he'd grown up in would ever be replaced. A surge of resentment swelled inside of him. This place was holy ground. How dare they try to wipe away the sins of the past? Some things should never be forgotten.

Nuance took a long drag of her fag before replying. "This place is going to be revived. The diocese sold it to a developer, and there's talk about putting up some housing," Nuance said. 'I don't think anyone is going to want to live here, but it's better than another box of project housing." She paused. 'It's going to be a new division, tentatively named Maxwell Heights."

He stared at the flat lot, feeling muddled. This was something he hadn't been expecting, and he didn't know how to cope. He couldn't decide if it was a good thing or not.

Nuance wasn't going to have that. "Get out, take a walk around and stretch your legs," she said. 'I'll be here when you come back."

In a daze, he obeyed, unclipping his seatbelt and exiting the vehicle. Nuance pulled some kind of magazine from behind her, propping it open against the steering wheel. He looked at her once, but it was clear she intended him to do this himself.

The church had been fairly large, and when it had been attacked, several other buildings had been brought down. There were at least four blocks that could be created if the architects were clever. Space was usually at a premium on the colonies, but this place was located in C Side. No one with any brains would want to move here.

He pushed passed the construction tape, walking onto the fake ground of the colony. Without thinking too deeply, he traced a path to where the church would have been. The home of his childhood was completely gone, and there was no sign of the lives that had been lost here. For a second, rage swelled inside of him, and he clenched his fists, wanting to destroy something. This was disrespectful, this was _wrong-_

As suddenly as his anger had arisen, it fell back. A sense of peace, perhaps inspired by the lingering remnants of the holy place the church had been, overcame him. Father Maxwell and Sister Helen would approve of this, he thought. They had always believed in forgiveness and rebirth. They wouldn't want anyone to live caught in the past, and the land could do the people some good.

He was being silly to even think badly of the changes. This was the result of his battles. New life was finally coming to his home, the chances and opportunities that he had fought so hard to get. He should embrace this change, become a part of it. He pulled his cell phone out, speed dialing Hilde's number.

"Hey Hilde?" he said when she picked up, feeling giddy and nearly breathless with excitement.

"Where are you?" she demanded. Her voice sounded a bit cross. "I turn my back on you for five minutes, and you managed to wander off. Do I need to get you a leash or something?"

"Sorry, Hilde, there was just something I had to do,"

"Are you at the church?" she asked.

He didn't take time to wonder how she'd figured it out. He must have been getting predictable. "Yeah. Yeah, I am, but I'll be coming back shortly. There's just something I wanted to ask you."

"What?"

"The real estate is cheap here," he said. "Would you like to buy a piece of property and build a vacation home?"

"What?" she asked again. "On C Side?"

He couldn't blame her for her reaction. People didn't buy homes on the colonies for vacations. The colonial rich bought places on earth to escape from the colonies. Everyone else saved their money so they could at least get out. No one in their right mind would buy a "vacation home" on C Side.

"Yeah. We're going to build us a little place, just so we have somewhere to come home to when school's not in session. It'll probably get broken into a couple times of year, but that's okay. This is where I want to be."

She laughed then, a bubbly sound Duo heard too rarely. "Sure, let's," she agreed. "If it'll make you happy, it's fine."

It was a crazy plan, impractical and foolhardy, but no one had ever claimed Duo Maxwell was sane. He continued to babble his ideas into the phone as he set off back to Nuance's car, feeling more alive than he had in ages. Sure, he might have nightmares for the rest of his life about the things he had done, and his regrets would follow him forever, but that was no reason to stop living. There was a future, and he had the ability to choose which path he took.

And wasn't that what he had fought for?

* * *

**Scene XII: Ballade pour Adeline, part IV**

_"The summer's all in bloom.  
The summer's ending soon."  
-- Vanessa Carlton, White Houses_

The commander of the military garrison on L3 before him had been a heavyset man, a bit florid with a large moustache that had flowed past the corners of his mouth, brushed and curled and very 19th century European. Trowa hadn't asked what had happened to him when he'd arrived to take command there, and had discovered quickly that the old commander had preferred his office lavish and his wallet full. The rest of the installation, in comparison, was a bit of a relic: rusted gates, ramshackle housing, unmowed lawns and broken sewage pumps.

It had been strange walking in through those front gates, gates that he'd passed every once in a while in his time on L3. He had always scurried past, ducking through the alleyways near the post at dusk, hoping the soldiers wouldn't spot him. Operation Meteor, Doktor S had drummed into his head, depended on him, Trowa Barton, to be undetectable, inaudible, invisible. Trowa Barton did not exist.

But now he did exist. He woke up every morning as the sun rose outside the window of his newly renovated quarters, washed his face, brushed his teeth, did some quick calisthenics, jogged to work. He'd usually have a crisp uniform hanging in the closet when he got there, courtesy of the dry cleaning which he allowed himself as his one luxury, because wearing the same clothes more than one or two days in a row would remind him again of the war.

The war was over.

Captain Jeong told him that on occasion when he would open the door and Trowa would be sitting at the desk brooding. "The war's over, sir," the young Korean man would say with a wry grin, handing him a disk or slipping some papers into his inbox. "Why the long face?" He was glad the man was here, because sometimes he reminded him of Wufei and then other times he reminded him of Heero, and then sometimes it was just because he was a link, however tenuous, to the fact that there was an Earth still spinning outside the walls of the military post.

He'd come back to L3 officially under Zech's orders, or maybe it was Une's; either way it didn't matter. But he liked to think in his mind that he'd returned under Catherine's orders, because that would rouse him a bit and make him look out the window over the reddish walls that separated his world from the colony's world, and make him wonder what exactly he was still searching for.

"L3's garrison needs a new commander," Zechs said when Trowa had wandered into his office in Geneva, hands behind his back and trying not to seem too eager, yet not pretending to hide the pleasant surprise on his face. "I trust you're the man for the job."

"I don't want to disappoint you, sir."

"If you're talking about the missile thing," Zechs told him, "you're talking to the wrong man. Zechs Merquise used to hold grudges, two years ago, but that Zechs Merquise doesn't exist anymore. If he did, I wouldn't be standing here talking to you."

"I'm young-" Trowa began, and Zechs laughed. The sound was startling.

"Une told me," the Preventers commander said when he'd finished laughing, "that you'd make excuses all the way."

Trowa said, "Two years ago, Trowa Barton would be standing here in your office saying nothing, carrying out your orders to the death. Would you prefer that?"

Zechs smiled. "I believe you've proved your worth a thousand times over." He handed some papers over the desk, saying, "Here are your orders. The shuttle leaves in two hours. Captain Jeong will pick you up at the terminal when you arrive."

He was not prepared for the mechanical clicking of Captain Jeong's right eye, or the carefully stitched, painfully swollen scar tissue covering the man's face and the right side of his neck. At Trowa's raised eyebrow, Jeong said, "I was in a mobile suit, in Chang Wufei's company. Got hit by one of those missiles, sir. Aimed at L1, you know." There was a certain kind of pride in his voice, as if to say _look at me. I was there._

The garrison, Jeong told him without any sort of attempt to make it sound pretty, was a mess. "The man who was here before in the commander's position apparently had some sort of deal with the yakuza. They're still searching through his papers to find out exactly what happened, but we know that he'd given at least a few million a year to fund the yakuza and their counterparts on L1 and L2. Who knows what that money might have done or where it might have gone."

"Where is this man now?" Trowa had asked, and Jeong shook his head.

"They came in with a warrant to arrest him about three months before Banks' War, and he'd slipped off the colony with half a million euros in government money, knowing they were coming for him, I suppose. They found his body washed up on one of the beaches near Forteleza Sea Station about a month after that. I don't know, sir, I suppose people like that always get what they deserve in the end."

Trowa said nothing, thinking of Doktor S. Jeong seemed to realize he'd crossed some invisible line, snapped his mouth shut and backed up a few steps to the office door. "I'm sorry, sir," he said.

"What about the yakuza?" Trowa asked.

Jeong took a deep breath. "They confirmed his ties with the yakuza right after that, but the L3 yakuza have been near extinct since the end of the One Year War. I'm not sure what happened. With all the trouble over the cartel on L1 and between their leader here on L3 dying about a year ago, I guess they just faded out."

"So he died," Trowa mused. "I see."

"That place is a ghost town now," Jeong said. "Not that it wasn't to begin with - I haven't ever lived on L3, but some who have been here for a long time said you could tell there were people living there, but you never saw them. But now it's simply empty, like a shell, or like a tomb. Nothing there but you and the ghosts. Everyone's dead." He paused. "That was quite morbid, wasn't it? I'm sorry, sir."

Trowa turned and smiled a bit. "No need," he said. "As you're always saying, the war is over."

"The war isn't over unless you want it to be," the other returned, then snapped to attention and disappear out to the hallway beyond, his shoes clicking on the newly redone stone floor.

Finances were tight because of the late commander's spending habits, and Trowa spent a week down in financial management poring over budget analyses and old, dormant bank accounts, trying to figure out which pots of money still existed and if the Preventers could get them any more. At the end of a week, neither he nor the accountants had made any progress, so he returned to his office and made a few calls. Two to Zechs, three to Financial Management at the World Nation headquarters, one to Dorothy Catalonia.

"Well, isn't this something," she said, peering into the screen like she didn't quite recognize him. "How are you doing, Trowa? I hear you've moved up in the world. I trust you've written your sister?"

"I have," he said. "Dorothy, I need a favor."

"I'm not your rich aunt," she retorted, "nor your favorite moneylender. Nevertheless, ask away."

"Why do you automatically assume it has to do with money?"

"Because that's the only time people call me," she told him, the corners of her lips jerking upwards a bit.

"Dorothy," Trowa said, "I need to contact the Winner Foundation."

She was silent for about three seconds, but the perfectly manicured eyebrows and blank politician's eyes gave nothing away. "I'd assume you would have their phone number," she said.

"Quatre never asked my whereabouts, and I never asked his. None of us did. It wasn't...something we did." Perhaps an exaggerated plea for something to call our own, he thought to himself, and watched her chew that bit of information over. She looked slightly less politician-like now, more like an actual woman on the screen, someone he knew and understood. "I called Geneva hoping they'd have it. Zechs told me to ask you."

"If you're thinking of asking him for anything, forget it," she advised. "His little project out in the middle of nowhere is sucking the Winner legacy dry."

"I don't need anything tangible," Trowa said. "Just some advice."

Her look softened somewhat, if any expression on Dorothy Catalonia's face could be called soft. This was the woman who had faced the Zero system without flinching, and he felt faintly honored that she would be speaking to him, just a mere soldier, because that's what he'd been after all. "If that's all you want," she said, "you can have it."

He hung up with her, sitting in his darkened office that was now somewhat of a second home, thinking of Heavyarms. He'd seen her, or what remained of her that the salvage crew had managed to truck back to one of the hangars, and the mechanics had been politely non-committal. "We don't know enough to say yet, sir," they would say, or "We're working on repairing it as soon as possible." But Trowa was mechanic enough - pilot enough - to know that Heavyarms would never fly again.

The scrawled numbers that Dorothy had dictated to him were large and black on the stark, white memo paper in the fading light, and he pushed the rest of the papers on his desk aside, pressed the telecom button one more time. "I'd like to make a long distance call, please," he said.

The screen seemed to be blank for quite some time, and he was beginning to wonder if the operator had accidentally hung up on him, or maybe Dorothy had given him a wrong number. The connection light lit up at last, bathing the top of the light wooden desk in a faint green light, reflecting onto the glass of the windows, the darkened computer screen. It blinked. He waited.

"Winner Enterprises," a pleasant voice said, and then the screen lit up. The face was just as pretty as the voice; he would guess she was in her early thirties, dark-haired and blue eyed in that exotic combination of Western and Middle Eastern that characterized so many of the Winner siblings.

"I'm sorry for calling at an odd hour, if it is an odd hour," he began, and she shook her head.

"Not at all, sir. It's only about 8 in the evening, as it so happens." Her slightly accented English rose and fell as she spoke, like a song. "How can I help you?"

"I was hoping to speak to Quatre Winner," he said, and she gave him a rueful look, one which he was sure had been used on hundreds of people before him.

"I'm sorry," she said, "Quatre's currently out of the area. If you leave your name and number, I'll give him the message when he returns and he'll try to contact you as soon as possible. Is this about one of our ventures, or are you wishing to make a donation?"

"Well," Trowa said, feeling a little confused, "neither, actually. I'm calling from L3, hoping to ask him something. It's no problem-"

She'd been staring at him as he had started his last sentence, leaning in a little closer to the screen, cocking her head like she was trying to place him. He felt somewhat foolish, like he would have just been better off giving his name at the beginning of the call, but he hadn't wanted to seem like he was throwing that around. People like Dorothy and Relena did it, and they were comfortable with it. Trowa Barton was not a celebrity.

"Do I know you?" she said.

"You might have seen me on the news once or twice," he said. "I was with Quatre during the war."

"Oh," she said, then louder, "Oh! Trowa Barton! I'm sorry!"

"It's no problem," he told her again. "Are you one of his sisters? I do regret I never met any of you."

"I'm his sister Aisha," she told him, looking a tiny bit flustered. "Usually acting as his secretary. I'm so sorry. I should have realized-"

"Don't worry about it. When will Quatre be back?"

"Not till next week," she said. "He went to Russia for a conference. I'll let him know you called, though. He usually phones at night to let us know he's still alive." She smiled a bit, the look in her eyes confiding in him that it wasn't so much of a joke as it could be.

"I understand," Trowa said. "This wasn't entirely a pleasure call; I was hoping to consult him on some financial matters. I'm no great analyst myself, by any means, and we have ourselves in a bit of a jam. The World Nation is working on it, but-"

"The bureaucracy," Aisha said, sounding sympathetic. "I know. Hold on just a minute." She rummaged in one drawer for a few seconds, then brightened. "Maybe I do know someone who could help you. Have you heard of Frances Bartlett?"

"The name sounds familiar," Trowa said. "But I can't place it, no."

"He was Father's right hand man before the...well, the first war. The man's a genius with numbers. I can't say I cared much for his attitude towards the rest of the family, nor his moral standards, but he was just recently here for a site visit, and I might have to change my opinion of him."

"Anything you give would be wonderful," Trowa said, and she smiled again.

"I'll fax you the information."

He had Jeong contact Bartlett the next day while he went to Finance again and called the World Nation. He listened to them explain again that they understood the dilemma the L3 garrison was in, but his problem was hardly unique, and everything would be sorted out as quickly as they could. "Thank you," Trowa said politely, and hung up.

"We got ahold of his secretary," Jeong said when Trowa returned to ask about the state of things. "Meanwhile, the mobile suit yard is requesting funds for junkyard transfer of scrap metal they've acquired in the past few months, and the main sewage pipe is leaking again."

"Hilde," Trowa said automatically, holding up one finger, and then holding up the second finger as Jeong looked confused, "Stop using the toilets. Anything else?"

"It's lunchtime, sir," Jeong said, trying not to laugh, and Trowa looked at him consideringly.

"You'd make a much better commander than me," he said, and Jeong shook his head.

"No, sir. Being a commander - that requires a knowledge of people, a kind of inner eye. I don't have it yet. But you have it."

He didn't quite know what to say to that, so he said nothing.

"You all have it," Jeong said.

He left the base still thinking about it, realizing as he was halfway down the block that it was the first time he'd been outside these gates in almost a week. The world outside was loud and bustling, the town still a little rundown, rough around the edges with its cracking brick walls and half-dead trees covering abandoned apartment complexes. But this was L3, and this was where Catherine had sent him. He fingered the cell phone in his pocket, crossing the street as the motors of cars purred behind the invisible line of the stoplight. No one called out his name. The elderly man walking his dog didn't even glance at him twice as they passed each other, and Trowa remembered how Aisha Winner had to dig through her memory for a face that was once on every television screen across the world.

_Is that what they mean when they say the war is over?_ he thought, and remembered Catherine saying that night at the circus, _Something is lost for everything we gain._

It seemed the natural thing to do to buy the ticket, to board the train. The buzz of French in the conversations around him was soothing and he almost lost himself in the wave of nostalgia that came over him. But there was English too now, he realized after a moment, and two Japanese girls in the corner, a few Arabic businessmen across from him. Even L3 was changing.

The cool air of late fall breezed across his face as he exited the train station and his feet took him, without asking, in the direction of the place to which he'd vowed never to return. A few scattered leaves whispered past his ears, and he heard, faintly, the honk of a car horn, the bark of a dog. The streets he walked were empty, deserted, flagstones cracked under his feet with blades of grass sprouting up from the corners, tiny survivors of the last war.

He could feel the ghosts at his back as he walked on, steps slowing. The air whispered around him and he kept his eyes doggedly forward, one foot in front of the other, wondering how this could have happened. It had only been two years, two years in which the colony and Earth had swirled and changed with the tidings of war and after war, but that had happened before, and the yakuza had remained. His oyabun had been forever telling him it was how it always would be, that they were a dam against the surging tide, the last remnant of a forgotten age. He pictured the old man's face in his mind, the steel eyes under the pleasant smile, imagined stepping into that doorway again and saying, sir, I'm home.

He stopped walking.

Even the air was still here. Duo had told him once, when he had asked, about the ruins of Maxwell Church, how the very silence was alive with memories, how you could almost pluck names and faces and pasts out of the air. Broken windows glared at him out of half-collapsed high-rises, abandoned concrete structures sagging desolately behind gates swinging raggedly from rusted hinges. There were no memories here, Trowa knew, no names or pasts, because the yakuza had none.

There was a clattering sound behind him, and he whirled, realizing that he'd been almost crouched in a defensive position, hand going to the gun at his belt even though he saw in the next split second that it was simply pebbles clattering down empty stone steps. He'd been waiting, he supposed, for that gunshot in his back, the knife against his throat, the welcome for the stepchild who had returned against orders because he wanted to pay his respects one last time.

"Oyabun," Trowa said out loud to the empty air, and felt it echo, like Jeong said, like a tomb. "I've come home to stay."

He knelt and kissed the earth.

A breath of air moved across his collar, lifting the dust of the street, swirling it in small, sunlit spirals further into the places of the dead. As Trowa lifted his head to watch it go, his phone rang.

Despite himself, he jerked back as the electronic version of _Ballade pour Adeline_ beeped out at him, and he fumbled for the phone inside his pocket, just trying to make it stop. "Barton," he said.

"Sir, we got ahold of Frances Bartlett. He said it would be his pleasure." He could almost feel Jeong's relief through the static on the other end. "And you have another call."

"Who?"

"He says his name is Winner."

The train ride back seemed both longer and shorter, beginning shadows of twilight drawing up against the walls of the train, against the giggling group of teenagers two seats over, the elderly couple reading on the train bench next to him. Change could be good, or it could be bad, or sometimes it just was, and it was creeping up now on L3 without fanfare or hurry, the silent passing of an old era and the gentle knocking of the new at the door of a world he, Trowa Barton, had helped to create. All the ones who had died - Treize, Noin, Ilene - they had been a part of that. Jeong, with his battle scars and mechanical eye because Trowa hadn't fired those missiles, was a part of it too.

The door of his office was ajar when he returned. Jeong was waiting by his chair, looking a bit surprised at the dirt on Trowa's uniform, but he waved it aside. "Is he still on the line?"

"Yes, sir," Jeong said, and then he smiled. "I've been having a rather pleasant conversation with him, actually. We might be able to fix that sewage pipe while still using the toilets."

"That would be the wisest course of action," Trowa agreed, and looked up at the Korean man again, at his scarred face, and thought of Heero. "You once told me the war wasn't over until I wanted it to be."

"Yes, sir?"

Trowa pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I think I finally understand what you mean. Thank you."

Jeong smiled. "Anytime, sir."

The door closed behind him, and Trowa walked to the front of his desk, dropping into his chair, not bothering to wipe the dirt off his face or straighten his shirt, because there was no need with the man smiling at him from the telecom screen.

"Hello, Quatre," he said.

* * *

**Scene XIII: Building Castles in the Sand**

_"Now this is the world we live in  
And these are the hands we're given  
Use them and let's start trying  
To make it a place worth fighting for."  
-- Genesis, Lands of Confusion_

The knock on the door went unanswered until the visitor finally just decided to push his way into the office. Aisha Winner sat behind a desk, looking every inch the professional secretary, despite her surroundings. Her files were neat and she had her hair pulled back into a bun, probably because the air conditioner was on the fritz. A lone fan sat behind her, futilely pushing hot air around in an attempt to keep things cool.

"Can I help you, sir?" she asked, looking at him with surprise and a bit of annoyance.

"Is he in?" Frances Bartlett. He felt overdressed in his business suit, and sweat decorated his brow. It was not good for him, with his heart condition, to be in such a sweltering environment, but he had to be here. He had to know for himself.

"He's currently in the field," she said. "I can have him paged, if you need to speak to him." She looked at him in a considering fashion. "Or I can have someone escort you on-site."

It was a subtle challenge, one that he took. "A tour would be lovely."

She smiled slightly, acknowledging his acceptance. "Just a second, then." She picked up a phone to place a call, and Bartlett took the chance to examine the office.

There were no trappings of riches here. Even the computer on the desk looked like it'd already seen a few years of wear and tear. It was different than Frances Bartlett been expecting, though he should have realized that he had never really known Quatre. All he'd seen was a two-dimensional image, one that had been innocent and ignorant of the harshness of the world.

The computers, he noticed, were moving more slowly than he'd seen any in years. When Aisha hung up the phone, he nodded toward computer. "You might want to consider an upgrade. Yours is two years out of date."

"I'm afraid it's not in the budget. This one works for what I need to do." She sounded perfectly serene, as if the idea of a Winner not having the very best of equipment wasn't utterly ridiculous.

"You might be able to work faster with better equipment." He'd always liked Aisha, since she was diligent and reliable, and he hated the idea of her making herself miserable due to some cracked idea of her brother's.

A smile touched her lips. "It's better the money go somewhere else. Having a top-of-the-line computer isn't a priority." Then she winked, surprising him. "Though my birthday is coming up shortly..."

He laughed at that. "Email me where you'd like it delivered," he said. It was a weird thought to be buying something like a computer for a girl who had enough money to buy a small island.

"I might just do that." She laughed, but the door opened abruptly, and Reeshya Winner swung into the room, panting a bit. Apparently she'd been running.

It was rude to stare, but he figured Reeshya's current appearance would excuse his poor manners. He had known that Reeshya had joined her brother in this venture, but it startled him to see the Winner daughter dressed in a no-nonsense coverall, spattered with a bit of grease. He noted the cell phone clipped to a utility belt, along with a variety of gadgets he couldn't begin to identify. He had never considered her the technical type, and they looked out of place. Even more surprising was the content look on her face.

"Bartlett!" she sounded surprised and delighted, coming forward and embracing him warmly. He had watched her grow up, acting almost as an uncle. She had been Raberba's favorite. He held onto her for a second, before she abruptly pulled away, embarrassment on her face. "I'm so sorry, I think I might have ruined your suit..."

He smiled, before stepping forward to wrap his arms around her again. "Dirt will wash," he said.

"It's oil." She pressed her face into the shirt.

"I have a good drycleaner," he teased back.

She stiffened a bit in surprise. She'd never known him to have a sense of humor. "Bartlett?" she said, her voice lilting upward with question.

He was the one who released her this time. "A heart attack makes a man think about his life," he said, answering the unspoken question.

"I'm glad you're okay," Reeshya said. "Have you had any problems?"

"Not really." Aside from a lingering weakness on his right side, the doctor had told him he would make a full recovery. "I've been exercising and changed my diet a bit."

"Good. You need to take care of yourself," she said approvingly, before placing her hands on her hips. "Nice as it is to see you, I'm sure you're not here for a social visit. Is there something I can help you with?"

"He's looking for Quatre," Aisha chimed in. "I was thinking you might know where our beloved little brother has gotten himself to."

"I think he's with the men, touring the new filtration plant," Reeshya said. "Or he could be out in the fields training the new hands." She looked at Aisha, then at Bartlett, before coming to some kind of decision. "Would you like to see the operation?"

"I would love to," Bartlett responded, not lying. His curiosity was eating him alive; none of this was anything like he had expected.

Reeshya laughed, then winked. "There's not much to see, yet, but we're working on it!" Her hand grabbed Bartlett's with a familiarity he found surprising and welcoming.

Outside, the dry air assaulted his lungs, pinching painfully at his still-recovering body. He had never liked the desert climate; he preferred a more temperate environment. Reeshya's hand was sweaty, and he started to feel uncomfortable. This was out of his realm of comfort.

Reeshya practically bounced as she waved to different parts of the site. "As you know, this is a reclamation site. We're working on transforming this place back into farmland, which requires a ton of effort, since more of the nutrients in the soil have been destroyed. There was this one outfit that did a kind of strip-farming right before the war started, well, I'm sure you've heard about that."

"I have," he said. He'd advised Raberba Winner against investing in firms using such methods, finding the short-term profit not worth the long-term effects. He'd been right, since those firms had gone under quickly once the World Nation began to implement environmental regulations.

Reeshya's lips tightened. "I don't know if we're ever going to be able to fix all the damage they did, but we're sure trying our best." She pointed over at one machine that he recognized as an oxidizer. "This is a new design we're testing here. If it goes well, we're going to mass produce it so it can be used at some of the other parts of the world."

"What's the difference in this model?" asked Bartlett. He'd seen oxidizers before, and if anything, this one looked bulkier than the sleet units he'd seen demonstrated at the opening ceremonies for the industrial farms the Winner Group had put together.

"It'll be substantially cheaper to build," Reeshya said. "Farmers operating less than 100 acres will be able to afford this model, and at a ten percent mark-up of manufacturing costs, we'll still be able to add to our bottom line. We're not a charitable organization," Reeshya said, grinning.

"Though you're not making as much profit as you should," Bartlett said, the words tripping out of his lips before he thought better of it. The main criticism of the new branch of the Winner Group had been its low profit margin; it remained in the black, but barely.

"There's more important things than money," Reeshya replied softly. "It's great to have, but it won't make you happy."

"It helps, though," he said. He wasn't naive enough to think that money didn't matter. It was a nice idea, but he was too old to be an idealist.

"It does indeed," Reeshya agreed to his surprise. She pointed off at a group off in the distance. "We're offering jobs, and a chance for advancement. It's very hard for young men to find employment in this area, which forces the best and brightest away. Many of them want to remain locally, though, so we're doing our best to offer them a chance."

They moved closer to the crew of laborers crawling all over a massive truck that resembled a garbage truck. "Ah, there he is. Hey, Quat!" she called, raising her voice so it could be heard over the hum of the machines. "We've got a visitor, get over here!"

Bartlett hadn't recognized the young man from behind. Quatre was dressed in khakis and a vest, clothing too casual for the Winner heir. His skin was a surprisingly deep tan, sign of too much time spent unprotected under the sun's rays, while his hair had been bleached almost white. He squinted in the bright light, before leaping off the truck and landing with relative grace a few feet from his sister and Bartlett. He closed the distance quickly, though his expression remained shuttered.

"Hello, Bartlett," he said, holding out a hand to be shaken. "I must say I wasn't expecting to see you here."

It was more neutral a greeting than Bartlett had been expecting. Quatre had always been polite, but the enmity between the two of them had made Bartlett wonder if he'd be welcomed. He shouldn't have, even under the greatest of stresses, Quatre was a gentleman.

He took the proffered hand, and was treated to a firm, yet not bruising, handshake. "How have you been, sir?" he asked.

Quatre looked healthy, and relatively content. He had grown several inches since the last time they had met, a late growth spurt finally kicking in. He would never be as tall as his father, but he would likely top-out at a more reasonable height. His eyes weren't serene, but they seemed settled. Quatre would never be completely at peace with himself, but at least he could come to accept his faults.

"Well enough," Quatre answered. "You?"

"Recovering nicely," he said. "I stopped by to see the operation," he said unnecessarily. "The board is functioning well under Naadira, but some have wondered if you'll be coming back now that things have settled down."

Reeshya opened her mouth to say something, but Quatre forestalled her with a smile. "Reeshya, can you take this over for me? This is a basics class," he said, waving at the eight men. "They signed on last week, and are just finishing with orientation.

"Sure," she said, although she gave a measured glance between Bartlett and her brother. "Anything in particular I need to do?"

"Just ask questions and make sure they've got a good grounding," Quatre said. "I don't think there's any problems, they're a smart bunch," he added, grinning over at the men. They smiled back at him, some wearing slight blushes of pleasure.

"Got it," she said.

He waved to the men. "I'll see you later," he promised. "Try not to give Reeshya _too_ hard a time." That earned him a chorus of laugher. "I've got something I'd like to show you, Bartlett," Quatre said. "If you'll come this way?"

Bartlett could only admire how diplomatically Quatre had taken control of what could have been an unpleasant situation. He nodded, following Quatre as the teenager left the group behind. "You seem to have quite an operation going," he said.

"This area was devastated by the war. Groups came in, did some rather unethical drilling for oil, and then left, though I think the pollution they left behind means people won't forget them anytime soon. There's a lot of work to be done, since many of the residents here have been here for generations and won't even consider leaving," Quatre said. He was walking slowly, probably out of concern for Banks' health. "Water?" Quatre offered, pulling a small blue bottle out of one of the pouches on his hip.

The water wasn't anything special, not like the highly filtered and enhanced water he had at home, but he couldn't remember any he'd enjoyed more. There was something satisfying about quenching genuine thirst instead of drinking from habit. He made sure to drink it slowly, savoring the relief it offered his throat.

Quatre watched his reaction without expression before continuing. "It's going to take generations anyway to make things right. One of the men I hired used to be a local farmer. He told me that people said that this area grew such wonderful foods because the plants drank the blood of the dead. More people have died over this piece of land than anywhere else in the entire world."

"I'm familiar with the area's history," Banks said. "But why are you handling this personally? There's work that needs to be done that is far more pressing...the colonies are trying to rebuild using the new loans from the World Bank, and those projects could use a man of your skill."

"They could," Quatre agreed, "and I love the colonies, but there's already plenty of people who have hopped on those bandwagons. There's several different kinds of figureheads, and no matter what I do, I am going to become one, because of my fame. I just decided that if that was the case, at least I'd be a figurehead to something that needed one."

It was a response Bartlett hadn't been expecting. "Why this, though?"

"This is the land of my ancestors, Bartlett," Quatre said. "This is the land I inadvertently hurt when I joined Operation Meteor." He tilted his head back, and squinted up at the blue sky. "I'll never be able to repay my debt, but I can at least make a down payment on it." They turned a corner, and Bartlett's breath caught.

It was a small oasis amidst the buildings. Water pooled into a carefully crafted fountain that was covered by a large, open pavilion. Women, dressed in long, loose clothing and veils, congregated around one area, carefully separate from the men. Around the fountain there were several pumps, most of which were occupied by grizzled old men filling troughs. Children played a game nearby, their voices lifted in song.

It was like looking at a scene directly out of the history books. Bartlett hadn't realized that people still lived from shepherding. None of them seemed to be carrying any of the technological marvels that were so much a part of everyday life for the colonies.

"What is this?" Bartlett asked.

"They're nomads," Quatre said. "We built this before we opened our operations. It's one of the few places where they know they can find clean water. We get a lot of visitors because of it, which is good for trade. These people have lived on this land for hundreds of years, leading the lives that their ancestors did. They have simple needs, but often suffer whenever there's a war.

"There's a small medical facility on the premises which is open to anyone, though we ask for some kind of trade; either a day of labor, or some kind of barter. They don't have money, but their handcrafts are simply gorgeous. They're some of the most wonderful people I've ever met," Quatre spoke in level tones, but the affectionate look he cast them was notable. One of the men noticed them, waved in a friendly fashion, and then returned to his conversation.

Bartlett thought before speaking. This place wouldn't be making a profit, which would have most of the stockholders upset, but it wouldn't be costing anything, either, breaking even with careful management. There were other places Quatre could have chosen to go to build upon his reputation, but this humble operation was what he had decided on.

"Your father... he would have approve," Bartlett said finally. It was a tenuous offer of acceptance, a token of forgiveness for Quatre's role in his recent heart attack, his admittance that he might have been wrong about the Winner Heir.

The faint curving of Quatre's lips might have been a smile. "I'm glad you think so." He tilted his head slightly, and for a second Bartlett was taken back to when he'd first seen the boy in his father's office, and how he had loathed him. Now he wished he'd be found worthy of Quatre's respect. "I'm sure Reeshya gave you the dime tour, but if you can stay until this evening, I can show you some more of what we're doing, and what we have planned."

Bartlett shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't - I have to be back on L4 tomorrow for a meeting first thing in the morning." He hesitated. "Can I take a rain check?" he asked, pushing his luck. He wanted to know the man Quatre was becoming. He had been Raberba's friend as well as employee. He owed it to him to watch after his son.

Now Quatre was definitely smiling. "You're welcome any time," he assured the older man. "I don't turn away anyone who comes as a friend."

* * *

**Scene XIV: The Tides of History**

_"Even my death is not without meaning."  
--Treize Khushrenada, Gundam Wing_

There were still times, half a year after Sally's rebellion, two years after Treize's war, and three years after _her_ death, when Chang Wufei still wished that it had not all come to pass.

He could have lived out a full life, he sometimes believed, on that colony that was but a line in the history books now. There were no mountains there, but there were the old libraries, smelling of parchment and spice and the familiar heavy smell of brush and ink. There were no rivers there, but there were fields of wildflowers that bloomed in the springtime. There were no monuments to the endurance of the Chinese race, no Imperial Palace, no Great Wall, but there had been Elder Long, and family, and perhaps at the end, a girl who he could have learned to love.

There had been no true sun, but there were still stars.

And that, when he came to that thought, was what always made him realize he could not have stayed there and become a whole man. There had been something missing from the idyllic life there on the colony, something that Heero Yuy and Duo Maxwell and Trowa Barton and Quatre Raberba Winner had shown him, and if he had never met them, he would have been that much poorer for it.

After everything had calmed down and the world had begun turning again, Une had asked him to stay in Geneva. For a brief moment in time, he had considered it. The old Wufei would have been shocked, but the new Wufei knew that justice and duty and honor were more than mere words to be shouted out. Duty and justice was about friendship, and Une was his friend.

In the end, though, it was Heero who had changed his mind. He'd been sitting in his room in the VOQ, so familiar now that it was like a second home to him, stretched out on the bed with a half-packed suitcase at his feet. He knew the other boy had meant for him to hear his footsteps. Heero could be as quiet as air when he wanted, but the time for that was past.

He had sat up slowly as the Wing Gundam pilot appeared in the doorway, and Heero stared at him a moment, the scar across his face strangely incongruous with the peace in those deep blue eyes. Wufei was content to let him speak first. There was nothing between them that had not already been said.

"Are you leaving tomorrow?"

Wufei gestured to the suitcase. "I'm trying."

Heero raised one eyebrow. "I see."

Wufei laughed, not sure what he was laughing at, but just glad to hear the sound coming from his own throat. "It's funny. A few weeks ago I couldn't wait to get out of here. Now, it seems like I might be staying."

"I heard," Heero said, "about Une's request. It's true. The Preventers could use you. I think the combat pilot career field will be around for a while longer."

"What do you think I should do, then?"

Heero had stared at him for a long time, and then replied, "I think you should go home."

Wufei had waited for him to say something else, to state the reasons and list the good and the bad, but Heero simply paused in the doorway a moment longer, and then was gone.

That was how things were between them now, he supposed. When he had gone to the hangar the next day after telling Une that he could not stay right now, Shenlong had been there looking as good as new after a full week of heavy maintenance. Quatre had been there as well, looking a little pale but none the worse for wear, and Trowa had been by the Arabian's side, with his sister in tow. Duo was at Kashmir with Hilde, but he had sent word through Trowa, something along the lines of see you later, I'll track you down. It was uniquely Duo - not a goodbye, but a good luck.

"Where's Heero?" Trowa wondered, and Wufei had shook his head, smiled, said, _it doesn't matter. He's not coming. He doesn't need to._

Shenlong's flight back was uneventful, and the house was the same as he had left it, except for a few layers of dust and dead grass inside and out, and the broken window and remnants of bloodstains from his brawl with two nameless assassins from L1. The first thing he did after parking Shenlong outside and making sure the Gundam was secure under a layer of camouflage nets was to draw up several buckets of water from the river outside and scrub the cottage until it glowed.

When he woke up the next morning, he'd had a sudden moment of disorientation, wondering why the ceiling of his room had gone dark and thatched, then realized he was no longer in Geneva. He had gotten up, washed his face and rinsed his mouth, and then sat with his head in his hands for a long time watching the sun in its slow arc across the sky.

"What shall I do now?" he wondered.

The open volume of James Joyce's _Ulysses_ was lying open on the table still, and as he touched its pages, the words leapt out at him, and he remembered the dark night when Heero had tried to kill him, the night when everything had changed again.

_-History, said Stephen, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake._

The phrase stuck in his mind for the rest of the day, for the rest of the week and the month that followed as he repaired the window and wall that Heero and Darkflight had broken, straightened the bookcases, installed electric lights in the rooms of the house, and generally kept himself busy fixing odds and ends. He checked the mail every day, but there was usually never anything for him, and he had no computer in this house.

One day, a flat envelope arrived for him, sealed with the seal of the Preventers, and when he opened it he found that it was an invitation to Milliard Peacecraft's change of command ceremony. He went back inside, wrote a polite refusal on the RSVP, and sent the negative reply back with a package of some Chinese confectionaries. Two weeks later, he received another flat envelope, but this one was not sealed, and it contained a single-line note, _The food was delicious._

It was signed "Z.M."

Another month passed, and the stack of papers that was his Chinese translation of Ulysses grew from a stack to a pile, and then to several piles. He was more than halfway through the book, and he told himself that it was a project worthy of this kind of devotion. But he knew at the same time that it wasn't really true, that his heart was not in the writing, and that when he read the book over at the end, he would be disappointed.

Elder Long had instructed all of them on the importance of preserving the soul of the text. If the words have sound but no substance, she had rasped, then what are they but bodies with no souls?

Every evening after dinner he would go out to the field where he had left Shenlong, would climb up to the Gundam's shoulder and stretch out on the solar-warmed metal and watch the sunset. There was something melancholy about China's sunsets, something that L5's false sunset had never managed to grasp. It was like the line between fact and fiction, history and fabrication. He wondered what the world would make of Treize Khushrenada fifty years down the road. Treize, already a demigod, a legend two years after his death, had still been only a man. He wondered if the people had forgotten that.

Three months after he returned to China, he received another package.

This one bore a neat address and contained something heavy, something that he knew had to be a book or packet of some sort, because it did not crinkle like gift wrapping, nor did it rattle like chocolate. Wufei kept it sealed on the bus ride home, carried it back up to the house and left it lying on the low table in the living room as he cooked dinner.

After dinner, he scrubbed the bowl and chopsticks, put the leftovers in the small refrigerator he had procured from a second hand store in town, picked up the package and headed out to Shenlong. The days were growing shorter now as winter approached, and the wind whipped his light jacket and flung the strands of his long hair into his face, and he brushed them aside irritably in the dimming light of the sun.

Only after he had settled comfortably into the crook of Shenlong's arm did he carefully slit open the envelope with his pocket knife. It was neatly taped and came apart smoothly at the first touch. The top item was a letter in a smaller envelope, and Wufei held it up to the fading twilight to read.

_Dear Wufei_, it said. _How are you? It has been about three months since I've seen you last, and things are going well. I'm no longer with the Winner Group as leader, though I am still involved in the running of its affairs, and that suits me just fine. I was never the corporate type anyway. My sisters are heading up the group now, and they're doing ten times better than I ever could, so that's a relief._

_I was going through my old things the other day, trying to do some fall cleaning, and I found this. I'd printed it up a while back and forgotten all about it during the pandemonium this summer. It's very hastily written, sentence fragments and run-ons in many parts, and towards the end I was so delirious from lack of sleep that it might not make much sense. But still, it begs to be read, and I didn't want to throw it away._

_Out of everyone I know, I think you'd understand it best._ Quatre had ended the letter with the printing of his name in neat letters, not his full name, not even his last name. It was just "Quatre," the simple signature saying far more than he could have ever said with fancy parting words or a cursive flourish.

The sun had entirely set by the time Wufei arrived home, and he turned on the lights, sat down at his desk and pulled out the rest of the package.

It was easily a hundred pages, perhaps a little more, untitled. He frowned a bit and brought the first page into the light. There was no introduction, no prologue or prelude, and he realized at first glance that this was not some essay or fiction that Quatre had taken a fancy to or even had decided to write up in a fit of boredom.

_When I was fifteen_, it read, _my father died in the war._

Wufei did not sleep that night, turning page after page. There were fragments, as Quatre said, and run-on sentences, and a few places where he had to stop and think and consult his English dictionary because Quatre's vocabulary was that of a young, upper-class educated politician, and Wufei did not know the meaning of the words. But still he read on, and as the dawn light came through the windows and the morning birds began chirping, he came to the end of the last page.

The manuscript was unfinished.

He felt drained, stood up and stretched and felt the bones in his back crack refreshingly, but he did not feel refreshed. Quatre's writing had been amateur and clunky, and there had been many times when it had seemed that the Sandrock pilot had not known exactly how to describe a particular scene, and so had neglected to write the rest and simply moved on.

But every word had been the truth.

Quatre had written about the war. He had written about the conflict between his father and his sisters and himself, about the fact that he had believed in something his father and his colony had not. He had written about the Maguanacs and their unfailing loyalty even when the Federation had said that loyalty was outdated. He had written about the Gundams and the four pilots who had been his friends. He had written about the fear, the sadness, the death, the uncertainty that tomorrow would not come. He had taken his memories and poured them into something tangible, and Wufei suddenly realized that Quatre had done something that he, the scholar, had been unable to do.

Quatre had taken the truth and turned it into history.

"Elder Long would be proud of you," he said to the empty air, and gathered up the scattered papers, stuffing them carefully back into the envelope. Quatre's letter he placed on top of the pile, and then he went to bed.

He woke when the sun set, this time actually feeling refreshed, and as he made dinner, he looked outside the window and saw that it was dark and realized that it was the first day he had not gone out to see Shenlong since he had returned.

"What would you do, Meilan?" he said. He didn't expect a reply; he was at least aware of that now, but still, the whispering of the night wind was an echo of the air currents that used to move across the field of flowers on the colony, and he remembered Elder Long's words.

_You will fly, boy._

Abruptly, he turned away from the window, finishing his tea and then sitting down at the table to draft a letter to Quatre. _I read your manuscript. It was a very moving piece of work. Thank you._

_I wonder if you might allow me to borrow it? There's something I want to do, and what you wrote has given me some inspiration. I am thinking it might be time to contact the Preventers again._ He mailed the letter off, and was surprised to receive a reply only a week later.

_I think you should contact the Preventers too_, Quatre wrote. _Heero says he has been waiting for something from you. They would be glad to have you back. As for the manuscript, it's yours. Do whatever you wish with it._

That night, as he sat on Shenlong's broad shoulder and watched the first shooting star of the season pass by, a streak of silver through the night sky, he looked into the dark eyes of his Gundam and felt a sense of peace settle over his soul. It should not be surprising, Wufei thought, that things would eventually come to this again. He understood now why Heero had told him to go home; it wasn't that the Preventers no longer needed him, but that he had still not understood that he needed them.

Meilan would have understood, he decided, standing up and taking a long look at the Gundam's still form in the moonlight. Melian would have understood a lot of things. But Meilan was no longer here, and she wouldn't have wished him to dwell as long as he had on her memory.

_Even my death is not without meaning..._

His letter to Heero was answered two weeks later, making it four months since he had left the Preventers at Geneva. There was not much, a note hurriedly scribbled off, and Wufei could hardly decipher the cramped handwriting in bold, permanent ink. Heero had written in Japanese.

_The Preventers has need of a head historian. I was thinking you might fill that position. If you like, show up sometime and I'll put you to work. Zechs sends his regards. Relena says that she would like to see you again soon as well. If you hurry, you can make it to Geneva in time for Christmas._

The note was signed, "Wing."

Wufei's hands tightened on the paper and he closed his eyes briefly, wondering if his whole life had simply been leading up to this moment, repeated in circles and circles again until history had caught up to him and made him realize he could not run forever. It had all begun on that night of the harvest moon, when he had been told that his future did not lie on his colony after all, that his story would span the Earth and beyond, and had led him here, to the fields of China. Treize Khushrenada would have laughed, would have said that his life had always been leading to this moment, and he had just been too stubborn to realize it.

When he went out to Shenlong that night, he carried something in his pocket, something which he had disconnected from the Gundam's cockpit the day he had landed it back in the field. He hadn't quite known why he had done so, but it felt right at the time, and he was a pilot, which meant he trusted his instincts more than the common man would have. The object seemed to drag somewhat at his pants pocket, but he arrived at the field at a brisk trot, feeling the chill wind at his back. Shenlong lay where she had always lain, the nets making her a huge, somewhat bristly and bumpy hill in the starlight.

"Hello, Nataku," he said softly, clambering over the hulk of one arm and unfastening the nets. They fell smoothly away and he unhooked them from where they were chained to the Gundam at the bottom, dragged them away from the engines, and then popped the hatch.

Shenlong started up as smoothly as he remembered her, cockpit lights dimming to the familiar combat glow, and he felt a wash of nostalgia at the whine of the engines, the almost musical sound of the startup sequence, and a shudder ran through him. It wasn't too late, his brain told him. He could still turn back. Shut the machine down, get out, go home.

But that, Wufei told himself firmly, would be a lie.

_Are you God?_

_No. Just a messenger._

He moved the controls with care, feeling an extension of himself reach out with ghostly hands and feet to touch Nataku's hands and feet, lift his palms to hers as the dragon rose with the snarling of underpowered engines. Shenlong surged under his touch. She wanted to break free, he knew, to fly again, to do what she was born to do.

_That is what has been spoken. Fly. Out of here, out of the colony._

_But no one has ever left the colony and survived._

_No one. Not yet._

"It's time to fly, Nataku," he whispered, and Shenlong's engines rumbled as he pushed the lever to standby and then moved his hands down the control panel to where something was missing, several wires twisted together reaching out to an empty place. Wufei was no technician, but he did know something about aircraft systems, and he had done the best he could under the circumstances. It did not need to be pretty, just functional. Shenlong would forgive him.

He touched the controls one last time, glanced around the cockpit, etching it all in his memory even though he knew that this was not how he would remember the craft that had borne him out of death so many times. Shenlong's cockpit to him would always be lit with the glow that had sparkled off the sword as Tallgeese exploded across his video screens and as Treize had died.

For that too now, he held no regrets.

The Gundam was poised, energy coiled, waiting, and he popped the hatch again and lowered himself to the ground as the night air rushed through, cooling his pounding heart and the blood that had strangely seemed to rush to his head as he made his muffled way through the tall grass to a safe distance away.

Shenlong's eyes were the same green he remembered, but they did not seem so bright and deadly now. They shone over the empty field as twin beacons in the dark. From somewhere far away, the call of a night bird rippled through the rumbling silence, and Wufei tore his eyes away, fumbled in his pocket for the object that he had brought.

The self-destruct button was a cold metal medallion. He held the control lightly in one hand, as if by not fully grasping hold of it he could somehow pretend that this was not what he had come to do. Somehow, he was glad that the others were not here. He brought his hands up slowly, the remote gripped between them, the metal warming to his touch now.

_Take me to that field of flowers._

"I loved you, Meilan," he said aloud. The grass bent slightly in the sudden rushing wind, and Wufei straightened, met the Gundam's green eyes. "The story is not over, and I don't think it will ever be over. But I don't think I can write the next chapter until I let you go. This is till we meet again."

_But my father-_

_You are not your father, Chang Wufei._

"Be free," he said. "Goodbye, Nataku."

And then he pressed the button.

Shenlong shuddered, and a wisp of smoke rose from the engines, and for a horrible moment he thought that he had done something wrong, that the system had malfunctioned, or that Master O had hardwired some immobilization device into the computer just as Deathscythe's had had, and it would not work. But then as another wisp of smoke rose into the sky, and then another and another, he realized that it was beginning.

Wufei brought his cold hands to his chin, pressed them together as Shenlong shuddered again, and then he could see the bright pieces of metal glowing at the seams like some kind of bizarre metal angel without wings, the glow brightening to cover the field, the sky, until he had to turn his eyes away, seeing each individual stalk of grass stand out crisp and dark in the brilliance, black shadows as sharp as daggers. The furnace-molten heat rolled out from the Gundam's form like clouds of red summer lightning. Electricity snapped in angry sparks over his head, and he forced himself to turn, forced himself to squint his eyes against the unbearable radiance, to watch the trails of liquid metal run down Shenlong's silvered body.

And then the Gundam burst outward and he fell to his knees, sobbing with an emotion he could not name as the flaming hot remnants of the shell that had once housed her memory showered down around him. There was no sound, just a beautiful explosion of metallic color as the fuselage slivered from the bottom up and Shenlong collapsed upon herself.

When his dazzled eyes finally could focus, there were simply a few rapidly cooling lumps of metal scattered about between scorched grasses. Looking up to the sky, he saw a faint haze, a mirage of glittering smoke, like the air after fireworks.

That night, he wrote his acceptance letter to Heero and went to sleep with a clear mind. He began packing the next day, dragging out a large suitcase from the house's only closet and emptying all the drawers of their contents. He took everything; clothes, dishes, towels, shoes. The books he did not bother packing, because they would be too heavy to carry. He could send some boxes for them and ship them later.

Heero did not question his choice of transportation when Wufei requested a plane ticket from Beijing to Geneva. His flight was in two days, leaving at noon on Christmas Eve and landing in Geneva a little past ten in the morning on the same day, according to the time change. His suitcase was packed, Quatre's package safely wrapped between layers of clothes, and the little house as bare as if no one had ever lived there.

The night before he left, he went to the back door to watch the sunset one last time. The Chinese sunset did not seem so sad now, for some reason. He wasn't sure if that was because he had finally gotten his priorities straight, or if it was just because there was something to look forward to in life besides the monotony of living day to day. It was good to no longer be an island.

He leaned against the solid wall of the house and ran over Quatre's words again. Quatre's had been a good start, and he would simply build on them. He shaped what he would say in his mind, imagining the words being written down on pieces of thick parchment paper in flowing ink, filling line by line like calligraphy flowing from the end of a brush, coming as freely as flying.

Freely, as they were free now, because the war was finally over.

He would write the history not only of the war, he decided, but of the world as they had known it, and not simply of the world, but of Treize Khushrenada's world. Because Treize, in the end, had been the one who had shaped the world, both by his life and by his death, and history, if nothing else, should be a story of the truth. He would start with Treize's story, and with that, he would tell all their stories.

_Prologue: Treize Khushrenada...the Creator of History._

It was a good beginning, Wufei thought. He smiled against the night wind, against her voice in his memory, against the joy of knowing that from now on, his friends would once again be with him, against the light of Shenlong filling the sky as she had embarked on her final flight through the stars that Treize had loved.

**END SAINAN NO KEKKA**

_Sorry it took so long to upload the end - ff. net's arbitrary formatting switches has given us more than one headache. We hope y'all enjoyed the fic, and would love to hear from you if you made it this far!_


End file.
